Fortress of Solitude

It stands alone. Just far enough to become a sanctuary to get away, but not too far away. Enough to escape reality for just a little while when life at the house became too much. It had all the core requirements: distance from reality, no actual authority, and personal subjects who had nothing to do but just listen to you speak. I don’t know what it is about talking to animals but they seem to make problems disappear, without even making a sound. This was my home—no—this was our home. The tall walls stood stark red against the cloudy blue sky and grey fields. The door opened with a distinctive creak as if to sound a welcoming horn to let the residents know that we had arrived. And when looking back on the house it seemed as if it were a hundred miles away. Nothing could get us.

Now standing here today, the walls seem to have shrunk; the panels seem to have lost so much color they’re now more of a subtle brown; the house in reality is only a horseshoe throw away. When I step inside, the creak resembles more the sound of bagpipes at a funeral than a welcoming committee. The residents of the barn have their heads down as I enter alone—to them this was unusual. The horses long faces become longer. The walls become as grey as the fields and the silence never felt so unsettling. I came here, to this barn—my sanctuary—to get to a world that was quiet, but this… this was too quiet.

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