Days Are Numbered

15: The Box

The chicken had always seemed wide awake to Noah, who battled to rest his half-conscious mind. The roosters always go nuts over their assignment of setting everyone up and working. Maybe Avgustin trained them too, he thought to himself while moaning quietly. It was not long before he heard the others shuffling out of bed while groaning and muttering greetings to one another. Noah remained put, wanting to be alone for a reason he couldn't understand. The chores were heavy on him, and since he had to abstain from all physical activities, Avgustin found a way to work his butt off and still watch him suffer through the unending chores. He did the laundry for the boys, cleaned the rooms, the garden, watered the plants, and fed the animals; it was all on him. Somehow he wanted to punch Avgustin in the face and run away, but it sounded like pleading for death even in his head.

"Hey sleepy head, up! Up!" Dhakirah made it sound noisy enough for Noah to groan while clasping his ears.

"You don't want Avgustin coming after you; you're barely able to take heavy breaths." Dhakirah ruffled his now-growing short hair. Noah felt a bit of warmth in his chest, but quickly shook it off.

"Do that again and I'll forget you're human." Noah threatened like a furious puppy but sat up halfway, glaring at Dhakirah who laughed.

"Quit being a sissy and get to the shower; you don't want Avgustin—"

Noah interrupted him with a groan, "I know." He hopped from above the bunker, immediately regretting it. His jaw clenched at the sharp pain that popped up in his rib; he groaned while holding his rib.

"Slowly there." Dhakirah patted him softly on the back before leaving.

Noah dried off his hair while deciding on what chore to begin with. There was a list every morning on the wooden board pinned with his name on it, written in bold, sloppy handwriting, like the one in the Book of Rules. He paused, staring intensely at the handwriting; it was the SAME! He smirked; Avgustin did write the rule book but with the date that was crossed out on the first page, he figured out that it was years ago, maybe 15 or 12 years back. He must have been way younger than he was now, and if he had written the rule book it was obviously not as a journal, maybe as a punishment, or maybe he was a genius and malicious kid, that his father appointed a job that he didn't fail to do.

Noah sighed as his eyes scanned the list, "Chores, chores, chores, and CHORES!" He gritted his teeth and scrambled the paper into his fist angrily. I hate my life right now.

He turned around abruptly, bumping into Avgustin's arm; he immediately flinched back at the glare and quickly slipped his hand behind his back while he got into the attention posture, "Sir." He uttered while staring at the lower far end, avoiding all eye contact.

Agustin met his face but he refused to return the stare, petrified by his presence, "I want a perfect job; every inch of the house must be dusted and cleaned. Get it?" Avgustin stated. It sounded like a direct order being yelled at him, in his head.

Noah recoiled internally, a reflex born out of survival rather than defiance. It was akin to the instinctual reaction of a younger sibling in the face of their older brother's intimidation, a desperate bid for attention, followed by fabricated tales of abuse to gain sympathy from their parents. But Noah understood the peril of provoking Avgustin; he couldn't afford to challenge him.

"Yes sir," Noah responded with a serious expression. If I may ask why do you treat me as trash? He bit his tongue before the thought found expression.

Avgustin turned abruptly to the corner, disappearing behind the wall. Noah sighed heavily. "I would have chosen death over this life," he muttered bitterly, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air.