I sit awake in the solitude of my basement, next to the wavering light of our last candle. The windows have been boarded tightly shut, blocking any trace of light. The small fire is our only source of heat. My children are asleep several feet away; it’s comforting knowing they’re safe, for now. In the silence of the night it’s easy to reminisce about the life we lived, not-so-long ago. Things changed so rapidly. It feels like an eternity that we’ve been barricaded inside our house.
I close my eyes to welcome sleep, but visions of the past three months play in my head like a marathon of madness. I open my eyes and glance down at the journal in my lap. To me it means the world; it’s our story of survival. The notebook’s open, and I stare down at the blank page. The only writing is the heading at the top – Day 94. My heart aches as I wonder how many more entries I’ll be able to make. I frown as I flip back to page one and reminisce about the day of impact.
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Shards
of broken glass littered the floor of our bedroom. The wooden door was sturdy, but there was a
large glass window in the top-half of the door.
He’d shattered the window, and the dresser in front of the door shook
with every swing of the ax. I pulled the home-made gas
mask over my mouth and nose, and cautiously approached the door. The ax became embedded in the wood; he had a
difficult time pulling it free. I was done
trying to rationalize with this monster.
I crept along the bedroom wall with my back pressed flat, hiding my
presence. He was still struggling to get
the ax free. I never thought that he’d
come back with an actual weapon. In
every scenario I’d imagined, we were on equal fighting grounds. This changed my entire plan. As he wrenched the ax back and forth, I
jumped up in front of the dresser and introduced my can of mace. Fluid shot out of the can through the broken
window, landing squarely on his face. The liquid sizzled as it came in contact with his skin. He stopped, stunned, before unleashing a
grueling scream. Tears threatened to
escape my eyes, but I refused to feel guilty.
He forgot about the ax and backed away from the door, scrubbing at his
eyes with both hands.
With a surge of determination I stood tall, and shouted as loudly as I could, “Go Away. I swear to God, I’ll kill you if you try coming back in.”
Wrong thing to say. His head jerked up and he looked the door, as if welcoming the challenge. That instant, I knew one of us would die before this ended. He came at the door with new-found strength, tearing the ax away in one stealthy movement. I backed away, but didn’t retreat out of the bedroom. The weight of the wall against my back was the only thing keeping me standing. My knees shook and knocked together, but I refused back down. At this point, it’s him or me - and if it’s me, he’ll get the kids, too.
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