“Turn left!”

“Turn right!”

“Clockwise rotation 12’O clock direction!”

“Drop downwards for ten meters,”

“Five meters in front!”

“Climb upwards for five meters,”

“Crawl through the small round tunnel!”

“Remove the coverings,”

“Throw the ladder down, and crawl into the hole behind,”

“Continue for twenty meters and jump into the darkness below!”

I muttered the directions to access the bunker in the smallest voice I could muster. Sometimes I was confused about whether I was speaking aloud or only in my mind? Borderline insanity seemed to be a trend in the family.

I had to recite the directions each time I wanted to return home from my daily scavenging. There was never a guarantee that I could make it home at the end of the day, but, I think, just my willingness to return was enough to warp reality.

At this point, I was sure that repeating the directions was just for comfort instead of the need to actively remember it. You don’t forget things that can be directly related to your survival.

After all, a sniper can’t go to battle only to realize that he forgot his gun at home.

I had done this many times over the years, by now, it was muscle memory. Each and every turn was instinctive, rhythmic, and precise.

I almost died the first couple of times. Moving through absolute darkness with just spatial awareness to avoid obstacles and deadly creatures was difficult even for my genius-level intellect.

Genius could only take you so far, then you would have to rely on a demon-like will.

If the obstacles didn’t kill you, the unknown insects, and snakes, that would occasionally slither by, would. Still, my choices were limited as someone being hunted by powerful enemies that remained unknown.

Every day I lived with the fear of being discovered, dying the way I saw my parents did. Eventually, all the fear just settles at the base of your stomach, and all you feel is eternal emptiness.

If you ask me what I think ‘oblivion’ is? Then that is my answer – fear concentrated at the base of your stomach, fear so potent that you become fearless and fearful all at once.

Yet, even with all the fear and trauma, I crawled on inside the sewers.

Sometimes, you could even find a couple of bodies from the people who tried to live inside the sewers. Of course, the bodies were dead, but if they moved, that just meant that the bodies were being eaten from the inside-out.

The sewers were a toxic environment, my sister and I only managed to survive thanks to the barely functioning air-filter within our bunker. You learn to appreciate air when you realize that not everyone has it.

I continued to recite the directions as spun, duck, climbed, twisted, and fell within the sewers. The directions were more of a mantra to me – something that would guarantee my survival if I followed it exactly.

I self-hypnotized myself into believing that as long as I followed the directions, I would always make it back to the bunker at the end of the day. It was a dumb thing to believe, but sometimes ‘beliefs’ were all that kept us from break-downs.

If you believed the sky would fall, then believe that intensely enough that even if the sky doesn’t fall, your mind perceives it as such. Believe in your beliefs so intensely that nobody can tell you otherwise.

That was the level of belief I had that my mantra would get me home each day.

Even if every day it got a little bit harder to make it back alive. I believed in it, I indulged in it, and I obsessed over it. The Bunker was not my sanctuary, my sister is.

The bunker was just a protected area under the sewer systems, left behind as a last resort by my parents.

Sadly, my parents did not have enough time to ensure that the bunker was fully completed before the attack on our home. That’s why I am forced to travel this treacherous underground maze every other day to secure supplies.

“Fuck!” I cursed aloud, lamenting my current situation for the millionth time.

Today was not my day. Unlike Rocky who could walk the streets with nobody giving a damn, I was smart and resourceful, so many of the adults have tried to find a weakness they could exploit.

While I was helpless right now, there was no guarantee that I would remain helpless when I grew up. At first, the adults tried to trick me in subtle ways – a candy here, a favor there, but recently, their efforts have intensified.

Tracking, subdermal implants, bribery… the adults tried everything to figure out where I lived.

I was the ‘mysterious’ boy, nobody knew where I came from, and nobody knew where I would hang up my cape at the end of the day. Even Rocky was none the wiser about the fact that I had a sister hidden away.

