The Solitude

The Solitude

Despite the clear sky and bright sun shining its heavenly rays on to the earth below, the morning was very cold and windy. It had rained last night, and a ghostly mist now hovered over the forest like a shroud, slightly obscuring the green grass and leaves on the trees laden with morning dew. Up above, small birds flew across the forest canopy and down below squirrels and chipmunks scurried back and forth across the forest floor, none making enough noise or commotion to ruin the peaceful morning aura. On a dark, lonely road cutting through the forest and bordered by oaks and evergreens, a solitary figure silently walked along, slowly put purposefully, never straying from his fixed course on the smooth asphalt but seemingly oblivious to his surroundings. The solitary figure was an average sized man wearing a brown corduroy jacket, faded blue jeans, heavy brown work boots and a gray wool hat over his dark brown hair, which was messy and unkempt.

His face was unnaturally pale contrasted against his hair and his hazel eyes had a haunted, dead look in them, staring straight ahead with fixed determination. Every now and then, the lonely cry of a bird would echo across the dense green forest, causing him to quicken his pace, but mostly his surroundings were pervaded by an eerie silence which frightened him more than the dark woods or lonely cries. While walking up a steep hill he began to hear the pleasant sounds of rushing water announcing the existence of a nearby river or stream. Sure enough, when he reached the top of the hill and looked down there was an old but sturdy looking red covered bridge.

From where he was standing he could easily see that it wasn't very long but still...it frightened him. Almost immediately his mind drifted back to distant childhood memories where his older brother would tell him scary stories about a bloody ghost that haunted a covered bridge near his home. And it was red. It was dark inside the bridge, not pitch black, but shadowy, and although he knew at the back of his mind that this wasn't the same bridge that had frightened him as a child, the uncanny resemblance made him think that there might be some other unholy specter lurking in there, silently waiting for him to step in so it could claim it's victim.

While he had never been a strong believer in the paranormal, nowadays he couldn't help but wonder if the world lurked with sinister ghosts and demons. The man took off his backpack and brought out a powerful flashlight he found had come in handy on several occasions in the past. He turned it on as he began to walk down the hill towards the bridge and it flashed strong and bright. It always comforted him to have the flashlight handy, and he hoped that if there was anything hiding in there, the light would either scare it off or reveal it's location to him before it could attack and gain the upper hand in a possible fight, if that was even possible, and he wasn't sure it was.

After entering the bridge he began to walk faster, his footfalls echoing through the damp enclosure. He was out in less than a minute, to his surprise and relief, and after he made it through he couldn't help but feel a bit childish for being so scared of a simple bridge. However, the light humor of the situation quickly vanished when he looked at what lay ahead of him. He now found himself standing atop another hill, this one larger and steeper, overlooking a silent green valley. And in that valley was situated a quaint looking village. A strong wind blew upwards from the bottom of the hill, chilling him, and ruffling his hair and clothes.

Even though he was wearing heavy clothing he wasn't at all surprised to find himself holding his body for warmth. Wherever there was a small remnant of human civilization, however small it may be, the traveler knew deep down that it offered only two things for him, hope or despair. He desperately wanted hope, as he had been through too much despair in his life, especially over the past year. He glanced down at the village, which, despite being quite small, was separated across the middle by a small stream or river which wound across the entire valley and then back up into the misty green hills and mountains. Despite looking very quaint and rustic, complete with smoke curling from some old farmhouse chimneys, he thought to himself that this is what Starkfield must have looked like to Ethan Frome and Mattie Silver just before they took that fateful sleigh ride.

It reminded him of the small town he had grown up in back in New York. He found himself starting to feel hopelessly nostalgic. But there would be no more tears, he had spent far too much time crying in the past, and he felt he no longer had the right to. Taking a deep breath, he prepared for his downhill descent into the village to see if he could find someone or something that might bring some light and warmth to the cold, dark void his life had now become. Walking down the hill, steadily and carefully, towards the village at the center of the valley, he took in his surroundings and noticed that the hill was curiously absent of the birds and other forest animals that usually congregated, especially nowadays, at places like this.

It could mean anything of course, and deep down he knew that, but at this point in his journey he was willing to hold on to anything that might provide hope or a reason to move on. The road he walked on was surprisingly well-preserved, almost like a cherished historical artifact in a museum, and the closer he got to the village, the more eager he became as it looked surprisingly clean. He passed a signboard on the way down indicating the name of the village, Riverdale. Most villages of Riverdale's size and location were far more rundown, filled with buildings looted, destroyed, and burned right down to the ground, slowly but surely becoming one with the very earth which once had served as their foundations. But this one still seemed cozy in an odd sort of way.

