Hope.

Time, as we knew it, ceased to exist many years ago. Don't get me wrong, it still passes, but the counting of minutes, seconds and hours doesn't mean anything anymore. Thinking like that, in a place like this, will drive one to madness. We've all seen it, the consequences of hope, it's frightening and heart breaking.

Those of us who survive are just thankful to be alive. The small glass windows, scattered haphazardly across the wall protecting us from the outside, are thick and green and allow a distorted view of the world we used to know, to seep in.

I cup my hands around my eyes and push my face up to the warm glass. The view is always the same. A blanket of silver covers a desolate landscape. It might be beautiful in another life, but in this one, it's all ash. A gust of wind disturbs the surface and kicks the ash into the air. For a moment I imagine it's snow. I try to remember the cold, crisp biting air of winter, but that memory is long gone. As I begin to turn back to the bunker, a thump, something hits the glass. My heart jumps. "A bird," I yell, "I just saw a bird." I spin around. No one is moving. No one is rushing to the windows. They all know the truth. I realize it too, the reality of our new world. Nothing can survive out there. I sink to the floor crushed by the briefest glimmer of hope.