How many plots and schemes were hatched in here? It’s former occupant came out here to unwind, decouple and refresh his soul with household repairs, reno projects, and equipment maintenance. The spit-shined machines patiently await their master in sunlit silence.
Each day after our walk, I open up my father’s Reclusium so his little dog can come in and smell around and make sure his master isn’t hiding in here, and that he won’t be home today. It always smells like spring in here - like gasoline and grass clippings. Each day the little dog leaves, dejected and morose.
Mom just called and told me she’s gonna put little Sammy down. A few weeks back a miracle occurred. Mom was pushing my buttons and trying to spin me up the way she always has. She could push my buttons, and adrenaline and nitro would flood my nervous system - and I’d be on my way to the moon, gibbering and cursing with rage all the way. She loved it. But.. this time, the engines flamed out, and I found myself serenely lounging on my launching pad. All the emotions are still there… but it’s like they’re in another room… and easily ignored if wish. It was like an epiphany: I could almost see the LAUNCH FAILURE signs flashing in my psyche.
My own Reclusium calls. It smells like feet, farts, and sawdust. It promises peace and solace from a world that no longer owns me. I will miss little Sammy. He will fall from this world, thinking his master deserted him, and that he was replaced by some kind of homonculus - me. I hope he can forgive me for not getting attached to him, or letting my heart bond to his.
I control nothing in this world. Hopefully I’ll do better in the next.