It wasn't until about two days had passed, that Wilfrid had finally awoke from his pain induced slumber. At least, he believed two days had passed. Trapped in a room with no sunlight, made it impossible to appreciate time’s presence.

His only hint was the analogue clock on one of the bunker’s walls. It was around 10am when Wilfrid left his house, and the whole fiasco with the mob and the butcher ensued. According to the dusty clock, it was 7:22am. That meant it a day had definitely gone by, but Wilfrid felt like more time had passed than just one measly day.

His evidence for this was the excruciatingly painful empty void that was his stomach. The cold damp that lurked around his crotch, was his second clue. His final clue was the various soft and hard textures he could feel moving around in his underwear.

“Yup… I shit myself.” He nodded to himself, after taking a deep sniff of the air.

He began to waddle around the room in search of a means to clean himself of his unwanted bodily fluids.

It didn't take long for Wilfrid to discover a cardboard box, that was propped up on a shelf, full of toilet paper. He began his gruelling task of cleaning himself, one wipe at a time.

His tasked eventually led him to find a bottle of water, soap, a towel and a cheap body deodorant.

He took off all his clothes, as they were all caked in dirt and the the smell of dry sweat. He rubbed his body down with the bar of soap. He didn't neglect a single spot on his tanned skin. Wilfrid even lathered his hands and rubbed the residue into his wavy greasy hair.

After the soap dwindled to half its original size, Wilfrid then placed the contents of the water bottle onto his lubricated body. Although he tried to conserve the liquid, Wilfrid ended up using the entire amount of water that was in the two litre bottle.

After he had washed the soap of his body, and sprayed his body with an abundance of deodorant, he then went off on a journey for fresh clothes.

He scavenged through the vast amount of boxes located on the shelf. In his search he found several boxes full of water, magazines, pens & paper, fire starting tools, torches, batteries medicine, and finally clothes.

The clothes were plain in colour, but they looked warm and durable. Not a single item was smaller than a XXL, because no in Wilfrid’s family was.

First, Wilfrid put on a pair of black boxer shorts, then green cargo pants, a long-sleeved grey jumper, and white wool socks. Wilfrid must have lost some weight recently. He used to be too big for a mere XXL item, but now the clothing he wore managed to surrounded his entire body, albeit very tightly.

Now that his body was once again clean and warm, it was dinner time. Wilfrid searched the untouched boxes with an enthusiasm of a whimsical street urchin.

He found a box full of beef jerky, hard biscuits and raisins. He devoured a third of the boxes contents, until he remember the importance of rationing resources.

Not sure what to do with himself now, Wilfrid began to wander around the room in search of something to amuse him.

He saw a calendar below the clock, and marked off what he believed the date to be.

Now that his body had been sated, his worries about the outside world came flooding in. It was so bloody tempting to leave this room, but Wilfrid remembered his promise to his father, and vowed he would leave until not a single drop of water remained.

With the end of that thought, WIlfrid looked for something to read.

* * * * *

Wilfrid marked of the calendar with a black X, for the sixth time. It had been six excruciating days since Wilfrid had started his temporary new life down here.

He was bored. He had read every single piece of reading material - some twice. He managed to entertain himself at first by drawing and writing short stories. But, he was never able to lose himself in enjoyment of these tasks. In the back of his mind was the constant wondering of the outside world.

By now the blue smoke must have affected everywhere. It also seemed that because of it, food was running low. If everything turns into smoke when it’s killed, then that means it is now impossible to eat meat. The image of the angry mob that seemed to want his farm’s food, suddenly flashed in Wilfrid’s mind.

Wilfrid sighed. With nothing left to entertain him, and the anxiety of the outside world infecting him mind, he was left with no choice… He was going to have to exercise.

* * * * *

Eighteen days had now passed since Wilfrid came here. It was 4:40pm, and Wilfrid was currently on his thirteenth push-up.

His skin shone with sweat. His arms shock. His breathe burned.

For twelve whole days, Wilfrid had spent a great majority of the time exercising. The outside world was not going to be the same place he grew up in; that was for sure. It was going to be a war-zone, and guys as fat as Wilfrid don’t do well on the battlefield.

He did a wide variety of exercises to help strengthen his body and make it lighter - more agile. Push-ups, sit-ups, crutches, squats, burpees, star-jumps, handstands, dips, and a few other body movements. His weakest exercises were push-ups and sit-ups, due to his weight and giant stomach getting in the way. He mostly used a jumping rope as his main activity. This was because of its effectiveness at calorie burning, and increasing the stamina he so desperately needed. Since his father didn't store a jump rope, he had no choice but to use a thick jute rope as an alternative. If he wasn't careful, he would sometimes hit himself with the rope, causing painful bruising and lacerations.

Wilfrid made it to thirty-seven push ups, before collapsing onto the ground in exhaustion.

* * * * *

Twenty-eight days in, and clothes on his body no longer suffocated him. In fact, the XXL clothing were all quite baggy as of late.

He actually spent more time exercising than a person should. However, ever since he was locked down here, he had nothing but nightmares to keep him company. Every attempt at sleep all ended the same. Wilfrid naked and dangling from a hook. The cold air of a refrigerator chokes him. A giant man with a the head of a pig stares at him with a gleeful expression. The rest of the dream is just the butcher slowly carving Wilfrid’s fat body. The longest he made it through the slaughter, before waking up screaming, he was just a head - watching the butcher make sausages from what he had cut off...

