Self Contained
“Are you looking for a way out?” she asks.
The question jars him. It’s not because the question is crazy, but because noone’s ever asked him that outright. The man looks around the room, then back at his visitor and shrugs.
“I don’t know. It’s a very nice room.” he finally answers.
“It is,” says the woman, “no one said otherwise.”
“I mean,” he continued, “I have everything I want here. They bring me food. They’ve made me very comfortable.”
“It’s not a bad life,” confirms the woman.
“And, I’ve had plenty of chances to get out,” he says.
“Then why not take any of them?” she asks.
He looks towards the camera in the corner and whispers under his breath, “I don’t want THEM to think I’m ungrateful. They brought me here when I was almost dead. They healed my wounds and nurtured me back to health. Then they protected me from every danger imaginable…”
“The invasion was hard on everyone,” she offered.
“I know, but they took care of me.” The man looked back to the woman, near tears. “How can I just walk out on them after 20 years of this treatment.”
“I’m not saying you should,” she said holding her hands up. “But, you don’t seem happy here lately.”
The man sighed. “I’m not. It has been 20 years. It’s not that I don’t like it here…I just want to know what the world outside is like now.”
“Couldn’t you just…”
“No,” he interrupted. “Once I leave, they won’t let me back. Then all of this will be gone.”
“I see,” she sat down in a chair across from where he stood and motioned for him to sit too. “Well, we can talk as long as you need to. But eventually, you’ll have to decide if you’re staying or going.”
The man looked back at the camera. Somewhere down the hall, two beings watched and recorded his every move - wondering if the allowing Earth humanitarian observer on their base
was a mistake. The man looked back at the woman.
“I’m just going to annoy you after awhile. I’ve had this conversation with myself enough to know all of the possible questions and answers.”
She smiled and laughed slightly. “Sit, please. I’ll let you know if you start getting repetitive.”
He sat. “So…am I looking for the exits?”
The woman replied simply, “That’s the question.”
The man looked into her eyes, “I don’t need look for them anymore. In twenty years, I’ve identified every one of them.”
“Yet,” she raised an eyebrow, “here you are.”
“Knowing where the door is one thing. Stepping through it is a lot more…” he trailed off.
“Difficult?” she offered.
“I was going to say terrifying.”
