Sunday September 25th, 2016

The exercise:

Write about something or someone that is: isolated.

Spent as much of today as possible off my feet. It was good.

Forgot to mention that we got the car back yesterday. Kat had to pick it up after the garage had closed, so I'll have to stop by tomorrow to find out how much it cost us. Just happy to have it back right now.


Towering trees protect me in every direction for miles. Beyond them? A thousand foot cliff to the north. A deadly, wind ravaged mountain to the south. Waves thundering upon beaches to the east and west.

This place is not easy to reach.

I like it that way.

Visitors do not seek me out. No one will ever stumble upon me by accident. No questions to answer, no battles to wage. No radio or TV or internet. No intrusions.

I am alone with the elements out here.

As it was intended from the very beginning.

It is the natural way.

At least, that's what I keep telling myself...

I'm certain that my captors would see things somewhat differently.


Greg said...

I hope you have comfortable shoes for the bakery work; it's only with the mention of you spending your day off your feet that I remembered how important that is when you stand a lot. Getting the car back must be a relief; I hope they'll let you trade produce for the repairs :)
Hmm, the scenery is lovely and I find myself agreeing with your narrator about its desirability, but then things start to turn and grow a little darker until you reach the last line, and then I wonder what's really going on here.
This needs to be continued. Just so you know.

The sun had nearly set; the beautiful colours of the sky had faded away to indigo and black and the trees were barely visible as silhouettes now. Stars speckled the sky above and I leaned against the wooden railing of the Forensic Examiner's veranda and looked up at them. I had no idea what the constellations were, or even what to look for. I considered making up some of my own for a moment: Look ma, there's the gimpy duck! but I felt too tired. The wind blew in from the north, stirring a sussuration in the trees and cutting coldly through me. In these parts folks said that that wind blew through you straight to the afterlife and, shivering, I could believe it. I straightened up and turned to go back into the FE's house.
My house.
My name is, currently, Dwight E. Fossenheimer, Forensic Examiner for Iceberg County, Minnesota. When they named this place I think it was supposed to be a joke, not a prediction, but hey, shit happens. Dwight himself is dead and stuffed into a cave that bore the signs of being an animal lair, so I'm expecting he's mostly bones, and well-chewed ones, by now. I picked up the important bits and carried his life on for him, and although we're not really that similar-looking (he was a red-head, I'm blonde; he was running to seed, I run every morning; he thought food came from a can and I can cook squirrel in eighteen different ways... you get the idea) it turns out he was so much a loner than so far all I've been asked is if I've lost a little weight recently.
The kitchen is a homely place; when I arrived only the microwave was plugged in and there were ten cans of dog food in the cupboard and no dog. Now there are sharp knives in the drawers, vegetables in the crisper and the root-cellar; this evening there's left-over brisket on the cutting board that'll make a fine hash tomorrow. There's a dog in the basket on the floor too. I think she was called Pookums (kids, hey?) but she's happier being called Merle. Memories.
There are books on the table; Dwight studied for his job and I'm grateful since I'm having to study it now too. It's interesting, and it's given me ideas and let me refine others. Funny how things turn up when you need them most.
The phone rings and my fingers twitch for a moment. Some habits are hard to break; I've had to put the knife over on the sideboard to avoid any... accidents. I count to three, and then I answer it.
"Douglas Creek? Three dead? ...a dog collar? Pookums."
Seems like it's a 24/7 job, but that's nothing new.

Marc said...

Greg - I usually wear my running shoes. They're not ideal, but they're not too bad. I'd invest in proper baker's shoes if I had the money.

All right, all right - I'll add this one to the list :)

Really enjoyed the details in your opening, as well as the progression and slow reveal of the character and his story. Speaking of things that could use some continuing... :D