0800 Hours [slash]

0800 Hours: Recording #002

Click.

A deep, wrecked yawn is the first audible noise. Stiff bones creak as someone stretches with a contented yowl, popping back into place with a crack.

“0800 hours, eight days since me and dad were scheduled to be evacuated. Dad's getting worried. He won't say as much, but he's getting more and more agitated. I think they've probably just got lost on the way up to our house or something like that. We live slap bang in the middle of Nowhere with a capital N, encircled by a six mile radius of nothing but marshy farmland in all directions. And even then, our nearest port of civilisation is basically just a one street village. I think the village has been evacuated already, actually. Dad says it was dead last time he drove down. At least now I'll have all the remaining McVities digestives in the Co-Op to myself. That's the Co-Operative supermarket by the way, which has a stranglehold on basically every village in the north. It's an ok shop, as far as supermarkets go, but sometimes I wish we had like an ASDA or something. Maybe even a Waitrose. I've heard they do pretty fucking great fairy cakes.”

…

“That's it I guess.”

Click.