The metal hatch hissed and slowly rose, and a smell of rust and dust flooded my nostrils. I coughed violently, and my lungs hurt as if they were being rubbed with sandpaper. The moment he opened his eyes, there was only endless darkness.
"Is anyone there?" My voice was so hoarse that I could hardly recognize myself.
I groped in the cold metal container, and my fingers touched a tablet that had long since died and a paper diary - my father's handwriting. In the dark, I flipped through the fragile pages by touch, and memories came flooding back.
No response.