Less than ten minutes later, he made it to the outskirts of the village. Back in the old days, it certainly would have taken him at least ten minutes longer, but since beginning his endless wandering across the land, he had found that he had grown much stronger and faster than he had ever been before, although aside from increasing his chances for survival, it didn't bring him much joy, he knew he would give all of his new found strength in a heartbeat if it meant life could go back to the way it used to be, as boring as it had seemed to him at the time. The old saying, it seemed, was true after all, you don't know what you got till it's gone.It was still as silent as when he first laid eyes upon it, and it seemed strangely even more so now that he had finally entered it's vicinity.

It seemed like the typical village you would find in the green mountains and valleys of New England, a town center or business district containing all of the stores, a town hall and town common surrounded by several residential streets, and a few cozy looking farmhouses on the outskirts, nothing too conspicous, but at that very moment, in the somber silence of it all, it chilled him. Lately, when traveling through towns and villages like this his mind started playing tricks on him. Out of the corner of his eye he sometimes imagined he saw ghostly faces peering out at him from the shadows or heard low, hushed voices emanating from everywhere and nowhere at once.

"Hellooooo, is anybody here?!" he shouted with as much force as he could muster, his voice echoing across the wide expanse.

"I promise you will not be harmed!" he continued.

"Please, don't be afraid, I come in peace!"

He shouted again two more times, but just as the first time, the only sounds he heard in response were the impersonal sounds of nature, the leaves rustling on the trees, the shutters banging against the windows, birds singing high in the sky, and somewhere close by, the sound of river water rushing swiftly off towards the surrounding forest, what he correctly assumed was the inspiration behind the town's name. He realized that if there was anyone who still lived within the confines of the village, they were not going to present themselves to him without some effort on his part, meaning he had no choice but to search the abandoned cars, trucks, stores, and homes surrounding him on all sides which at one time had made up the small, but thriving village of Riverdale, Massachusetts. He wasn't too upset about having to resort to that, as he had done it many times before, but he was just so damn tired, he wanted nothing more than to be comforted by the presence of another human being.

He carefully surveyed his surroundings, trying to decide where he should enter first. He was standing on what used to be the main street of the town. There was a hardware store, a deli, a bike shop, and an antique shop among others. He decided to go into the antique shop for no reason other than that it was the closest to where he was standing, but he had always held a fondness for antique shops, mostly because of the golden nostalgia which seemed to overcome him whenever he set foot in one, as though he had stepped through a portal into the past. The bold lettering on the sign above the door proclaimed it's name, Green Valley Antiques.

Now, stepping into the old interior of the shop, perhaps he wished for that feeling again, only a different sort of nostalgia, the kind where instead of being greeted by silence, emptiness, and the foul stench of death lingering in the air, he would be greeted by warmth, light, and the sounds of other curious patrons walking around, admiring the antiques, laughing out loud or simply gazing in wonder at the items for sale. Admittedly, it wasn't much to strive for, but at that point in his life, it would be the most beautiful thing in the world to experience. Instead, what he got was pretty much the same thing he got everywhere else he had been. The place was completely deserted and absolutely filthy, with most of the items either stolen or destroyed, as was the small apartment he discovered above the shop. Most of the food, clothes, and furniture was missing, and the food which remained was quite clearly inedible, as it stank to high heaven, was covered in maggots and fungus, and had rotted to the point where he couldn't even tell what it had once been. Perhaps, he thought with a shudder, that was actually a blessing in disguise.

After exiting the shop, he decided that instead of searching through the other stores on the main street, he would first search the large residential houses clustered on the numerous maze-like streets. If searching there proved to be of no success he would come back to the business district before moving on. Running swiftly towards the nearest residential street, he first entered a large white house with blue shutters which oddly reminded him of a dollhouse. Walking through the front door, he found himself standing within a rather spacious, elegantly furnished living room bathed in morning sunlight shining through the large bay windows situated right next to the front door.

This pleasant, joyful scene was promptly ruined by the sight of a solitary skeleton located far beyond the reach of the divine rays of light which illuminated, he now realized, only a small part of a much larger room. It sat at what appeared to be a dining room table, grinning at him silently, almost mockingly, from the cold shadows which flourished there. It was dressed in a large white dress with rose patterns all over it, eerily reminding him of a life-sized doll, thus completing the dollhouse vibe the house had gave him right from the start. It would have scared him less than a year ago, but no longer would he flee in terror like a gutless coward.

