PODCAST SYNOPSIS: The show is called “The Solitude Chronicles” - it is a scripted fiction podcast that contains audio journal entries from someone named “Mike.” Mike was a theater critic at the San Francisco Chronicle before “the event” that took place sometime in the early part of 2032. The journal begins in March of 2033 after Mike has successfully rigged up solar panels to his cabin and found computer equipment in an abandoned tax office.
Mike’s language is ornate. He likes using metaphor and descriptive words. He also references theater a lot. And he calls musicals from the early 2000s as “classic.”
Mike lives in a cabin on the Yuba River in northern California. He retreated to this location after “the event” because he had gone to a wedding here in 2028. The wedding was for his friend Heather and her husband Jesse. Mike came here because it is remote and isolated. He knew that it would be difficult for people to “pass through” and it could help him avoid the chaos of the outside world.
Eventually Mike will discuss the political divide that led to “the event.” Mike will also discuss how society broke down and the choas that happened.
Episode One
[Sighs] Okay…seems to be recording. Here we go.
So…
March 19th, 2033.
About a year has passed since that fateful event. The turning point that forever altered the fabric of our existence. The world, once bathed in the glow of progress, now lies in silent darkness. The power gird, a distant memory, and the remnants of civilization scattered like ash in the wind.
Fear grips my heart as I sit here, enveloped by the weight of isolation. The absence of humanity’s collective hum leaves an eerie silence that echoes through the valleys of my soul. In this remote cabin, nestled on the banks of the Yuba River, I sought refuge. It was here, amidst the towering pines and serenade of nature, that I came to see my friend Heather get married. I remember that day almost ten years ago…noting to Heather how great the location was because it was so remote. Little did I know that this sanctuary would become my haven in these dark times.
The world outside these cabin walls has become a treacherous wilderness. Desperation drives people to extremes, and survival dances on a tightrope between necessity and brutality. Yet, I strive to endure, to cling to the slivers of hope taht pierce through the veil of despair.
In this new reality, resources are scarce, and ingenuity is a currency worth it’s weight in gold. I managed to salvage solar panels from a desolate farm, stealing them under the cover of night. The price I paid was a brush with death, a bullet’s whistling breath that missed me by a hair’s breadth. But I pressed on, driven by a determination to harness the sun’s radiant embrace.
And then, in the depths of my travels, I stumbled upon some sort of tax or accounting office, abandoned and forgotten. An opportunity beckoned, and I ventured inside, my heart pounding in my chest. There, amidst the remnants of bureacracy, I found a treasure - an abandoned computer and a hard drive. A connection to the world I once knew, now reduced to fragments of forgotten lives.
Before the event, I had a different life. A life intertwined with the arts. I was a theater critic for the San Francisco Chronicle, immersing myself in the captivating narratives woved on stage. But now, my role has shifted. From critic to chronicler, I navigate the stage of a world in disarray, seeking solace in the power of words (my own), and the resilience of the human spirit…also my own.
Amidst the solitude, the fear is a constant companion. The haunting uncertainty of the fate of my family weighs heavily upon my soul. The lines of communication severed, the world’s embrace torn asunder. I have lost touch with them, lost in this intricate expanse of chaos.
[SIGH] March 19, 2033. What day of the week is it? Does it matter?
I plan on marking my journey through this uncharted landscape, a testament to the endurance of the human spirit and the flickering ember of hope. As I traverse this darkened realm, I will share my thoughts here. My fears. My unwavering resolve with those who may eventually hear these worlds. This is a chronicle of my sadness. A chronicle of my strength. A chronicle of my solitude.
I like that…Solitude Chronicles.
Maybe I will find some strength in my stories. A new path forward.
Good night.