Fable of Happiness

Kassen

I WAS A CREATURE OF routine.

The moment the sun peeked over the horizon, I was wide awake. Not sleepy or sluggish or half in a dream. When my eyes opened, my senses were sharp, my mind alert, my body ready for a fight. I wasn’t sure if this was a result of my circumstances or something in my genes, but I’d never find out.

I’d never understand why, after eleven years of solitude, I’d chosen to stay. I’d never know if the world had collapsed or if humans still roamed the streets.

I wasn’t interested in questions like that. Partly because it didn’t change my life but mostly because I didn’t care.

As long as I was left alone, I was happy.

As long as I didn’t do anything reckless and get hurt, I could live a decent life hidden from the world.

Getting out of bed, I quickly fluffed my pillow and tucked the blankets into tidy corners under the mattress. The single bed was too small for me now, and the frame had sagged in the middle, but it was the only place I felt safe enough to let sleep take me.

It didn’t matter that this place had twenty other bedrooms. Each one was a grave for a devil. I’d shut the doors and tried my best to forget about them. Apart from this dormitory—hidden in the back wing above the kitchen and the ten-car garage with eight empty beds just like mine—there was nowhere else I trusted. Nowhere else I’d fortified so strongly that every window was rigged with traps and the door groaned with locks.

Over the past few years, I’d been tempted to claim the spacious garage below as my own. The huge space promised a much more comfortable existence, and the fact that it only had one window and a bank of roller doors that could be jammed shut made it a prime spot for security.

It didn’t smell of oil or engine grease because it’d never housed a single car. It was utterly useless to this estate. No vehicle could access this place.

Helicopters weren’t allowed, boats couldn’t reach, no manmade transportation of any kind could enter. The only way in was through the cave, and the only way to find the entrance was to be shown.

Satisfied my bed was tidy, I slipped my naked body into the clothes I’d laid out the night before. Sadly, I’d outgrown my old clothes over a decade ago. Now, I was forced to wear what was left behind. Every few years, I’d raid another wardrobe, chase away the moths, and claim a new outfit.

I didn’t like fancy. I didn’t like flashy. I liked comfortable and practical, and the expensive gray slacks and silky taupe shirt had long since lost any hint of luxury.

Now, the slacks were more like capris than full-length because the bottoms had been dragged in mud and caught on debris in the garden, leaving tattered material and jagged edges. A few holes lined the thighs, and a pocket was torn.

The shirt was no better.

The taupe now looked like dirt, thanks to the silk material not washing well. Three of the top onyx buttons were missing along with one on the bottom, leaving my chest mostly exposed. The cuffs had been torn off completely after I’d gotten annoyed with the tightness around my wrists.

Not that I cared what I looked like. I’d long since smashed the mirrors in this place. I couldn’t remember exactly why I’d attacked them but, good riddance.

After one last look at my dorm, one last glance at the matching empty beds, I walked to the door and undid the numerous locks barricading me in. Like always, a wave of resentment washed over me as I stepped past the comforts of my bedroom and my bare feet padded down the rough wooden staircase.

That resentment only grew as I walked through the servant’s corridor and followed the stone wall to the kitchen. Dawn sunlight spilled over the marble tiled floor, bathing the huge bank of honey-colored cupboards, wooden countertops, and industrial-grade ovens in gold and red light.

My eyes adjusted from the darkness, grateful that another day had arrived. That I’d survived another night. Two sparrows squabbled on the windowsill, hopping through the ivy vines and bouncing in the leaves.

Crossing to the exterior door that led to the expansive chef gardens, I unlocked the handmade deadbolt and swung it wide.

Immediately, fresh air flooded inside.

Thank God.

I closed my eyes and inhaled.

Sweet, delicious, pure air.

Stepping outside, I crushed daisies beneath my bare feet, and the carpet of wild grass swayed in the slight breeze as I left my stone prison and did what I did each morning.

Before I’d eaten a thing; before I’d drunk from the stream or done any chores, I ran.

I needed to remind myself that I was free to run. To bolt from this place, to leave if I wanted, to return only once I was tired and grateful for its shelter and warmth.

I didn’t need to ask why I ran. I already knew the answer to that question. However, somehow, over the years of being alone, I’d built a wall between my memories and my present.

I did know, somewhere deep inside me, who I was, what my name had been, and why I’d done what I did. The past could never be erased. Always there, murky and grim.

It waited for me in my sleep, and it attacked me in my nightmares. And while it was dark, I belonged to those memories. I relived the past I couldn’t escape. But the moment it was light, I was free. My skills at forgetting had successfully pushed aside the shadows.

I raised my face to the sun, crisscrossed with the branch ceiling high above, blocked by leaves and secrets. I hadn’t seen the sky in its entirety in years. I hadn’t dared to venture past the cave to the wilderness beyond. Why should I? Only death and misery waited.

As long as the sun rose and my bare feet could run the familiar wooded paths, then my memories remained blissfully blank.

I was just me.

A man who lived alone.

A man who was a stranger to himself.