Bunker Lock-In

Evening called for an impenetrable shelter. I marched away from the console and discovered the thick woven storage pouf near the armchair, its round lid knocked slightly askew. A subterranean vault! I squared my shoulders, hauled myself over the braided rim, and dropped clean into the dark belly. Silence. Underfoot lay a folded wool scarf, soft and thick. In the corner sat a heavy brass hourglass, its golden sand halfway drained through the narrow glass waist. I froze. Poked the cool curve with one claw. Then I threw my weight against it, flipping the cylinder upside down. A silent stream of glittering gold immediately showered downward. I curled against the base, watching the golden fall. Night bunker fully operational.