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It was the hottest day of the year, and my family feared for their lives as the house melted like a marshmallow over a bomb fire. We were running out of time and couldn't afford any more lives lost. Mother might take her own if we lose the last of my younger siblings, Miracle.
A fitting name for a 7-year-old who survived after all the civilians were told to remain indoors until the military came to rescue us. Martial law was declared on April 7, 3046, and it remains in effect as of July 5, 3046, but they never came to our rescue. There was no terrorist attack. No pandemic outbreak to sweep the nation. No man-made threats or dangers could create such a massive genocide across the globe. The cause of this madness and destruction was the earth herself.
"How many rations do we have left?" My mother's fear showed with every word.
"Enough to last another month, but we will suffocate if it gets any hotter and we remain in this bunker," said my dad as he wiped the sweat from his face and body.
Scientists warned us of our pollution habits. NASA hid the truth by eliminating the whistleblowers one by one. The government that this country deemed adequate to lead us failed us miserably, as the rich and wealthy fled in spaceships or boats to escape. We were lucky enough to live on the countryside in the center of a broad field that used to be surrounded by life. I can't say the same for many others. It was later revealed on the last radio broadcast just how dire the situation was worldwide.
"Sis, I don't want to leave you behind." Miracle's voice was heavy with every breath as she clung to her life.
"I won't let that happen." False hope on the edge of surrendering.
"If it would mean you guys could live just a little bit longer, then I'd take my last breath for you. I miss my brothers and sisters."
"Don't talk like that!" A tear couldn't even fall from my face, I was over dehydrated.
"You remember baby Linsey?" Her breathing was getting heavier.
"Of course I do. That was our favorite goat." I felt that thing beating in my chest, anchoring me.
We watched as the baby goat and all the others flew across the air into nearby trees and other structures on our land. I can still feel the earth rumbling under my feet before knocking me off them as she came to an abrupt stop. Our youngest brother, Jack, 4 years old, was playing in the goat pen and suffered the same fate. Molly, 14, was milking the cows in the barn before one of them suffocated her. Mom and Dad were loading up the bunker while baby Emily was in her bouncer. We were able to save her once we were all secured in the bunker, but it got too hot too quickly. She died in her sleep while lying next to Mama in their bed.
"Do you think we can play with her in heaven?"
Dad came beside me and scooped Miracle in his arms. Mama was sobbing in the kitchen area of the bunker over the sink. I just sat there, stroking her golden blond hair, savoring what I could of her. Holding onto the memories before this catastrophe.
"Yes, baby. We can play with Linsey and Abby. Don't forget Jossie." The strength of a father was crumbling with every breath she forced.
"Jossie loved Jack."
"Yes, she did, sweety."
"He daddy..."
"Yes, my Miracle."
"I love you."
"I love you too, sweetheart."
"I love you, sissy."
"I love you too, sis." Tears were finally forming, but they couldn't fall.
"Mommy..."
Mother wiped her face and did her best to gather every bit of strength before walking over to us, and leaned over Miracle to kiss her forehead.
"I love you, mommy."
"I love... I love you..." Mother's sobs became cries that echoed the bunker as Miracle's little hand fell in her lap after she reached to wipe her mother's tears.
In that moment, after Miracle took her last breath, something else had died. Aside from the heavy hearts that tore through the stainless steel walls, there was a silence that stirred within us. Hope had died with her. Our hopes of rescue. Our hopes of survival. Our desire to live was fading, slowly. Like a candle slowly fading as the oxygen within the air disappeared. We were being snuffed out.
The cries had stopped just as abruptly as the earth did. I stood over them as they sat there, holding a lifeless little girl in their grasp, but looked in horror at their eyes after they lifted their heads. They stared at one another. Silent and still. My dad stood first and carefully placed Miracle on the couch. Mother stood in place, and her body hung like the lifeless person she was.
"Mom. Dad." They didn't respond to me.
Dad walked to the back of the bunker and rummaged through a closet space, then he found what he was looking for. Each step sounded louder than the next as he got closer to Mamma. Her back was facing him as her head hung low. Then he pointed it at her head.
"Do it. Please...DO IT!!!" (one shot fired!)
