Despite the risks, Charles left everything behind to live in the woods, where every moment, life hangs in the balance. In the wild, a simple rash can become fatal, let alone the constant fear of the beast on the threshold. But he had made up his mind. He bargained a comfortable life in the city for the stillness of the forest. Life in the city was fast and chaotic. And he didn’t really like being around people. In his peculiar mind, people were either erratic or dismissive. That’s why he chose a vocation that allowed him to work in isolation and build a world of his own just like a child does with Legos.
A man of science, he was a writer at heart whose work received both acclaim and critcism. But neither applause nor critique deterred him from taking his ideas to the world. There was a book, in particular, he was writing that remained unfinished for years—the sound of the city was too loud and intrusive to create a work of this nature. After all, this was an idea that would change the world.
Now that he was in the middle of nowhere, he was adamant on finishing it. Inside a log cabin, he put a table and a chair near the window from where he could feel the quiet of the wilderness. Charles sat down and took a pause to feel the sun in his face. He wore his reading glasses and typed away on his typewriter:
Charles Robert Darwin, Chapter 11, On the Origin of Species.
The story is a fictionalised account of a few events in the life of biologist Charles Darwin.