Sand

Chapter 7: Home Sweet Home

I don't think I have told you about my 'home' and I apologize.
You see, it isn't really a home. It is a bunker I found when I first went out into the Endless Desert. I was lucky because a Sandstorm blew away the Sand that covered the entrance. It was a metal hatch with a twist lock. I figured it would be too rusty or broken, but I got it open. When I opened it, a cloud of dust came out and I coughed violently. I looked down and drew one of my revolvers, prepared for anything.
I climbed down a ladder that was bolted too the wall before I jumped down and landed about five feet down.
"Glad I didn't jump first." I laughed slightly. I heard a bang as the hatch closed.
I took a flashlight from my bag and clicked it on. The bunker had a twin bed, stone floor and walls, shelves, and a closet of canned foods and water. I set my blades against the wall and put my guns on a shelf. It looked like somebody had set up a temporary camp, but it doesn't look like it has been used in a while.
I looked around more and found a box of clothes. I kneeled down and pulled out a scarf, a ripped jacket, and a lot more clothes. All of them were so faded that they were gray.
I held up the scarf and grinned.
"I can use this to help protect me from the Sand."
I stood and looked around in a circle. It was pretty big. I stopped at the far wall.
"We Have Been Doomed From the Start"

It... it was written in blood...

I tossed my bag on the floor and sat on the bed, staring at the truth. I heard the clang of the hatch and footsteps coming down the ladder. I stood and hid in the closet.
"Finally, the damn sand cleared. 'Bout time" He had a deep voice with a strong Southern accent. I heard him walk this way, I looked beside me and my bad luck never fails.
What was there?
Water bottles.
I reached for my swords. Once again, my bad luck never disappoints.
A hairy, dirty, and slightly chubby arm went right in front of my face. I had to cover my mouth and nose so he didn't feel my breath.
Fuck it.
I grabbed his arm and pulled. That was a bad idea.
"What the Hell?!" He yelled and used his other arm to grab my wrist.
He pulled me from the closet and threw me across the room.
I looked up. He looked almost six feet tall, he was kinda chubby, he was balding, and what little hair he had
"Damn, you're ugly." I grinned and stuck my tongue out at him, flipping him off.
"YOU LIL SHIT! GET OUTTA MY BUNKER!" He roared and drew a machete.
"Dear, no playing with knives, you might hurt yourself." I said in my best 'grandmother' voice, crouching like a frog and waving my finger.

He walked at me and swung. I jumped back. He slashed at my neck, I ducked and rolled to the side.
"Haha, I gave you a haircut pretty boy!" He laughed and held up a lock of my hair.
I growled and stood.
"You... cut.... my hair..." I said quietly, clenching my fists.
"Ooooohhh, ya don't like how I cut yer hair, do ya Pretty Boy?." He grinned, showing only a few yellow teeth.
I grinned wickedly and mocked his accent.
"Ya wont like when I cut yer damn throat, will ya Big Bertha?"
His nostrils flared and he ran at me, swinging his machete. I dodged each one, I grabbed his wrist and pulled him into my elbow. I heard a crack and grinned.
"MY NOSE! YOU BROKE MY NOSE!" He yelled as blood dripped.
I walked calmly to my blades and picked one up.
"I have a blade too, Bertha. Except mine is bigger." I said.
"It ain't about size Pretty Boy, it's about what ya can do with it." He said smugly and spat blood.
"Then try me."
He growled and swung.
I sighed and blocked it before cutting his leg, dropping him onto one knee.
He cried out and dropped his machete. I grabbed it and sliced his arm, then chest, and then I kicked him in the chest where I cut him. He cried out again as he fell back.
"Hmm... I guess you are right, Bertha. It is about what you can do with it." I grinned and pushed the machete into his chest.

Home sweet home.