Dad then turned to face me in one swift movement. It looked robotic, as if there was no life source within the human skeleton that once was my father.
"I love you, Jessica. I loved you all. I'm sorry I couldn't..." his words were unstable and so was his hand as he pointed it at my forehead as I looked him in the eyes, where his soul shone brightly.
I wasn't a little girl anymore and was always brighter than most. I understood the situation and why it was best that we all die now, together, instead of suffering.
"I love you, Dad, and I know you will always do what's best for us." I closed my eyes after saying this and prepared to meet him again. I imagined playing with my brothers and sisters in an open field where lilies, daisies, and other flowers were like splashes of color on a lush green canvas. I pictured Mom on the porch swing rocking my baby sister as she cooed happily. My dad was now chasing us through the fields as our dogs barked in play. It felt peaceful and warm. I welcomed it.
(one shot fired!)
A loud thump echoed in my ears. I opened my eyes slowly to see my dad lying lifeless on the floor. His head was a display of horror. Blood painted the bunker, but not with mine. I stood in shock, unable to move or fathom what to do next. I was alone. I had no one to pull the trigger for me and I was too terrified to move. Frozen in a lifeless dream that I screamed internally for me to wake from.
(BANG!BANG1!BANG!)
"HELLO! Is there anyone down there!?!
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Hey!
This was a great read; you have done well capturing the back-and-forth communications and narratives. I struggle with this personally, so I admire your ability to lead us through multiple conversations effortlessly and seamlessly. I love the piece and the messaging; my only feedback is that I'd like to feel more of it. Tell me more about the porch swing, the ground rumbling, and the bunker. I want to live in this space beside you and your characters. :)
I look forward to reading more of your work!
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Hello Amber, my name for the sake of this competition, is Phi. I am one of your fellow writers in this competition. I've been assigned this story in what is known as a 'critique circle', a group of writers are asked to critique other contestants work to help them hone their craft. The first time I read this story, I avoided saying anything, because I'm trying to practice not alienating any of my fellow writers. The very first story I critiqued, I think I made that mistake and decided on a policy of not saying anything if I couldn't think of positive things to say. I see you don't have any comments or likes on this piece and you're probably wondering why. Why are all my fellow contestants not saying something to me or liking my work? That can be tough to take and I empathize with you, because when I first submitted I felt and thought the same things. So I started critiquing my fellow writers work and now I have made many friendships and am fully involved in communicating new ideas with them about future projects. So, what I think might be going on here is not so much the subject of your story, the euthanizing of the family by the father, but the fact that a line in the primary rule of story writing has been crossed here. When writing in the first person, you can't kill the narrator. Am I right in supposing that is what happened in the last scene? Jessica turns the gun on herself, then rescuers arrive just as she does and holler down into the bunker, just as it is too late? There are also three shots. Had Jessica put the gun to her head, she might have only gotten off one shot, but we don't know any of that. I had to suppose this happened. My story contains the same theme, a family gone underground because the Earth has degenerated because of mankind's selfish habits at polluting it. The atmosphere is disappearing and the radiation has destroyed the surface. What might help get your reader situated is some worldbuilding first, then launch into the personal narrative of the family. If you decided to keep the plot as it is, a third-person omnipotent point of view in telling the story will allow for you to kill everyone off without violating the basic rule of thumb in literature. If it might help you, you could read my piece in this competition. Its called The Dog Days Of Earth. I've written it in first-person narrative as well. I hope I've helped you in some small way. There is more I wanted to share with you about your story to help you refine it, but for now I thought I'd just mention the big things I noticed. I agree with your worldview in this story and am not opposed to how you chose to lay it out. If we don't start taking responsibility for the care and tending of this planet, we may just force families to do exactly what you are describing in you poignant story. I believe you have a powerful message here. Thank you for allowing me to make these suggestions. On a personal note as regards your message: I quit driving petroleum based transportation 35 years ago, driving only a bike for most of those 35 years. The last two years I've converted over to electric bicycling due to my advanced age. Again, thank you for your patience with me. Keep writing Amber, the world needs to catch your vision for the future! We need to wise up and change our selfish ways...
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