Survivors

Prologue

Looking through the keyhole, all he saw was darkness.

Scary darkness, except for a pale light ray shining through the floating dust and revealing the splintered floorboard, which apparently hadn't been varnished for years. Footsteps. He quickly turned around and, noticing that they became louder, he jumped off the stool and hid behind a bunch of coats which were hanging off the wall.

Peeping though the sleeves, he observed the scene. A fairly short, bulky man walked out in the hallway. Not the muscular type, but the more beefy-looking, beer-belly guy. He was dressed in a stained white vest, sky-blue jeans and an old pair of black shoes. His greasy black curly hair wriggled on his forehead, as he looked left and right, scanning the corridor. The boy held his breath, sweating making its way down his cheeks like little beads, he could listen to his heartbeat racing as the man was holding a belt tightly in his wrist. The beating wouldn't be pleasant so he made sure he stood still, just like a statue. After shouting something incomprehensive, the man made his way to another room and continued his search. But the boy waited, and waited. The dark room was the only option. He had to jump in the gaping mouth of the black monster, even though it terrified him. He had to make the choice between fear and torture.

Making decisions is the hard part of life, but it's the part if, done wisely, can bring you a brighter future. And hard decisions are often the most important ones. So his young mind tilted for fear.

When he was totally sure that the path was clear, he made a run for it. Jumping out from the jackets like a panther jumping out from a bush, he sprinted for the door. He took a swift step on the stool, and, using his own bodyweight, he pulled down the handle. The door gently opened in a barely audible creaking sound, giving him goose bumps on his fragile skin.

He could only perceive shades, which he used to orientate him and avoid obstacles. Silence surrounded him, which was good because it meant he was alone in the room. Waiting for his eyes to adapt to the blackness, he turned round and round, finding it hard to breath in this clustered and dusty environment. The young boy let himself fall to his knees and scoured slowly around on all fours. He searched and searched, touching and listening, sensing the world around him, a world, which he had barely explored, yet, hardly discovered. While scrubbing his already bruised knees on the floorboard in search of an exit, he wondered.

He wondered if there were other people out there, other people who didn't have to walk five miles to get drinkable water, he wondered if there were other people who didn't have to work in fields from dawn until dusk everyday, giving every once of sweat, but for what exactly? For their survival, would it be worth living such a life? He also wondered if other people were hungry. Was he normal? Was his life normal? Stop it! He thought. Questioning himself about his own existence made him even madder.

Despite the dirty air, he took a deep breath, filling his lungs with oxygen, stale and old oxygen, but oxygen non-the less. He pumped up his stomach and then blew all the air away, with the hope of blowing away the stress and the anxiety. But it just wouldn't leave him, it was leeched onto him, making his young heart beat uncontrollably fast, moving in all directions like a lion in a cage.

His face and body still coated in sticky sweat, he went on patting around him, touching furniture, touching the walls and some shelves, following the lines with his small fingers, until his hands came in contact with something much softer. Like a blanket or a piece of tapestry, it was clumsily suspended against the wall; it reminded him of the comfy bed he had when mama and papa were still there, with him. But wait, had the wall disappeared? He pressed on the blanket and had a feeling of emptiness, there was nothing behind it.