Instead,almost instinctively, he walked right up to it and ran his hand along the cold exterior of it's skull, gazing right into its hollow black pits which had once functioned as eyes. The bones were cold, brittle, and utterly devoid of flesh . Giant black rats could be seen and heard, scurrying in the walls and scampering along the cold wooden floor, staying in the darkness and away from the strong morning sunlight that filtered in through the dusty window panes. The man saw one of them gnawing on what looked to be a human finger bone. Heading into the kitchen he found it completely empty aside from a table with a large porcelain bowl on top of it. Heading upstairs he found all of the rest of the rooms just as empty though in one of them he found a scrawling on the wall, written either in red paint or blood. It strangely reminding him of the iconic "redrum" from the movie The Shining. Although it was written poorly, and was very short, it nevertheless scared him, which was an all too common occurrence nowadays. It stated simply "Help us we are in Hell".

He quickly ran back down the stairs and out the front door. Standing on the grassy front lawn, he stopped to catch his breath before continuing on and cautiously entering the six other houses lining the street. The first two were completely silent and deserted. In the basement of the latter one he discovered blood stains all over the walls and black soot blanketing the floor. It reminded him of a crematorium. In the other four he discovered more skeletons, mostly of humans but also of dogs and cats, sitting on chairs and lying on beds, couches, and floors, grinning at him from the shadows. They seemed almost to be laughing at him. Finally, looking towards the very end of the street he beheld a tall, gothic, white-steepled church.

Although initially hesitant to enter it, as it looked quite dark and foreboding, his curiosity quickly got the better of him and he ventured inside anyway. After entering the church, it was initially so dark that he couldn't see his hands in front of his face, but after his eyes began to adjust to the dim light, he realized that perhaps it was better that way. Looking towards the pews he saw seven skeletons sitting there silently and faced toward the pulpit, where an eighth skeleton dressed as a minister sat and stared down at him. He thought to himself how they must have felt before they died, feeling that god had forsaken them. There were more messages written on the walls that he could only make out with his powerful flashlight, mostly the exact same kind he had seen in other churches and monasteries during his journey, talking about god and the devil, heaven and hell, but one message in particular stood out to him, it stated, in black lettering, "Don't give up hope, the world is much bigger than you think."

The man staggered backwards after reading this. It seemed almost to have been written for him personally. He didn't know what to make of it. He had never considered himself a particularly spiritual or religious man, but there had been moments in his life that he couldn't help but wonder if there really was some sort of benevolent, omnipresent god or divine force that permeated the world. He was amazed to find himself on the verge of tears. It wouldn't have made much difference to him a year earlier, but now, the fact that he was standing in a church, even if it was dark and decrepid, somehow made this experience all the more beautiful and meaningful.

Looking at the skeletons, who, before their passing, were people who strongly believed in the thoughts, emotions, and sensations now running through his mind and body, instead of frightening him, comforted him. Searching throughout the rest of the town over the course of the day, he was only greeted with more of the same nonsense. The hope and optimism he felt after his experience in the church slowly began to fade as time went on due to the combination of exhaustion, anger, and anxiety he increasingly felt while walking around. Even though he knew deep down in his mind that this is all he would find, he still found himself depressed and enraged.

He walked outside and screamed loudly, hoping that someone, anyone, would come and console him. But no one came. There were no police to call and no shrinks to talk to if he felt he was losing his mind. All that responded to his cry were the simple sounds of nature; birds chirping, the wind blowing, the leaves and twigs snapping and crunching beneath his feet. It had been the same story everywhere else. Angry and frustrated he pounded his fist against the hood of a car and screamed at the sky once more, even though he knew no one would hear it. This was just too much. The endless solitude was really starting to get to him.

Sometimes he had the uncanny feeling that somebody or something was watching him. Some sinister presence just out of reach, lurking and leering at him, too far for him to see, but close enough for him to feel. He had never experienced these things before this dark descent into hell. Now he imagined he knew how it must have felt for all those people left in solitary confinement. But he wouldn't give up. He had come so far and he couldn't give up now. He remembered all too well when it began, how it all seemed so trivial and meaningless in comparison to his day to day life.

He had just turned twenty-one and all of the dreams and aspirations he had as a child were finally coming to fruition, after much hard work and perseverance on his part of course, but he still felt at times that the hands of fate had been gently gliding him through the first stages of life all the way until the news reports suddenly started becoming more frightening and people around him, people that he knew and loved began getting sick and dying left and right. People started saying it was the end of the world, and then all of a sudden his minor grievances and petty problems took a back burner to the larger problem at hand, one which ended up changing his life and twisting his worldview forever. Up until "it" he thought he had a pretty good grasp of his fellow man and what they were capable of, however "it" succeeding in proving time and time again how wrong he truly was, dead wrong.

