It was January 1, 2021.
The day prior was the first New Years Eve where the streets were silent.
I contemplated for half an hour whether or not it was safe for me to go outside.
It had been months. The air couldn't still be poisonous. It just couldn't be!
But what if it was? The news said it was, but I still saw plants growing outside.
I still saw rabbits and rodents walking around my backyard.
The government had put chains on our doors to make sure no one left home, but I had a secret way out.
I had quietly been digging a hole in my parents' basement ever since they were taken away from us for having the illness.
My younger sister always stayed in her room and kept to herself, so I didn't have to worry about her ratting me out.
January 1st, I had finally hit the tile on the side of the house. I was so afraid to lift it up.
What if I did die from the air? What would happen to my sister?
I decided to take the chance. I pushed the tile with all my strength and it raised up and slammed onto the tile next to it.
I pulled myself up and stood outside.
Nothing happened. My throat didn't tighten up like they said it would, nor did I cough up blood.
I began walking down my street and never looked back.
My sister would be okay. She was always in her room anyways.