Chapter 1
I don't know how long it's been since I stepped through that iron door. I remember that it was unbelievably thick, almost the length of two cars. Mechanisms whirred and spun as I passed through those doors, but now the door is silent, having already played its part. A lot of people will just sit there, staring at it, as if it'll magically open to Paradise or something. That part of the bunker isn't usually lit unless something requires maintenance, so it's not unusual for two people to find that what they assumed was a solitary experience was being shared by someone not even twenty feet away.
All I know is that I was eighteen when those doors closed. Judging by my appearance, I'd guess I'm somewhere in my mid to late twenties, but our diets are so alien from what we ate on the surface that age is hard to track. All we eat are colored blocks, designed specifically to meet common nutritional values. I don't remember who invented this shit, but I do know it existed before the bunkers were conceived, and simply didn't catch on until impending doom came knocking. At least, I don't think it was used until then. I mean, I think I remember it might have been tested for military use, but I'm not sure if they ever got it through regulation before the military was disbanded. I know it's probably infuriating that I don't know this stuff, but you have to consider my age when this was all happening. I wasn't all that concerned with the specifics until it was too late.
Who is going to read this that needs that kind of context? Will aliens come down and find this flimsy notebook four thousand years from now? Though, if they did, I guess it wouldn't really matter either way. They probably wouldn't understand the significance of it, given that they've evolved in completely different circumstances and their technology would be inconceivably different. They might just pass it by. But then again, if these words get processed at all, in any form of observation, does that justify its existence?
Whatever, it's not important. It's for me, there we go. This notebook is for me.
