We found a box of books labeled “science fiction” in the back of the shelter. We settled in to read, waiting out the storms above. The symbolism was tricky, most written generations ago, but Sal and I muddled through for three days and nights, immersed.
We enjoyed the stories, mostly. They could only imagine a future of devastation or discovery. Sal summed it up, dropping the last book. “They never imagined it’d be so dull, did they?”
“Stories about heroes are more exciting.”
“Heroes didn’t save us.”
“Are we saved?”
Sal paused. “We persist?”
We locked the shelter behind us.
BronMcD 