Solidarity

Chapter 1

Everyday I get woken up by birds singing outside the bunker, it's the only pleasant part of my day. Hearing them chirp gives me that satisfaction that everything is okay, and just that tiny bit of happiness through their sound. Although it's not okay, and I'm still trying to adjust to everything, after a year I thought I would be fine, coping with it all. But I'm not. I never will be. The lack of communication with humans is tearing me apart. The loneliness is killing me, yet I'd rather be killed by loneliness than them. As I slowly rise from my uncomfortable, rock hard bed I meet the cold, dense air surrounding the bedcovers. Not only is this place cold but it's also dark as hell. No lighting, electricity or windows provided, yet it was my decision to crash here. Why? Because it's the only place I could possibly feel safe in. I reach over to the old rusty night stand beside the bed -which has white paint peeling off it- and light a match. As the match quickly catches fire and lights up the wick of the large candle inside the lantern I'm able to see the dark, old room. The lighting from a candle is poor but bright enough to enable me to see the walls covered in photographs taken by me over the years. As a part of my daily routine I study all the photos carefully, each small detail. There is always something I've missed before. Photography is a passion of mine, it has been for as long as I can remember. I've always had a camera on me or managed to get in every photograph taken by my mother. My life isn't exciting, it never had been however documenting every piece of it and capturing the memories makes it more enjoyable. There are two walls which have photographs hung on them. I have separated them into categories, one wall is of humans and the other one is of nature as that's the only source I've had for the past year. Most of the people on my wall are gone, yet I still feel their presence. My old friends. My fellow students. And my family. Where are they? I could ask you the same question, but I know that in spirit they are here, with me or at least watching over me.

I shove on a pair of slippers and throw my bed covers over my shoulders while I walk towards the photographs of my family. The first photo that caught my eye today is of my mother. I stare at the smile on my mother's face, it almost feels like as if she were here, smiling at me. Her smile is warm and loving, it's not hard to tell how caring she was. I miss her, I feel lost without her, she was the only person who know me inside and out, the only person who was there for me. The only person I could trust. But now she's gone. These photos are my only memories of her. I can feel a tear slowly slipping down my cheek as I start to picture her. The photographs help to bring back all the memories to life, not just the ones they capture. I start to remember how safe I felt in her arms after I had my heart broken for the first time. The way she told me "if a boy wants you to change then he's not worth it". The memories I have of her are completely random, they don't all add up, they're not all clear but they make me happy. As mother's do, she used to teach me everything from how to ride a bike to how to bake. We spent a lot of time together, and knowing that there is no more stings my heart. I'd do anything to spend 5 more minutes with her or at least say goodbye. In the photograph she's wearing her blue summer dress which always brought out her deep blue eyes. This photo was taken during one of our summer family vacations in Florida, at a sunny tropical beach, back when everything was normal. I brush my finger softly against the photograph and lead my hand onto the photograph next to it. My little twin sisters. Both looking excited as ever, who wouldn't be during their first visit to Disneyland? This photograph captures them standing in front of the Disney castle, holding their Mickey Mouse shaped balloons, which they guarded with their lives. Lisa was wearing a green dress which matched her big green eyes, while Olivia work a pink dress matching the ribbons in her hair. The only way we could tell the two apart was by their eye colour. Olivia's eyes were similar to mine, dark brown but a shade lighter, which showed her happiness. They definitely got their looks from our mother. Lisa's blue eyes which looked like they were filled with water from the ocean and the thick blonde hair. I however was different. My features came from him. The man who ruined everything, the man who betrayed us. His family. His own blood. I stare at the photographs of him everyday. I need to memorise every detail of the enemy, it's the only way to beat my fear of the man. We thought he was a loyal, loving man, but his heart warming dark eyes hid all the secrets until we got a closer look into them. Nobody would have guessed from these photographs that he was such a monster. But he was. His eyes soon turned grey and all the secrets were out, his short brown locks soon grew out down to his shoulders and a beard started to appear. He looks scruffy now, powerful but scruffy. A shiver runs down my spine at the thought of him. How can I ever face him without wanting to kill my own father?