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| Sci-Shorts-200 The Escape Clause I II III IV V VI The Escape Clause is dedicated to Lisa, the girl I might have married, if it were not for circumstances beyond my control. |
The
Escape Clause
Nick Zentor I It all began beneath the hellish confines of a purgatorial cell in Limbo. The subject of this story, who can be anyman at all, but for the sake of this particular perspective can be called Dablank, was about as dead as a man can get in spirit without being completely lost to the wayward chaos of the infinite universe. He was at the end of his rope, in a precarious situation, dangling helplessly, unable to climb, facing almost certain oblivion, when one night, as he sat alone, he experienced a bit of inspiration. He looked across the small cell he was confined in and then at the small table beside his bed, where 2 books, one a bible and the other a notebook, sat under a small lamp. Lately, he’d become obsessed with the dreams he was experiencing during sleep, wondered on and on for hours about hidden meanings, informative clues about the mysterious universe he found himself in, and possible traces of an escape from the hell it all put him in. Getting out was the thing to do, of course, but it wasn’t so simple. He’d been out of his cell many times, he’d roamed about the grounds, seen all the local sites. He’d even been to the big city of ‘Dis’ several times, for a little R and R. But he wasn’t safe under such exposure to the elements, and the only secure place he had was the cell, so he always returned. The cell was small and dismal, and there was no easy way out of it. He always returned because there was no where else for him to go. But of course, it wasn’t simply the cell’s fault. It was his own foolish fault, of course, for the mistakes he made during his youth. His biggest mistake seemed to create a contradiction after enough time passed. The biggest mistake was following the directive orders of his guardians, during the summer of 1975, which resulted in the loss of his fiancée. The contradiction was a case of moral, religious ground. For it seemed hypocritical that he should lose so much after simply following the orders of his superiors, and long after that fact, still be subjected to the conditions caused by the loss. Where was the Christian god now? Why had he been ignored, neglected, and forgotten? All of this went through his head in a matter of seconds, constantly, day after day, night after night, with all of his humble prayers left unanswered. Then finally, as he sat in the dimly lit grey cell of hell, and imagined pictures on the walls, something inspired him, and suddenly, he understood. He looked at the notebook on the table, opened the drawer and found a pencil, and began writing in the book. “I am as I am, confined in this dismal cell of hell, in an unceasing waste of time through grey days and deep, dark nights, a lost soul without purpose, pointless and without reason. This is not a life, nay; it bears much more resemblance to the idea of death, a cold and lonely passage through a never-ending dark depth." He stopped, set the pencil down, and relaxed. Now he understood. After years of contemplation and speculation, he finally understood. There was only one possible way out of the hell he was in. With thanks to such writers as Daniel Defoe and Edgar Allen Poe, he took a good, long look at the situation he found himself in, and began to write himself out of it. Like Robinson Crusoe stranded on his desert island, Dablank began to see how very distant all of the other ‘souls’ had become, and how his own little island was right in this corner of purgatory, not too far from the river of Styx and the big factory of Dis. It wasn’t exactly Crusoe’s desert island, but he sure the heck was stranded. Furthermore, he was on his own, without any friends at all. Granted, it didn’t seem like much to go on after the initial inspiration, but nevertheless, he decided he had nothing better to do anyhow, and put his penmanship to work. The next night, as he continued to scrawl himself through the second chapter of his book, in that eternal state of cold, solitary logic, under the deep cloak of night, something extraordinary happened. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a square of blue light appeared, on the grey wall across the cell, about 12 inches wide, and the light purple face of a demon appeared within it. “Hello, Dablank,” the demon greeted him neutrally, with only the slightest sign of emotion in his voice, as if he did this kind of thing a lot. “I see you’ve figured out an escape clause. Good for you. I was wondering how long it would take. Now that you’ve started the book, it’s time you were let in on the whole deal.” “Deal? What deal?” “We’ve come to a decision about your case,” the demon admitted. “You have a choice. You can either do another 20 years of hard labor, or you can act as an info retriever and try and write your way out.” “Write my way out?” Dablank said with surprise. “You’re telling me there really is a way to do that? I mean, I had suspected the possibility, but it was at best a very long shot.” “Well, you get 3 points for guessing,” the demon said, with a bit of witty humor, “Yes, there is a way to write your way out, but it has certain conditions. Are you interested?” “I most certainly am,” Dablank said, “I don’t want to do another 20 years of hard labor!” “Okay,” the demon said, “the conditions are simple. You must commit your eternal soul to the work that you do. You must act the role of your protagonist or antagonist, whatever the case may be, towards the goal set by the plot and scenarios of the book.” “Huh? I’m not sure I follow,” Dablank said, with uncertainty. “How can I do that if I don’t have my freedom?” “You can do it, after the book has been completed and accepted by the overlords responsible for your case,” the demon explained. “But don’t think it’ll be all fun and games. Let me give you a bit of sound advice. You discovered the key just last night and you have been working in the right direction. Stay with it, work with it, get yourself settled with a working plan of action, and carry it through. Don’t think you can simply write anything down and make it happen. It must he realistic, not unbelievable and all too fantastic. Use the material reality about yourself to make things happen, and make it look good. Understand?” “So, what you are saying is, if I write a good, realistic story, it can get me out of here in the future?” “So long as you agree to act as the main character,” the demon said, “Yes.” Shortly after it was clear Dablank understood the deal, the square of 1ight with the demon disappeared, and he went to work. |
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| The
Escape Clause, Copyright
by Nick Zentor, 11/2007 |