The Bunker
Today was for Claire.
The sun was setting. A breeze with a faint scent of lilac and gooseberries drifted through the overgrowth and trees. Critters buzzed, butterflies flew home, the sky turned pinkish-orange.
Sal sat among flowers. He held a small bouquet of lilacs to his nose, closed his eyes and breathed in. They would do, they would do just fine.
Lilacs were Claire’s favourite flower. She loved the smell and the vibrant purple visible from so far away.
Sal sat for a few more minutes before standing, taking one last look around and deciding to head home.
The earth might be deserted and wanderers were sparse, but Sal still set aside a day for Claire every year. He pulled out a little note pad and scratched another line through his self-made calendar.
Sal rarely made the journey out this way. It was far. And difficult, there weren’t any roads out here. That was what made it so great though. The two of them discovered it by chance years ago.
Claire wanted to sit and smell the flowers all day. They came almost every other week. They’d sit and laugh while having a picnic. But over time it got harder, abandoned trails became rough terrain.
They came less and less, then only on her birthdays. Sal smiled beginning the long trek back home, back to Claire.
He returned to the bunker as the last light of day fell beneath the horizon. He flicked on his flashlight and waded through the clutter that was left of the town. The foliage brushed at his sides.
Sal didn’t go in the bunker right away. He waited outside. He walked over to the large stone and the pile of lilacs that had accumulated over time.
He set down the fresh lilacs among the old. “Claire” was scratched on the stone. A tear rolled down Sal’s cheek.
“I brought you these,” he breathed softly, laying down the flowers.
He sat down and cried. It never got easier.
332 words
Mar 31, 2020
all-stories