It was my most well-kept and guarded secret. Still, I could only hide it for so long. Eventually, someone would be able to tell from the supplies I brought home: the amount of food, the components for sanitary resources, the clothing from the slum-shops.

My every action was a walking story just waiting for the right scumbag to listen. And make no mistake… they had begun to listen.

So each day I had to add an extra pattern to lose my pursuers in the sewers. At times, I would lose myself in the maze for days while trying to get rid of my pursuers. I would often cry when I made it back to the bunker, only to see my sister nibbling on the cotton of her stuffed-toys.

I was just a child in the end, and everything was beginning to get to me. I could feel my sanity being chipped away a little with every new turn I added into the sewer directions.

Every time I was forced to lengthen my route to avoid the trackers sent by the adults, I felt something crash at the barriers of my sanity.

And what was emerging from below my sanity was something…. Incredibly… amazingly … viciously… unknowable. I could feel it fighting to get to the surface at every moment, wanting to consume everything I am… even if that meant killing us both.

I paused in the sewers and held my chest, attempting to ease my beating heart. Anxiety attacks were common, but it also provided a sort of intuitive sensation that warned me of incoming dangers.

I carefully removed a bolt from the satchel on my belt and tossed it into another sewer entrance. Then I jumped below the sewer pipe I was just crawling on. Once there, I crawled beneath pipes, forcing my slightly large body to fit into the minimal space provided.

There I waited… hoped… and prayed for my anxiety attack to just be a false alarm. However, sometimes your body just knew what your mind could not consciously process.

*tap*

*tap*

*tap*

*Growl*

There I saw it, the dog-sized rats created by the Corporation to keep the sewers cleaned of infestations – ‘Slum Inhabitants’. The rats were called ‘Rat-olf’ because they were genetically spliced with wolf DNA.

You thought that humans were the only thing that could kill within the sewers? Then you were gravely mistaken.

I laid beneath the pipes as the foam from the Rat-olf’s mouth dripped onto my cheeks. I knew it was attempting to pick up my scent, but luckily, the scent of slum-dwellers was not that distinguishable from rotting corpses.

And the sewers had too many rotting corpses to choose from. I held my breath and watched the Rat-Olf continue its journey down a sewer that was not a part of my route. My anxiety attack had saved me once more.

Suddenly, the Rat-Olf’s head snapped back, with a great leap it was once again above my position.

*RRRAAAWWWWRRR*

The beast roared at the pipes below which I laid. I could smell the countless corpses it had feasted on before coming in my direction.

*Snap*

Like a mechanism that broke, I could feel a surging insanity threaten to engulf my mind.

‘Kill it, kill it, kill it.

I will die, I will die, I will die.

Fight, fight, fight!’

The emotions of rage, loss, and hatred flowed throughout my body all at once, and for a moment, I considered fighting the beast to both our inevitable demise. However, I thought of Aurora, my little sister, and the rage disappeared all at once.

Thankfully, the Rat-Olf seemed to only be testing the waters to see which fish would jump out. Luckily, I stayed put instead of falling for the trap.

Opossums could play dead, and Rat-Olf’s could play 'aggressive' to trigger a fight or flight response.

“Turn left!”

“Turn right!”

“Clockwise rotation 12’O clock direction!”

“Drop downwards for ten meters,”

“Five meters in front!”

“Climb upwards for five meters,”

“Crawl through the small round tunnel!”

“Remove the coverings,”

“Throw the ladder down, and crawl into the hole behind,”

“Continue for twenty meters and jump into the darkness below!”

I climbed above the pipes and continued my journey. This time I whispered my mantra in an even lower voice. Barely audible even to myself, I am pretty sure that I was just saying it in my mind.

It was just another day in my life, and every day was worth living because my sister would always wait for me to come home.

It was one thing to run into battle because you cared about your country, but it was another thing to run into battle because you cared about your family that lived within the country.

Serving the country meant you could die with honor, but serving your family meant you could fight with honor and make it home.

And I would do whatever was necessary to make it home….

Because more than anything….

I….

AM…

A…

SURVIVOR!