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

His fear was the fuel that allowed him to persevere through the bone cracking exercises.

* * * * *

Thirty-three days now. Wilfrid worried that insanity was right around the corner. An animal should not go this long without interacting with another. It was so maddeningly lonely, on several occasions, Wilfrid had considered creating an imaginary friend.  

He was currently in the midst of dancing. A simple dance, he wasn’t entirely sure he was doing correctly - to be honest. Right fist out, right fist in. Left fist out, left fist in. Block. Swing the right arm. Now swing the left arm. Block. Don’t forget to keep your feet moving!

For two weeks now, Wilfrid had been performing this dance. It was taught to him when he was around ten years old, in a musty old gym, surrounded by muscular men, clad in nothing but nylon shorts and novelty sized gloves.

Sweat flung from his topless body, as he lost himself in the ecstasy of the dance.

After doing his routine for nearly two hours, Wilfrid began to do some stretches. All the exercising he had done these past few weeks had informed him that his body was stiffer than a dry plank of wood. So he now religiously stretched his body before and after every workout - which was about five times a day.

After he was done touching his toes and attempting to perform a split, he greedily wolfed down nearly an entire litre of water. He looked at the stash of water he placed in the corner of the room. Over three quarters of the bottles were empty. Due to his overzealous exercise routine, he had consumed the water three times quicker, than it was meant to last. It seemed he’d only be in the bunker for a week at the most. A small smile formed on his lips at that thought.

Wilfrid’s stomach suddenly rumbled. “Time to eat, I guess.” He said , as he walked over to a box of wheat crackers.

* * * * *

Day forty… Wilfrid shook the bottle above his mouth, in an effort to get the last few precious drops.

He threw the empty bottle into the pile with the rest of them. That was the last of his water, and thus his promise to his father had been fulfilled.

He slowly climbed the wooden steps that lead to his freedom. Wilfrid brushed his hand against the cold steel door. Countless times he had touched this metal barrier, so close to opening, and now the time had finally arrived. He was scared. He had been mentally preparing himself for this day, but it seemed he wasn’t able to completely prepare himself.

Wilfrid stared at the door for about five minutes, before finally opening it. A new taste of air invited him to the new world.

He quickly climbed the basement stairs and made his way to the living room. His body shook from the cold. His house appeared to be empty. The front door was open, the place was mess - clothes were scattered everywhere.

Wilfrid wasn't a fool. He didn't expect his family to be here. If they were, he was pretty sure he wouldn't have been in the bunker for so long.

After investigating the entirety of the house, and not finding a shred of evidence that indicated someone had been living here recently, Wilfrid did something he had been wanting to do for over a month… Have a bath.

The water system still seemed to work, but as he expected, the boiler did not. The water was so cold it stung, but to man would smelt nothing but his own sweat, piss, and shit, it was bliss. He could have boiled water on his fireplace, but that would take far too long.

Wilfrid typically liked to dry naturally, but the situation didn't really recommend it.

After a couple minutes of vigorously rubbing a towel on his wet skin, he went in search of clothes. Since he was in peak winter season and planned to venture of the farm, he needed some steady clothes.

Green cargo pants, leather belt, thermal underwear, grey vest, long-sleeved black t-shirt, black hoodie, grey waterproof coat, thermal socks, black trainers, wool gloves and hat. He was slightly pleased at the realisation that all his clothes were now too loose on his body. While it was nice knowing his new exercise-full lifestyle was paying off, he did look pretty ridiculous right now. He would have to search for some new clothes at some point.

He went back down into the bunker with a large rucksack, filled it with the leftover rations and medicine. He then filled an aluminium flash with water, and placed it into his black bag.

Wilfrid then acquired two of his dad’s Bowie knives. He placed one of them into his bag, and the other in his dad’s knife holster - which he put around his waist. After his short experience with the mob and the butcher, he knew that he was going to need weapons.

Unfortunately, it seemed that all of his dad’s guns were missing. The best thing he could find was a large woodcutting axe, propped up next to his dad’s bed. He grabbed the axe and when downstairs, to the kitchen.

He ate a quick meal and propped the axe on his left shoulder.

With nothing left to do, Wilfrid finally left home.

He walked about twenty feet out of his house, turned around and looked at his home, most likely for the last time.

“Henry, Keith, Dad… I don’t know if any of you are still alive. Frankly I’m not quite sure if I care; to be honest… You guys bullied and beat me. And you never let me be me! I wanted to go to college! Go to university! Get a job that didn’t involve me cleanin’ up shit and covering me body in gross callouses...But... But-" Wilfrid inhaled deeply.  "-I guess we’re still family, huh. I don’t know what’s happened, since I’ve been locked up in that suspicious bunker of yours, dad… Frankly, I’m fuckin’ scared out my mind! But I asked for this, didn’t I..? I’d be a tad rude to whoever caused shit to go topsy-turvy, to just ignore this new world they made for losers like me… I guess this is it… I’m off! Henry, Keith, Dad… I don’t know when I’ll be back - or if I’ll be back… I’ll try to keep an eye out for ya on me travels… Later!” He yelled at his home. His brain a swarm of conflicting emotions. His eye’s leaked a warm salty liquid.

Now having said what he felt like he had to say, Wilfrid was content. He turned back around, no longer facing the house he grew up in. With the weight of his resources on his back. The weight of his weapon on his shoulder, and the weight of his expectations on his heart. Wilfrid marched towards the new world.

It was times like this, Wilfrid wished he could whistle.