I reach my hand out through the cold steel bars towards the scrap of bread lying on the wet cement floor. The bread is spread with a little butter – or something that resembles butter. My hands tremble. The air is cold, and the room is dark and damp. A soft light from the moon penetrates the only window in the corner, and I can just make out a thin layer of mist caused by my effortful breathing. I grab the bread and bring it closer to my nose. It smells disappointingly good, almost as if teasing me, reminding me of better days. Innocent days – if there ever was such a thing.
Biting into the bread, I can taste that it is a couple of days old and almost tasteless, but in my current condition, I don’t mind and happily consume the stale sustenance.
A faint dripping of leaking pipes can be heard in one of the darker corners of the room, and with it, a scurrying of small, furry creatures – probably rats. I have seen many rats during my time in this dark room, behind these bars, and have often contended with one or two for my daily evening ration of food.
Funny how I envy these furry roommates of mine. They are free to live their short lives in whatever way they choose (or I suppose their primal instincts choose for them?), while I am stuck inside this small cage, with barely enough room to stand up, much less move about. I am a prisoner. Not because of any crime I have committed (that I know of, at least), but because my parents wish to protect me. “It is a dangerous world out there,” they say, and so for my own protection, they have locked me inside this cage since I was a small child. I am now 29 years of age. This cage is the only home I have ever known. It is located in the basement of my parents’ house.
Beyond my parents (and the rats, of course), my only company has been that of my own thoughts. And because of a lack of exposure to the diversities, wonders, and complexities of the world outside, they are terribly drab and boring. What is it like outside? Beyond the confines of this prison? I have imagined the most wonderful possibilities ever since I can remember, but when I shared these imaginings with my parents, they are met with scolding and resistance: “You have no idea what you’re on about! The world is dark, cold, and dangerous. You should be grateful that we are keeping you safe in here. And it would be best if you push those harmful delusions out of your mind. Reality is not kind.”
I am often greeted in the early mornings by the songs of birds. I have even occasionally seen a few waking past the lonely small window of the basement. Sometimes a bird would stop and peck at the window – I would imagine that this bird is a magnificent savior in disguise trying to come to my rescue. But it quickly loses interest, and my imagination is left alone and embarrassed with me in the cold conditions I have survived in all these years.
I finish my piece of bread, take a shit and piss in the small bucket in the corner of the cage, and finally decide to go to sleep on the hard, razor-thin mattress that takes up most of my living space.
The following morning, after a restless night of sleeping, I am awakened by a loud bang on the bars of the cage. It is my mother bringing my breakfast and clothes for the day. “Morning, my sweet boy,” she greets me with a kind smile – a deceitful smile. “I’ve brought you some porridge,” she goes on to say, “eat up, put on your day clothes, and I’ll be back in thirty minutes for your daily lessons.” She walks away from the cage, having left my food and clothes within arm’s reach, and makes her way back up the stairs into the main house.
I wipe the sleep from my eyes, give a big yawn (fuck, I’m still extremely tired), stretch out my body (as much as I can), take a morning piss, and finally reach out my arm through the cage bars to get a hold of my breakfast. Oats. Just plain oats boiled tasteless in hot water. “Everything a growing boy needs,” my mother always says. “Breakfast of champions,” my father would add. What a load of bullshit. It’s bland, disgusting, and I am always left hungry when finished with my bowl. The next time I’ll be eating is in the evening.
My mother soon returns after I finish the disappointing meal to commence with my daily education. In all my years, I have learned only that which my parents see fit. Knowledge that would ensure I am free of troubles, worries, and anxieties. Most of my studies consist of religious studies, specifically Christianity – the religion of my most devout of parents, and I suppose by extension, mine as well. Surely there must be other religions out there? My parents have often alluded to this a couple of times, quite by accident, I’m sure.
“Today we will learn about honoring your father and mother, just like the Bible teaches,” my mother says while taking out her own Bible and handing me a notepad and pen. I always have access to my own Bible – I am encouraged to read it as much as possible whenever I can. Hours go by when my mother finally packs up her things, tells me I’m her good baby boy, and leaves me in peace.
A soft ray of sunlight enters through the basement window, and stretching out my hand through the bars, I can just touch it, and I suddenly feel warmth rush over me. Not just from the sunlight itself, but a feeling, a fleeting feeling of freedom flowing through me, and as quickly as the ray of light, it passes out of reach once again. I am once again alone in my small cage – isolated, safe, and lonely.