It was a deadly man-made virus initially developed in a research facility in Siberia and stolen by a terrorist organization who proceeded to release it into the atmosphere. It quickly mutated and became lethal, mostly to humans. It spread across the world like a pall and killed all of his family and friends. He had no idea how he survived, but he must have had an immunity that most other people simply did not possess. But in the end, it simply did not matter anymore, because the fact was that he survived where others had perished, and that had to mean something. And he would never give up searching, as the message in the church said, he should never give up hope, and if there were other survivors out there than he would find them, plain and simple, there simply was no other option for him. The world was now, much like in prehistoric times, a very large and lonely place.

He realized at that point that he had no reason to remain in the village except for rest, it was as dead and deserted as every other village, town, and city he had wandered through on his journey. He had no choice but to move on to the next inhabited place and hope for the best. He remembered as a teenager reading a Mary Shelley story called "The Last Man", about a man living at the end of the 21st century, and almost laughing at how ludicrous it all sounded to him. The notion that there could ever be a last man was completely inconceivable. He couldn't wrap his mind around it then and he couldn't do it now either, although he was a bit disturbed by how prophetic it seemed to him now. It was getting late out, nearing twilight, and he knew the best option for him would be to find a place in town to sleep for the night and then head out first thing tomorrow morning.

For what it was worth, the darkening twilight sky was absolutely beautiful, in stark contrast to the darkness surrounding him. It was an exotic blend of different shades including crimson, gold, and violet. The setting sun was like a shining jewel descending into oblivion. He couldn't help but stand there looking at the marvelous display filled with childlike awe and wonder. Hours later, the sky was pitch black and all the multitude of ancient stars and constellations hovered above the large farmhouse where he quietly slumbered, dreaming pleasant dreams instead of the nightmares which had tormented him over the previous nights.

Later on, in the soft warmth of the morning light, he got up out of his makeshift bed feeling as refreshed and well-rested as ever. In his preparations to leave the village he went inside an old convenience store and raided the nearly empty shelves for canned and boxed food. He certainly had his preferences but he understood that he could no longer afford to be picky, as food was no longer as common or convenient as it used to be. After gathering up all the food he wanted, and putting it into his backpack, he then headed over to the icy river coursing under a wooden bridge in the middle of town and took a nice long drink from it. It tasted great, and really helped to wake him up. He also splashed some water on his face and washed his hands while staring at his reflection. The person he saw staring back at him seemed much stronger and wiser than the reflection he had seen before the pandemic struck just one year ago. Cold and haunted, yes, but beyond that, he could truly see a strength and dignity he had never seen before.

"You must not give up!" he told himself.

"This world is such an enormous place. As long as it remains, then so does hope and the chance for a brighter future. Never forget, that you are a survivor, and if you've survived then there simply MUST be others as well! Always remember, no matter what, that no one is alone!"

After saying these words he did have to admit that they gave his tired mind and body strength, because he knew there was truth in them, and that it was simply a matter of time before it was finally proven to him. He kept a written list of all the towns and cities he visited but beyond that he carried no map whatsoever. He still retained a very good sense of memory and direction, one of the things that fortunately hadn't faded away with time was his mental compass, and he cherished it dearly. He wanted to strengthen his mental compass, and he felt a map would only serve to weaken it. It was nearly eight o'clock and the clear morning sun shined through the windows, warming him and making him feel more at ease, much like he felt yesterday in the church. He understood that he had many years to go before reaching actual old age, but somehow he felt at least ten years older then he did only a year ago. Looking back on his memories from back then, it almost seemed like he was now an entirely different person living in a strange, alien world.

He remembered from school that human beings are social creatures by nature and even though some of us may be more solitary and independent than others, we still inherently cherish our relationships with our family and friends. He no longer had those things to hold on to, and it clearly had a very negative effect on him. As he began walking down the asphalt road towards the hill leading out of the valley, he stopped about halfway there and looked back towards Riverdale, silent and peaceful, and couldn't help but think to himself how beautiful it looked. He could almost imagine how it must have seemed to the people who once lived there, probably bored out of their minds, greatly looking forward to the day when they would grow up and leave this stagnant old town forever, not realizing what they had before they lost it for good.

With these thoughts still running through his mind he turned back towards the lush green hills ahead of him and began walking, step by step, hoping that wherever the road led him, it would provide him with some happiness, or at least a little hope.