Edge of Civilization

By Jennifer Ott

Earl Hollsopple lived on the edge of civilization in a deserted shack for nearly forty years. His life was one beautiful night of stargazing after another, until a helicopter flies overhead, and exposes his meager world. It is a sign; it is time for him to return to civilization.

Unknowingly, Earl’s journey parallels another he had deeply repressed, and that is his return from the Vietnam War. The lone survivor of a plane crash, Earl waits for rescue that never comes. He is left to find his way home alone.

On both his quests, old Earl and young Earl learn lessons of survival, overcoming isolation and handling conflicts; his travels teach him not just about himself, but humankind. Reaching pivotal points in both journeys, Earl meets fateful loves, leading to destinies that are ultimately intertwined.

Everything in life circles until we are able to answer the riddles that plaque man and humanity. Only until we take the journey, solve the problems of our own existence, do we find our way home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jennifer Ott
• Release date: Jul 19, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311300782

Jennifer Ott

After graduating college with a degree in fashion design and fine arts, I moved to New York City where I studied screen writing with the Gotham Writer's group and attended NYU part-time studying filmmaking and acting. Learning how to write screenplays taught me how to write tight storylines and acting helped master dialog. Living in New York City, inflicted with credit card debt, impassioned me to write my first non-fiction satire, Ooh Baby Compound Me which compares the credit card industry to fraternity hazing. Bad dating experiences inspired Wild Horses and eventually after much research - Love and Handicapping. My book, The Tourist reflects the dreamer's plight in an overly commercial and corporate world which many can relate. Saying Goodbye, What the World Doesn't Know, I can only say was channeled by from an unknown source. I became consumed by a real-life love story and felt compelled to write. The repressed eighth grade journalist arose and I dug deep into uncovering a hidden love story. The same force encouraged The Insurrectionist - a story so powerful and intense, it had to be told. After writing The Insurrection I needed something light and fun was desperately needed - One with the Wind. Throughout the years, I have learned stories are a dime a dozen, characters can blend into one and the same dialog can be repeated in many different ways, but the best writing comes from what we are most passionate. If the story compels the writer to near madness, it is a story that must be written.

Book preview

Edge of Civlization

Jennifer Ott

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2014 Jennifer Ott

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 1

Stars radiated brilliantly against the night sky, extending to the horizon. Only the whites of a man's eyes were visible. Some cultures studied the stars to find inspiration for man's morality, casting many of these stars into gods. Other people created stories that foretold of mankind's future; warned of pending doom. To many, it was a wish for love. For the man who now gazed upon these stars, it was an occupation for an otherwise meaningless existence.

The stars in the sky reflected in his dilated pupils. Andromeda, you are shining brightly in Pegasus tonight. If only I can find you, my lady, he said, and meditated quietly about the day he might find a woman to love.

Turning his gaze once again to the sky, he witnessed a shooting star. Using an antique, monocular telescope, he studied the sky and imagined deeper into the solar system—meteors showered down upon Mars, Venus rotated around a thickening atmosphere, and Mercury spun quickly to avoid the damaging solar flares.

He conceived deeper into the universe. Seas of indigo appeared dotted with distant stars and pale colored planets—distant galaxies with lives of their own. Spiraling cones extended deep into black holes. Matrix of white lights created webs, signifying everything was connected.

Focusing harder with forced intent, the bulging eyeballs concentrated on one particular galaxy as if studying an amoeba in a Petri dish. Bright colors emerged—flashes of pink, orange and green. The beautiful sight pulled the man, even closer to finding whizzing objects and spinning orbs, proof life existed elsewhere.

The light of a flashlight shone on the yellowing pages of a weathered journal. Long, wrinkled fingers flipped through the pages to an empty page. On a blank page, he wrote,

Spinning seas of pink and gold

Tell the fortunes of young and old

Fates sealed before our birth

With destined outcomes here on Earth.

Suddenly a blinding white light bore down, exposing the man whose age was difficult to determine. In the light, lines of deep wrinkles appeared on the man's face, His hazel eyes now shone steel gray, and his hair was white. He appeared no different than a ghost.

The man shielded himself under the light that hovered above. Gawping upward, he saw the light flash in spiraling circles and emitting a deep, thumping sound. He reached his arms upward toward the light. Take me with you! I'm here! I've been waiting for so long! Please, take me with you!

Above he saw a shape that appeared human in form, but the head was stretched width wise, bug eyes and long pointed chin. When the searchlights left him to scour the landscape, he slumped to his heels. I'm here. Can't you see me? I'm here!

The bright, pulsating object hovered over the desert floor. What was once absorbed by the peaceful darkness was now exposed under the light. An abandoned silver mine was illuminated. The flickering light brought the mine to life. Rusted iron conveyors traveled independently into the darkness of a fabricated cavern. The wheel of the windmill turned with an eerie whine.

Tumbleweeds waved in the strong wind generated by the aircraft. Jackrabbits and mice took refuge in high grass while snakes and scorpions slithered under rocks. The man watched his habitat in chaos—earthly creatures running for their lives and inanimate man-made objects coming into a life of their own.

Dejection filled the man's chest. He sat slumped in complete darkness. All was black again, except for the whites of his eyes that showed pain and suffering. Moments ago, he was one with the universe, now he belonged nowhere. How quickly the feeling of belonging comes and goes. He sulked, questioning his reality and his sanity.

Chapter 2

The morning sun beamed amber lines of light through the dirty window. The interior gave the sense that the house had been deserted for years, except for the man, who nameless to many, was born with the name Earl Hollsopple.

