Unnatural thundering of war shuddered the walls and the heart. How many people cowered in the bunker? Sixteen? Seventeen? The darkness of the stone walls would not permit the light to tell. They were The Hidden and their population was a secret for the residents of this fearful place. The atmosphere was thick and damp with tears, sweat, blood, and any release the human body could produce. There was no air to breathe that had not been tainted with the environmental influences of concealment. How long were they to wait? None knew and none dared to speak a word. Silence was the only language and all ears listened with heightened intent to the roaring of the tanks, the shouts of the soldiers, and the crashes of artillery destroying the world they knew. Age, education, gender, religion, and language all meant nothing. Each person was one in the same, a captive of fear and torment.
Depression was a construct that conjured from the pools of tears and worry on the mossy stone floor of the bunker. It garbled intelligibly and spewed mindless doubts and aspersions on The Hidden. They had imprisoned themselves in a coffin to preserve a right to freedom. They had deprived themselves of the ability to speak to preserve a right to freedom. Depression illuminated their small room and spent time with each individual to explain to them the impending doom of the circumstances. Depression hugged each one and kept them company, assuring them of destruction and the absence of anything to live for in a world torn apart by hatred and war. Depression kept busy in the bunker with its new quiet friends.
The Hidden were entertained and tormented by their memories, playing to the background noise of explosions and death. Each moment played again and again behind their eyes and within their ears. Individual experiences lived again and again in the loneliness of the inconsolable collection of strangers. They knew nothing of each other, yet they knew everything. The damp walls they all felt beneath their fingertips, the moldy stale air they all breathed into their lungs, and the heartbeats they felt in their chests made them kin in a way no other humans would ever understand.
Time became a deception. Minutes turned to hours turned to days turned to an endless amount of time. There was no beginning, no end, no day, and no night. The only time was measured in the sounds and tremors of destruction above their heads and on the other side of that concealed steel door. There would be no justice if that door was found by those who warred on the other side of it.
The thunderous wreckage and destruction of the outside world faded, leaving the phantom echoes in the ears of The Hidden, indistinguishable from the real thing. The Hidden ceased to understand what was happening outside of their dark exile.
Eventually, there came the scrapes and knocking on the other side of the door. It was the end of everything they suffered to preserve. The knocks grew louder and more frequent. This was not someone asking permission to enter but someone with the weaponry to burst through into the bunker. Each knock was causing and taking advantage of the weaknesses in the steel.
The numberless shells of individuals sat in silence, their fear catching their hearts in their throats. The end would be swift but they would feel each minute as an hour. They knew the door would break. The door broke. They knew shards of metal would peel back to allow the sunlight to stream into the bunker. Shards of metal peeled back and sunlight streamed into the bunker. As the sunlight streamed in, misery poured out. The soldiers were taken aback by the manifestation of misery and sadness that escaped into the world. It released like a mighty gust of wind, blowing them back and throwing them off balance. What hell have they unleashed?
The boots of soldiers were armed with their entitlement as they pushed through the broken threshold and pulled The Hidden into the street one by one, suffering the oppression of the atmosphere that clung to the inside of the bunker as if it were a different world and incompatible with life on Earth.
As The Hidden were brought into the daylight, their eyes burned and their skin bubbled beneath the piercing light and simmering heat of the sun. The soldiers did not notice and would not have cared if they did notice.
"Speak!" a soldier yelled at the Hidden, this one was a young woman with black hair and hazel eyes. Her lips were thin and chapped. Her clothing was a ragged and stained but she was presentable and covered. Her body shook in fear of the man in front of her. "What is your name?" the soldier asked again. The woman did not fully understand. She did not speak his language.
The soldier repeated himself several times before the woman croaked out, "Deirdre." is a broken voice.
"Deirdre." repeated the soldier to another soldier near him. This soldier made a note in a book that he had withdrawn from his jacket.
Each of The Hidden went through this process, despite many of The Hidden possessing multiple forms of identification that resided crumbled and smudged in their clothing. Their individuality was being forced upon them after an eternity of a collective unity in darkness. Removed so rapidly from their self-imposed purgatory, The Hidden surrendered the individualistic sense of being for the future of being and were not prepared to have it shoved back on them without concern for their shock or inability to handle the day.
So the day went on in the same manner with nameless soldiers shouting for names, identities, and lives. Each of The Hidden was brought to own what could no longer be owned, a past that was resigned to the past, and a world that was reduced to rubble and ruin. The day exposed the sin of war, with carefully constructed buildings blocking engineered streets in mountain-like piles of stone rubble. The Hidden were the extinct creatures of a world that had been destroyed by guilt, greed, pride, and metal. The Hidden regarded each other for the first time and the last time. Knowing nothing of each other and still knowing everything, their bond was beyond the comprehension of time and emotion. Dust entered their lungs and their eyes adjusted to the light. They breathed in the final day of their lives before stepping beyond the ruins to establish new lives with old identities.
