We thought we heard footsteps, last night, but there were only two sets and there were no voices. It was probably the house settling or (less likely) some sort of shared auditory hallucination resulting from how much time we've spent down here. Mother didn't go upstairs to check. I offered to go, myself, but I knew the answer would be a firm no.
My disease only visibly manifests on days when my back is especially sore. Surprisingly, the firm bunk I'm using as a bed hasn't caused too much back pain, so I'm not doing so badly in that regard. Still, my mother knows that my back can start hurting at any moment and with that pain comes difficulty walking. There was no sense in risking everything by limping and lurching through the house just to check the area, catch up on the news, and grab some things to do in the bunker.
So we're going to keep waiting for a definitive sign that the coast is clear. I'm pretty sure that this bunker is getting smaller every day, so hopefully I can sneak into the house, soon. I just want to see the sun, again.
YOU ARE READING
The Imperfect's Journal: 1General Fiction
This is the journal of Darren Stratt, an "imperfect" who is being hunted in America due to a new law which has stripped disadvantaged individuals--now called "imperfects"--of their rights. In Darren's journal, he documents the horrors of a world run...