Fortress of Solitude
Summary: This very short story is based on "The Pilot".
Disclaimer: Early Edition characters belong to whoever created them. No copyright infringement intended. No profit is being made.
I dedicate this story to my friend Claudine (two guesses as to what inspired this title g.).
Author: Tracy Diane Miller E-mail address: tdmiller82@hotmail.com
Fortress of Solitude
The air here was so pure, so unspoiled, and so unlike the air in the city. In the city, the air reeked of so many things besides for the smoke seeping uninhibited from the exhaust of cars. The city air smelled impatient, as people hurried mindlessly to their destinations often without a kind word to spare for a neighbor. It smelled intolerant, suspicious, and unforgiving; where unintentionally brushing against someone on the street could be an invitation for rudeness or even physical violence. It smelled dangerous, as criminals sat like predators awaiting unsuspecting victims. It smelled overburdened, sometimes unable to handle the demands of so many people, a rat race that was constantly breeding more cynics to perpetuate the vicious cycle of intolerance, suspicion, and unforgiveness.
But the air here smelled peaceful, quiet, and unassuming. And that was exactly what he needed.
The cabin was in the middle of nowhere. It was the perfect fortress of solitude for a man who had happily resigned from the rat race (at least temporarily) to perhaps ponder recent life changes or maybe to escape from an unexpected designation as a hero from a mysterious benefactor. Marissa insisted that The Paper was a miracle. He wasn't too big on miracles right now. She suggested that there had to be a reason why he had been selected and that he should do whatever he could. Well, he tried that and what had it gotten him? An elevator ride to a bank rooftop as a hostage and later a ride in the back of a squad car, handcuffed, taken to the police station and questioned like a dangerous criminal and released as a harmless lunatic!
Thanks, but no thanks. He was having a difficult enough time living as an ordinary guy without complicating his life by throwing heroics into the equation.
He had no idea where life's next journey would take him. He had envisioned that he would remain a married man and someday soon be blessed with children, but Marcia had killed that dream. And while he never expected to stay at Strauss and Associates long enough to pick up that gold watch, he had quit impulsively unable to stomach any more of Pritchard's machinations. Now he was uncertain about his life, unemployed, and soon to be unmarried; so many life changes in so short a time span that no wonder it left him feeling dizzy. He didn't even want to think about tomorrow, especially being forced to think about tomorrow a day early as that paper required. This cabin, his fortress of solitude, was a welcome respite.
He fixed himself an early dinner; he really had to improvise since the only food available in the cabin was an assortment of canned goods and a few items in the refrigerator. But that was okay. He had been on enough camping trips with Dad as a kid that he learned at an early age how to make do with scant provisions. Dad always said on those camping trips that they were men and that men had an inborn instinct how to survive on the land. Mom was always more practical, often sneaking cans of baked beans or sardines, bread, and peanut butter and jelly in his backpack for "emergencies." The emergencies came more often than not, but Dad always made him promise not to tell Mom that they had to rely on her stash.
He found in the cupboard cans of salmon, soup, green beans, and corn. In the refrigerator, he located a loaf of bread, eggs, and milk. It wasn't long before he feasted on his bounty and retired for the night.
The crickets seemed content as they filtered the night air with an aria. The wind joined the symphony, yet sounding a bit restless with its howls.
But he slept, snuggled underneath a blanket, allowing his mind to fall into a state of blissful inertia.
Time stayed awake as the hours ticked away at a fervent pace until it was soon morning.
"Meow!"
He slowly opened one eye, then the other. Then he turned over on his back before getting out of the bed and heading towards the door, all the while praying that the sound he had just heard was a figment of his imagination.
It wasn't.
He stood at the door, in his boxers and undershirt, staring at the cat and the newspaper.
He had hoped that he would be able to escape from this unwanted responsibility, to find sanctuary in a fortress of solitude. But he was about to learn that the only solitude he would achieve would exist in his mind. His destiny was linked to this paper and there was no escaping destiny no matter how impenetrable a fortress.
