The Dark Corner

She had been living in the corner of the barn for-- she wasn't sure how long. Suns rose and fell. She had lost track of how many. She could see a world outside, bright and listless.

She had spent summer days here as a child, unloading hay. Music had filtered through the eaves at night from family gatherings and social events. She would marry under the old oak tree-- the one she could see if she stepped into the light. Echoes of voices from the past seemed to reverberate in the awnings and in her mind, as if they were actually there, except for the difference in time. The change, the delta between then and now was not something she could always admit to herself. Admission in some way was resignation. At night she pretended she could hear the owl off in the distance. The owl, in her mind, was a wise noble bird who understood everything about her life. In reality, the owl had been a mourning dove, cooing for its lover. Some days the truth was more comforting; other days, less. Now, even the mourning dove was gone.

She had finished all the canned food in the storage room a week ago. Her mind was not altogether clear from day-to-day or even moment-to-moment. For a brief period the day before, she had nearly convinced herself she was a spy on a top secret mission and was hiding in this place until deployed. This morning she decided that a piece of lint on the ground was an alien creature colonizing in the dark crevices of the earth.

When the wind calmed to a slight whisper, she would hum tunes to herself to feel less alone. When the currents picked up and a dust storm enclosed the structure, she felt oddly comforted, like watching a television on a lonely night.

She remembered ideas of positive thinking, laws of attraction, creating future emotional outcomes for herself and wondered how it would apply here.

She laid her head down on the ground. The world still smelled alive, she thought. She looked out with her eyes closed, into the darkness.

"Here you are," a voice said. "Are you going to join us?"

"I can't," she said. "I mean how would I even fit? Those cracks in the ground are too narrow."

"Well, you'd have to dig a little," the bug said. "But if you can get beyond this initial layer, we've built a whole world down here. You could have a palace."

"You've built a palace?"

"There's a sizeable piece of land that could be all yours to do what you want," the bug said.

"It's a bit dark down there, isn't it?" she wondered.

"We have lights. Modern amenities."

"What's the catch?"

"No catch." The bug leaned against the wall. "You're the only human left on the planet. We thought we could preserve your species."

"Like an animal in the zoo?" she asked.

"No, no. You'd be perfectly free to do what you want."

"I... I can't. I'm waiting for a mission."

"This would give you purpose, wouldn't it?"

"No, I mean, a spy mission. I'm supposed to wait here to get my orders."

"There will be no orders."

"How do you know?"

"Nobody to give them. Come with us. We've carried seeds to the center of the earth and grown a veritable garden with all of the fruits and vegetables that are ripening, as you can imagine. We'll have a feast once you arrive."

"How far do I have to dig? I don't know that I have the strength. I haven't eaten in quite some time."

"It's not that far. It won't take you long at all. Just try."

She found a shovel propped against the wall and dragged it to the corner. She lifted the handle high into the air and as the blade came down along the crack in the earth, she felt as if she was falling. But when she opened her eyes, she was in a bed in a palace. Across the room a banquet had been set before her on a long wooden table.

The bug scampered through the room with a tray of blueberries. "How are you doing?"

"Am I dead?" she asked.

"What do you think?"

"There's nobody else here. So it can't be heaven."

"Why not? You have the freedom to do what you want and no one to bother you."

"What about love?"

"What about it? Seems like there's enough here in this room to fill what's left of this earth."

She pulled books off the shelves and read for what seemed like centuries. Then she wrote everything down, all that she could remember-- about herself, about the world, about humans and their tremendous capacity for life and simultaneous self-destruction.

"Do I have to go back?" she asked.

"God, no," the bug said. "Everything you ever needed has been right here this whole time. What's up there on land is just chaos. What's up there is nothing."

"Can I stay here?" she asked.

"Yes, of course. You're always welcome." The bug tucked her in to bed.

That final night she slept the most restful sleep of her entire life.