Ace Cavalier: The Tragedy of Enlightenment

Ace Cavalier sat on his bed smoking a cigarette. His back was rested on the window where powerful daylight fell in, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. The time ticked beyond two-thirty in the afternoon, yet still he had not dressed beyond the blue flannel dressing gown he wore to the toilet. The hall he traversed in the process was no wider than a doorway; the stains on his gown were indescribable.

Ace considered his options; he could look for a job. He knew the dangers, the pluses and the minuses and so forth. What held him from it was the feeling in the pit of his stomach when considering the prospects of either success or failure. Neither tempted him greatly. He could read, but he never really was the type for books or study and even the Guardian seemed thick and impenetrable at times; the excitement of sudoku had deserted him long before this bright afternoon.

He was a simple man. He needed challenges of a more substantial nature than the marshaling of nine numbers into seemingly endless variation, however tricky it could sometimes be. He needed to fit the purpose of his action into one single word; be it 'revenge' or 'love' or 'glory', yet the world wasn't like that. At least not anymore. No; he had to trace the meanings for his actions down thin and treacherous paths, saying "I have to do X to get Y which will lead to Z in spades which might possibly get me back to A, hopefully."

The worlds of literature and philosophy beckoned from his impressive bookshelf, but he shuddered at all their fine words and laborious endeavor in the transcendant sphere. Spurning the advances of the world beyond, he re-read yesterday's sports pages, worrying that reading at all damaged his eyesight.