The End.
Summary: This very short story is based on "The Pilot".
Disclaimer: Early Edition characters belong to whoever created them. No copyright infringement intended. No profit is being made.
I dedicate this story to my friend Claudine (two guesses as to what inspired this title g.).
Author: Tracy Diane Miller E-mail address: tdmiller82@hotmail.com
Fortress of Solitude
The air here was so pure, so unspoiled, and so unlike the air in the city. In the city, the air reeked of so many things besides for the smoke seeping uninhibited from the exhaust of cars. The city air smelled impatient, as people hurried mindlessly to their destinations often without a kind word to spare for a neighbor. It smelled intolerant, suspicious, and unforgiving; where unintentionally brushing against someone on the street could be an invitation for rudeness or even physical violence. It smelled dangerous, as criminals sat like predators awaiting unsuspecting victims. It smelled overburdened, sometimes unable to handle the demands of so many people, a rat race that was constantly breeding more cynics to perpetuate the vicious cycle of intolerance, suspicion, and unforgiveness.
But the air here smelled peaceful, quiet, and unassuming. And that was exactly what he needed.
The cabin was in the middle of nowhere. It was the perfect fortress of solitude for a man who had happily resigned from the rat race (at least temporarily) to perhaps ponder recent life changes or maybe to escape from an unexpected designation as a hero from a mysterious benefactor. Marissa insisted that The Paper was a miracle. He wasn't too big on miracles right now. She suggested that there had to be a reason why he had been selected and that he should do whatever he could. Well, he tried that and what had it gotten him? An elevator ride to a bank rooftop as a hostage and later a ride in the back of a squad car, handcuffed, taken to the police station and questioned like a dangerous criminal and released as a harmless lunatic!
Thanks, but no thanks. He was having a difficult enough time living as an ordinary guy without complicating his life by throwing heroics into the equation.
He had no idea where life's next journey would take him. He had envisioned that he would remain a married man and someday soon be blessed with children, but Marcia had killed that dream. And while he never expected to stay at Strauss and Associates long enough to pick up that gold watch, he had quit impulsively unable to stomach any more of Pritchard's machinations. Now he was uncertain about his life, unemployed, and soon to be unmarried; so many life changes in so short a time span that no wonder it left him feeling dizzy. He didn't even want to think about tomorrow, especially being forced to think about tomorrow a day early as that paper required. This cabin, his fortress of solitude, was a welcome respite.
He fixed himself an early dinner; he really had to improvise since the only food available in the cabin was an assortment of canned goods and a few items in the refrigerator. But that was okay. He had been on enough camping trips with Dad as a kid that he learned at an early age how to make do with scant provisions. Dad always said on those camping trips that they were men and that men had an inborn instinct how to survive on the land. Mom was always more practical, often sneaking cans of baked beans or sardines, bread, and peanut butter and jelly in his backpack for "emergencies." The emergencies came more often than not, but Dad always made him promise not to tell Mom that they had to rely on her stash.
He found in the cupboard cans of salmon, soup, green beans, and corn. In the refrigerator, he located a loaf of bread, eggs, and milk. It wasn't long before he feasted on his bounty and retired for the night.
The crickets seemed content as they filtered the night air with an aria. The wind joined the symphony, yet sounding a bit restless with its howls.
But he slept, snuggled underneath a blanket, allowing his mind to fall into a state of blissful inertia.
Time stayed awake as the hours ticked away at a fervent pace until it was soon morning.
"Meow!"
He slowly opened one eye, then the other. Then he turned over on his back before getting out of the bed and heading towards the door, all the while praying that the sound he had just heard was a figment of his imagination.
It wasn't.
He stood at the door, in his boxers and undershirt, staring at the cat and the newspaper.
He had hoped that he would be able to escape from this unwanted responsibility, to find sanctuary in a fortress of solitude. But he was about to learn that the only solitude he would achieve would exist in his mind. His destiny was linked to this paper and there was no escaping destiny no matter how impenetrable a fortress.
The End.