matrix of linen threads, and coming to rest, finally, on the side of my face. The warmth causes me to stir and turn until my eye crosses the patch, and, with a brilliant blaze, I am awake. Awake, and momentarily confused by my surroundings.
I realize that I am stooping as if to avoid the angle of the barn’s roof and straighten fully, stretching and casting my eyes around the room. My AK lays next to the bed; safety off, round loaded just in case. I bend, check it, and set the safety.
Walking to the bathroom, I take care of necessities. I regard my face in the mirror; lightly tan skin, brown eyes, brown hair, and long beard sun-bleached at the ends. I look long and hard into my own eyes. How well do I like what I have found here in Salem?
Most people in my position would have been overjoyed to have found human companions so close to home. In these circumstances, lacking many of the benefits of society: medicine, dentistry, trade; shouldn’t I?
My decision to hang up my old life was made for me initially by the loss of my job, but the decision to give up, to turn to an agrarian hermitdom on the edge of nowhere, had been my own. I honestly, and with every fiber of my being, love to be completely alone. In the past three years I have suffered from no bouts of real loneliness or confusion on this point--until now.
I feel like I have been walking alone in the woods enjoying the freedom of solitude, turning, dancing, talking to myself, only to realize that I am not alone, that I am again being watched, judged, sized up by others. It makes me nervous.
Warring with this feeling is the realization that I like this strange town. I like Silas and the chance to drink beer instead of the awful prison hooch I’ve concocted. I like Bryce and the knowledge that if I want to, I can check out a book or listen to an album once in awhile; maybe even talk shop.
I stand at the window sill looking at the wall that circles Main Street; the ramparts of cars and dirt and junk. It’s nice to have options. I guess that’s all. I don’t have to give up my life style. I can keep all this humanity at arm’s length and savor its produce when I feel the need.
Also pressing in on my mind is the need for some way to explain the death of that scout, Brian? Yes. These townspeople seem like the type that would want to come visit. How can I explain living in the center of cannibal country?
My mind is clear now and my curiosity is satisfied. I want to get back to the farm and to hell with the rest for now. Time to get moving.
I get my things together, sling the AK from my shoulder, and walk down and out of the apartment building. I turn left and stop by Silas’. I am surprised to find the door open.
“Good morning. I was wondering what happened to you.” Silas calls to me from behind the bar.
I walk over, set down the empty jug, and run my fingers through my beard. “Yeah, I went over and saw Bryce. Nice fellow. Hey, I’m on my way out of town. I’m going to set up shop somewhere around here. I was wondering if you’d fill this up for the road. I can bring some soap or something next time I’m around.”
He grins and exchanges the empty growler on the counter for a cold one from the cooler. “Here you go, man, I’ve got a feeling I’ll see you again. So, all right, how about five bars of soap next time and we’ll call it even for this one and a refill at the time of delivery.”
He runs a tough bargain, but I talk him down to four bars. We shake on it and I grab the sixty four ounces of golden goodness and bid him farewell. The street is empty and I figure it is probably around ten o’clock. I unscrew the cap on the growler of IPA and take a cautious sip. Once I am sure I won’t spill any, I take a longer pull and set off toward
I realize that I am stooping as if to avoid the angle of the barn’s roof and straighten fully, stretching and casting my eyes around the room. My AK lays next to the bed; safety off, round loaded just in case. I bend, check it, and set the safety.
Walking to the bathroom, I take care of necessities. I regard my face in the mirror; lightly tan skin, brown eyes, brown hair, and long beard sun-bleached at the ends. I look long and hard into my own eyes. How well do I like what I have found here in Salem?
Most people in my position would have been overjoyed to have found human companions so close to home. In these circumstances, lacking many of the benefits of society: medicine, dentistry, trade; shouldn’t I?
My decision to hang up my old life was made for me initially by the loss of my job, but the decision to give up, to turn to an agrarian hermitdom on the edge of nowhere, had been my own. I honestly, and with every fiber of my being, love to be completely alone. In the past three years I have suffered from no bouts of real loneliness or confusion on this point--until now.
I feel like I have been walking alone in the woods enjoying the freedom of solitude, turning, dancing, talking to myself, only to realize that I am not alone, that I am again being watched, judged, sized up by others. It makes me nervous.
Warring with this feeling is the realization that I like this strange town. I like Silas and the chance to drink beer instead of the awful prison hooch I’ve concocted. I like Bryce and the knowledge that if I want to, I can check out a book or listen to an album once in awhile; maybe even talk shop.
I stand at the window sill looking at the wall that circles Main Street; the ramparts of cars and dirt and junk. It’s nice to have options. I guess that’s all. I don’t have to give up my life style. I can keep all this humanity at arm’s length and savor its produce when I feel the need.
Also pressing in on my mind is the need for some way to explain the death of that scout, Brian? Yes. These townspeople seem like the type that would want to come visit. How can I explain living in the center of cannibal country?
My mind is clear now and my curiosity is satisfied. I want to get back to the farm and to hell with the rest for now. Time to get moving.
I get my things together, sling the AK from my shoulder, and walk down and out of the apartment building. I turn left and stop by Silas’. I am surprised to find the door open.
“Good morning. I was wondering what happened to you.” Silas calls to me from behind the bar.
I walk over, set down the empty jug, and run my fingers through my beard. “Yeah, I went over and saw Bryce. Nice fellow. Hey, I’m on my way out of town. I’m going to set up shop somewhere around here. I was wondering if you’d fill this up for the road. I can bring some soap or something next time I’m around.”
He grins and exchanges the empty growler on the counter for a cold one from the cooler. “Here you go, man, I’ve got a feeling I’ll see you again. So, all right, how about five bars of soap next time and we’ll call it even for this one and a refill at the time of delivery.”
He runs a tough bargain, but I talk him down to four bars. We shake on it and I grab the sixty four ounces of golden goodness and bid him farewell. The street is empty and I figure it is probably around ten o’clock. I unscrew the cap on the growler of IPA and take a cautious sip. Once I am sure I won’t spill any, I take a longer pull and set off toward
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