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Like No One Is Watching

growing up in a dying world

By Brandy EnnPublished 3 years ago 8 min read
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Made in Canva

“What’s that around your neck?” Dad had come home early. “Dad it’s just-.“ “Just nothin’, boy. Now take that shit off. I’m about to make sure you don’t grow up like one of them men in dresses.” I took off my mother’s locket, her most prized possession, and placed it back in the trunk as gently as possible. It was silver with a ruby heart that was surrounded by tiny diamonds. She looked so beautiful in it. I missed Mom.

Sometimes I wish it would have been Dad that had gotten sick. I know that’s awful, but it would have been the best-case scenario for everyone. Dad was a drunk, and his beer belly was probably always at least half full of some form of spirits. He was mean and hateful, just as he had been when she was still here. She let me wear her necklace, her shoes, her dresses. She made me feel like I was the most beautiful person in the world.

I’m only fourteen, but I’m already in the middle of an identity crisis. I was meant to be a girl. I knew it in my heart. This body was ruining my ability to be me and being called “boy” hurt more than I could explain. I knew if I tried to talk to him about it, he’d punish me somehow. One time he had caught me dancing to Billie Eilish and Khalid’s “Lovely.” I had a black eye for weeks. I loved dancing more than I loved anything. One day I would dance without judgment.

“Follow me, boy,” he barked. I reluctantly walked with him to the truck. To my surprise he handed me the keys. “I’m going to give you some coordinates. You’re going to go here, and you’re going to stay there for three days.” He hiccupped. “You’re gonna learn what it’s like to be a real man. I have the GPS tracker on your phone so don’t try to lie to me neither. You understand?” Confused, I nodded and got into the driver’s seat.

I wasn’t old enough to drive. I had no idea what I was doing. When you live out in the country you get away with a little more though. I typed the coordinates into an app on my phone and noticed there was no house listed. Was he sending me into the woods? Did he want me to get lost? Nevertheless, I drove.

“Arrived,” stated my phone’s virtual assistant. Arrived where? There was a rusted old truck, but not much else around. I got out and started to search the area nearby. He had to have gotten the coordinates wrong. Drunk bastard.

After about five minutes I tripped over a spot of overgrown grass on a particularly tall mound and fell onto something metal. I pulled back years of grass and weeds to discover what appeared to be a metal door. What could it even lead to? I was in the middle of nowhere. I tried to turn the handle, but it did not budge. After searching some more, I found oil in the old truck. To my surprise, my idea was successful. I was able to loosen the stuck door and slowly lift it open. I grabbed a flashlight from Dad’s truck and climbed down a ladder at the entrance.

Thirty seconds after reaching the bottom, the door closed and locked on its own. This didn’t sit well with me. I climbed back up and yelled for help, beating on the door. The lock mechanism was inside the door. I had no say in unlocking it and realistically neither would the zero people around to help me. Had Dad sent me to a bunker to die?

A few seconds later the main lights switched on. After waiting to see if Jigsaw was going to ask if I wanted to play a game, I began exploring. The bunker was essentially a studio apartment. It contained a bed, toilet, a single chair, and a pantry. I got ready to see what awful, rotten food was in the pantry when I noticed a note on the chair.

Hey, Bud. I know I’ve made your life awful hard and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have blamed you for your mom getting sick. I loved her, and I love you. The alcohol may seem like a priority, but I didn’t know how to tell you the truth. A drink became two, two became a six-pack, a six-pack became ten, and that’s when it started spiraling. I never meant what I said to you. What I meant to say was that I do accept you for who you are. I do love you. I do care. I could never bring myself to say those words out loud and I don’t know why. It doesn’t matter what I meant to say though. It’ll all be over for me soon. I need you to stay down here for three days. You’ve been grounded from the tv because I didn’t want you to see. Tomorrow will likely be the last day of the world as we know it. The details aren’t important. You’ll find out soon enough. Just know you won’t have to deal with me anymore. I need you to stay underground for three days minimum. 36 hours after locking, the doors will unlock, and it will be up to you if you want to come out. Your favorite snacks are in the little closet. I love you, son. And I’m sorry.

I didn’t believe him. He’d never sacrifice himself. There wasn’t much room here, but there was enough for two people if we were willing to live in tight quarters together. It didn’t make sense. Sure enough though, the pantry was filled with Oreos, chips, Wheat Thins, canned ravioli, fruit cups; it had all of my favorite snacks.

I pulled out my phone and activated mobile data. My phone stayed on airplane mode because I had recently been stalked by a group of bullies with nothing better to do. They called and texted so non-stop that I couldn’t even use the thing. Surprisingly, I had two bars. I tried to call Dad. No answer. Two bars wasn’t enough to surf the web for answers. All I could do was wait.

After the first day I started to hear a loud sound, like a tornado swirling overhead. Seconds later, there was an explosion. I felt the ground shake. The temperature instantly rose, I noticed it even in this small underground bunker.

Two days later, the door unlocked. I hesitantly stepped outside. Immediately, I felt a burning on my skin. It turned my entire body a deep sun-burned red within seconds. The air had changed. It had a chemically taste and felt like fire in my lungs. I stepped back into the bunker and cried. There was no way anyone above ground had survived if it had this much of an effect on me with stepping outside 48 hours later.

On the way back to Dad’s truck, I noticed it was completely devoid of paint. Thankfully, it still worked. I drove home with the windshield wipers on. There was so much dust. It was on the ground, in the air, and covering the windshield like a thick fog. After a couple of mishaps of running slightly off the road I made it home.

I stepped into a movie scene. My father sat in his armchair, deceased. I had expected this, but I had not expected to see him with his jaw completely gone. A shotgun was at his feet. He had killed himself before the explosion. A note rested in his palm. I carefully grabbed it.

I’m sorry. That was all it said. No explanation, no “this is not your fault.” Nothing. I wanted so badly to feel mourning, but instead I felt relief. My tormentor and Mom’s tormentor was gone.

My lungs started to burn more than before. I knew why. I was dying. Dad had thought surviving the explosion would be enough, but it wasn’t. I burned like I was on fire, but I wasn’t done with this Earth yet. I went upstairs.

Mom’s things were still in the trunk. I noticed that my fingerprints were no longer visible as I undid the zipper. Mom’s locket had no dust. It was the only thing beautiful left in an ugly and dead world. I placed it around my neck and closed the clasp with a slight struggle.

I found one of her dresses in her closet. It was covered in the sandy substance that filled the air. I put it on, picked out her favorite shoes, and walked outside.

With not much time left until I joined the rest of the world in the afterlife, I stood out in the middle of the road, and I danced more freely than I ever had.



Short Story
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About the Creator

Brandy Enn

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