A few days pass, and while I am busy reading my Bible, I hear a commotion upstairs. Loud noises penetrate through the floors above: thump! Thump! Thump! I begin to stir a bit in anticipation. “What the hell is that?” I think to myself. I hear my father shouting at someone, my mother screaming, “No! No! No! You can’t take him away from us!” Just then, the door to the basement is smashed open, broken into several pieces, like it was made of rice paper. A man, probably two meters tall and broad-shouldered, with a long, big black beard, walks down the stairs and into the basement. He is wearing cargo shorts, a military-style jacket, and a buff on his head. My parents are right behind him, yelling and pleading that he leave me alone.
By this point, I am on my feet, standing as far back from the entrance of the cage as possible, my heart beating fast, my breathing rapid, and my muscles tense – I am afraid.
The man walks up to the cage and looks me up and down. He proceeds to look at the condition of my living circumstances – my room, my cage. He appears sad, almost heartbroken. My father rushes back up the stairs and soon returns with his pistol, and pointing it at the man says, “Leave this place right now or I will shoot you. You have been warned. Now, go!” The man calmly lifts his right hand up, and with a hushed yet powerful voice simply says, “No,” and at that very moment, everything in the room except for me and the man appears to freeze in place. It is like time itself has stopped at this man’s command.
“You do not need to fear me,” the man says while looking me in the eye, “I am here to save you, to free you from your prison, from this cage.” I am dumbfounded. Words completely escape me. For a few brief moments, the only sound that can be heard is the wild beating of my heart. “Do you understand what I am saying?” the man speaks again, this time a soft smile forms on his face. He almost appears majestic in the dim light of the dark basement.
“But,” I finally find my voice again, “I am safe here. There is no reason for me to leave. Nothing that I need to be saved from. The world is a terrible, angry, hateful, and dangerous place, and I think it is best that I stay here.”
The man’s expression starts to shift, now adopting visible confusion. “But you are a prisoner here. These people – your parents – have kept you locked up and hidden from the world your entire life. They have lied to you and fed you false information. The world has ugliness, yes, but it also has beauty and kindness and wonderful people. This life has so much potential, so many possibilities for you to explore and be a part of. Living in this cage is not living, it is, at most, a dead state. I can free you and show you all that this world has to offer, and with time, in return, you can show it what you have to offer it because I know that hidden deep within the husk of your current form is a brilliance waiting to break free and envelop the world. All you have to do is tell me where your parents keep the key for this cage, and I will let you out.”
Behind this brilliant man, I see my parents, still frozen in place, my father sternly pointing his gun at the man, my mother with tears in her eyes and a scream of terror on her face. I look back towards the man and finally take a step forward towards the door of the cage. I stretch out my hand and lift a piece of carpet just in reach. Below the carpet lies the key to the cage. “I am not a prisoner here. I am safe. I am protected. My parents – this place – provides me with all I need. I have no business in the outside world. You may leave now.”
The man now also appears frozen in place; he is struck silent and motionless by my words. “You had the choice to leave all this time, but yet decided to stay locked up in this cage. But why? Surely there is more to it than being afraid of what the world might have in store for you?” The man once again looks sad, but it is now a different sadness than when he first arrived. It seems to cut deeper. “My parents have given me and taught me all that I need. I have no need to leave.”
The man, previously looking proud and powerful, now appears broken and solemn. Without uttering another word, he turns around and walks back up the steps. At the door, he turns around one last time, looks me in the eye, shakes his head, and finally leaves. I sit down on my mattress, my heartbeat and breathing coming back to a steady and calm state. Suddenly, all life returns to the lifeless basement – my parents start screaming and waving their arms about once again. In amazement, they calm themselves when they notice that the man is gone, and I am still in my cage.
I will not abandon all that I know for a life of… God knows what. Terror? Pain? Suffering? My cage will keep me safe. My parents will provide for me. I have all I need. I lay down my head and decide to sleep – an overpowering tiredness suddenly envelops me. Before I close my eyes, I see my parents carefully making their way out of the basement. Before my mother closes the door, she looks back and quietly says “sleep tight, my sweet baby boy. You are always safe here with us.” I drift into a deep sleep.