Earl had little recollection of his youth. His memories began here at the abandoned silver mine. On occasion, when feeling especially melancholy, he tried to remember his prior life. When feelings of pain overtook him, he digested a dose of Doctor Beam's medicine. He always felt much better afterward.

Resting his head against his pillow, Earl ran his fingers through his hair. His eyes shifted sideways, scanning the interior of his shack. His lips moved silently as he contemplated last night's events. How long do I need to stay here? When can I go home?

He stared at the ceiling and scratched his hairy chin. It had been so long. Why would they come for me now? All these years he had remained a simple man waiting to be rescued. The truth was he did not even know who would be coming, and why he was waiting or where he was supposed to go.

Slowly, Earl lifted his slender body from the old cot. Although an aged man, he was still quite agile and fit. The wrinkles around his eyes indicated sun exposure, but his eyes still shined with boyish exuberance. Since Earl spent a good deal of his life in isolation, he had the rare opportunity to avoid society stresses. He did not have to fret about jobs, managers, or finances. There were no family conflicts to endure. For forty years, he had the luxury of living life as he pleased, without much human contact.

During the day, he spent time looking for clues to humanity, and at night searching for signs in the universe. Being alone gave him the freedom to dream without anything to enforce reality. It was a wonderful life.

Last night was a stark reminder of his separation from the rest of the world, and worse yet, brought the old feelings of rejection crashing down on him again. Am I invisible? Do I exist? Why wouldn't they help me? Why would they just leave me here? It made him question his life and the longing for company and conversation. Perhaps it was a sign; it is time. It is time to go back.

Earl crawled out of bed, staggered through his shack and opened the front door. The sunshine still hurt his eyes after many years living in the desert. He could see clearly into the deepness of the night sky, but the visions of the earth pained him. Squinting with a furrowed brow, he looked up at the sky with a smile. Day or night, he felt most comfortable in the sky. Sometimes, he loved the sky more than the earth. I belong there, in the sky.

He stepped outside onto his porch and gazed at the old silver mill. Last night, under the pulsating light the mine was alive, now there was no movement whatsoever. I either have to cut back on the drinking, or start drinking more, he muttered to himself with a chuckle, making his way to the well a few feet away.

Pumping water into a large metal bucket, Earl smiled at the sight of Venus shining in the sky. He carried the heavy bucket into his shack, poured the water into a large pot and struck a match to ignite the old gas stove. Despite the antiquity of the shack, Earl kept it clean and tidy.

As he opened a can of SPAM, last night meandered in his mind like all the bad memories he had so carefully tucked away, causing his entire body to ache, especially his heart. He pressed his hand over his heart to slow down the beating. His losses were not gone, but buried deep in the recesses of his consciousness.

Mindlessly, he turned over the can of SPAM and watched the pink, gelatinized ham mold slide onto his plate. The pink, slimy brick pulsated until it rested in place. He carved slices of meat. Earl stood back and slapped each slice into the frying pan. Once the SPAM browned on both sides, he carried his plate over to a wobbly table.

Sitting perfectly still on the rickety chair, he placed his foot underneath the table leg to stabilize it. With his knife and fork perched securely in each fist, Earl closed his eyes tightly to pray. He lifted his eyes and scanned the empty table. Enjoy. This will be my last meal here for I will be moving on, he said to no one.

Properly, Earl took a knife and fork and sliced into the fried SPAM, savoring each delectable bite and then washed it down with a sip of whiskey as if eating fine filet mignon with a vintage cabernet. He waved his knife in the air. Now, no reason to argue with me. I've made up my mind. It is time for me to move on. I have to go back. I've been here long enough. After no response, Earl continued his conversation with the silence. Your pleas for me to stay are not going to work this time, he said. I don't belong here. I never did.

Earl finished his meal, scraped the remaining crumbs into a trash container, and rinsed his dish clean. After setting the dish to dry, he tapped on an old empty whiskey bottle that provided a foreign habitat for a small centipede. Mornin' to ya, Joe. He turned back to the empty table. You see, this old place is about as alien to me as this bottle is for Joe. I gotta go. Waving his hand, he signaled the end of the conversation.

Earl carried the pot of simmering well water to a small end table in the bedroom corner of his shack. He removed his old dungarees, folded his pants with precision, and laid them neatly on the cot. Standing naked in his shack, Earl washed himself with a bar of soap and rinsed with his hands.

Lightly, he grazed an old razor over errant stubble. Earl liked to keep a clean beard, although he never really looked at himself in the small mirror. He cared little for his physical appearance; he was a man of the mind, but this time his reflection caught him off guard. Where did the years go? When did I get old? Suddenly, his mind and body connected. He was desperately in need of human connection.

I know what you're thinking, he said, No one's going to recognize me. They didn't recognize me last night; how do I expect them to recognize me when I leave here? He stood. No, no... I can't be deterred. I'm going. You can't stop me. Even if I have to go up to them and say I'm—. Earl paused not recalling his own name.

With his hands on his hips, he scanned his shack. I could stay here. I could die here. He sat on his cot and thought of the life he had forgotten. Should I give up and say goodbye to life? Maybe my next life will be better. He stood and swung his arms back and forth. No, I'm not ready to give in, not yet.

Earl lowered to his knees and spied a dusty trunk under his cot. It had been there for as long as he could remember. He was not even sure how it got there. Did I bring it here, or was it already here when I arrived? Earl removed the trunk from underneath the cot and stared at it for some time before deciding to open it.