DON'T GO OUT

A year. That’s how long I’ve been down here. I’m not complaining, though; I’m one of the lucky ones. My family is safe, whereas some others can’t say the same. That’s all I care about. As long as my daughter is living her life… well… as much as she can down here, and my wife is healthy, then I’m a contented man. But there is no denying my fears, the ones that keep me up at night. Even with the comfort of my loved ones, what I’m scared of lingers at the back of my mind like a rodent, scratching its way out of my skull.  

Back in the day, you could walk outside your house and have a chat with the neighbours about bin day, wander down the street with your dog, or pop into the shop. My lord, I wish for those days to come back; oh, how I wish. As I write this in our damp basement, I can feel the warmth of the sunshine on my face. I know it isn’t real. I know it’s the boiler again, heating up because of the broken ventilation. But I can pretend now and then, right? 

My fear is for the future, not for me, but for my daughter. She is growing up in a world where men and women die by the betrayal of loved ones, either by sheer desperation or malice. What kind of life is that? But if you think that’s inhumane, you should see what other monsters lurk up there.  The ones that hide in the dank corners of the world, waiting for us to peep our heads out of our holes, to snatch us up and take us somewhere that only the lord can save us from. 

It hurts even more when she asks me questions about what's happening up there. I don’t want to scare her, but I don’t want to lie to her either. She needs to learn about the world at this present moment, not the days that are behind us. We need to prepare her. But all I can say is, don’t go out. Stay here. 

She scared us last week (I think it was last week, time flies down here) when she went up to the basement door and tried to peek out through the gaps. Normally, we wouldn’t care, but this particular time of night had the highest activity we have ever recorded. The lights were in their numbers, scanning the surface for their prey. All she wanted to do was leave. She could see the world outside, and to her, it was completely fine. It was a playground she didn’t have access to. My stories of the “safe world” have been poisoning her mind; it was my fault that she nearly died that night. I just don’t want her to think that this is the normality of life.

Don’t go out I said. The truth is, we will have to go out. I’m sitting here writing this as if I’m a morally good man, and that what I did was right for my family. However, when you see your wife cry because of the noises above or see your daughter in pain because she hasn’t eaten in a day, you can only help but think that you have failed them.

To whoever finds this (if anyone at all), I did my best as a father and as a loving husband. I made decisions based on experience, and I’ve also made decisions based on my gut feeling. I can not say which one worked best. What I do know, however, is that a world made of damp bricks, rattling boilers, rotting rodents, and depressing conversations is not something I want my family to thrive in.

Sometimes, we just want to spread our wings. Sometimes, we have to go out.