Chapter Text
It will have been one of the coldest winters in the past five years, the night wind was beating against the wooden windows, through which icy breezes entered due to the gaps in them, worn out by so many years of enduring the storms. Inside an old farmhouse was the Marsh family, a family of farmers, consisting of Randy, Sharon, Shelly, and the little Stan Marsh. This family, like their house, had been hit in recent years with the most terrible droughts. The fruit trees that had been in their family for generations, which they cared for with great care, had died, leaving only their trunk and dry branches as a reminder of what they used to be and complicating their only subsidy, the sale of fruits and what they made from them, such as jams, liqueurs, juices, or desserts. Little by little, they had lost their routine and now, like most of those who lived in that town, they had to survive with what they had. Bartering became a common activity because most no longer had money to give. And the situation seemed worse when the king's knights arrived to claim payment, or as little Stan called them, "the men of metal". The innocence of an 8-year-old child manages to keep him in a happy childhood; he does not see the lack of food, or his father starting to despair because he no longer knows what to trade for food, or his mother's depression at seeing what his father and grandparents' farm has become. He does not mourn the holes in his clothes because it means he can grab a piece of old rags and make a patch that he will sew onto them.
That day in the afternoon, he left his house to play with the farmer's son from across the street, a little boy about his age (since he didn't know exactly) named Tolkien. They ran through the fields. With a long wooden stick, Stan pretended it was his steed and that he was one of those 'men of metal' he was so afraid of. He chased Tolkien, who had some stones or his 'goods and riches' in his pockets. He had to run and dodge him. In an innocent game, the children portrayed real life and what their parents and others suffered daily. It reached a point where little Tolkien fell to the ground, allowing Stan to catch up with him.
"Ha! I got you, now pay up! Pay me for your King! The king of the elves demands your goods for the good of the kingdom," he said, imitating what he used to hear from those men on horseback, while pointing a stick at his friend's face, which simulated the heavy and long swords of those faceless knights.
"That's not fair! You cheated because I fell," Tolkien protested.
"I caught you, now pay up, two of your goods." Tolkien took out two little stones from his pockets and stretched out his hands from the ground so Stan had to bend down and take them. While the little one was stooping to take what 'he was owed' Tolkien grabbed some dirt and threw it at him before running off, straight to Stan's farm's dry fruit trees.
"Ew! Tolkien! That was cheating!" The little boy, somewhat angry, threw the two sticks to the ground and abandoned his 'role' to start chasing the boy who threw dirt in his face. Tolkien used the dry trees to prevent Stan from catching him, running and laughing when he saw his friend's face covered in dirt. Stan still had vague memories of when the trees were alive, when he saw them blossom and bear fruit in seasons, he remembered helping his mom crush the fruits to make jam and the people who came to their house to buy, when his parents smiled more often.
Tolkien stopped running and tried to listen for footsteps, to try to detect where Stan might be, without finding him. He let out a yell when Stan tackled him, and they both fell to the ground, laughing at their rough game, which they were both used to sometimes ending like this. They were at the stream near their houses, cleaning off the dirt when they heard their parents calling them. It was late afternoon, and today Stan was going to have dinner, not every night happened like this, so both ran back to their homes, saying goodbye with a handshake before parting ways and entering their homes. The light from the bonfire illuminated the table where his dad and sister were sitting. As soon as he entered, he smelled the aroma of vegetable stew and saw his mom stirring it in the huge bubbling cauldron. She turned around when she noticed her son had entered and gave him a smile; her love would never diminish no matter how much life punished them. The little one sat at the table across from his sister, waited for his mom to serve herself, who always went last, and sat down. Only then did he start eating.
After dinner, the two siblings went to bed, they had to share a bed because they only had two mattresses, and one was already shared by their parents. There were times when his sister pushed him in the middle of the night, and he was forced to sleep among the hay they kept nearby. His father made sure they were both asleep and bid them both goodbye with a kiss on the forehead, before going down to the first floor by the wooden stairs to talk to Sharon, unaware that Stan still couldn't fall asleep and could hear the conversation perfectly.
"...I don't know how we're going to manage to get through these next few years," his dad's voice sounded tired.
"Maybe...we should, you know, sell—"
"No, dear, don't even say it, I know how much this farm means to you,"
his mother's voice shouted in whispers. "I'm more worried about our family's well-being; we could sell our services to some wealthy family, like the Tuckers did, now their son is receiving an education," his mother's voice rose in whispers.
"What the Tuckers had was luck, luck that an honest and good family hired them, what if we're hired by exploiters? We wouldn't be able to escape because we wouldn't have a home to return to," Randy argued.
"Randy, we don't have enough to eat..." Stan opened his eyes upon hearing his mom cry as she spoke, "...our children deserve better than this, neither of us knows how to read, we only taught them to work, what will happen to them? Will they be peasants all their lives? Like us?"
"Enough, Sharon, I'm trying to find solutions, but you have to help me with this, selling the farm is the last resort." Stan felt a knot in his stomach and forced himself to close his eyes and sleep.
Throughout the night, he had nightmares. Nightmares where his mom ended up crying, nightmares where they were peacefully eating and smiling, only for a tornado to destroy the house. But the most terrifying dream was one where his family abandoned him, leaving him with another family, and he tried to scream "Come back, don't leave me!" but no words came out of his mouth. The last thing he saw in the dream was his arm stretching out trying to reach his father, and he woke abruptly, realizing his arm was in the air, palm facing the ceiling. He looked around and saw his sister, father, and mother still asleep. He noticed the dawn outside and knowing he wouldn't be able to sleep again, he decided to take an early morning walk through the fields.
He put on the scarf knitted by his mom and closed the door gently to avoid making noise. He headed to the stream near his house to wash his face. The sky began to paint itself with pink and blue hues, birds singing in the trees waking up alongside him, and for a moment, he felt peace. When he reached his destination, the boy saw his reflection in the water and remembered what his parents had talked about last night—the possibility of selling the farm distressed him. He took advantage of his solitude to cry, letting everything out. He was terrified of what might happen. A week ago, one of those metal men had taken some ceramic bowls that his mom kept as a memento of his grandmother. What would be next? What would they do when they had nothing left? The boy's face was full of tears and mucus, his eyes swollen, and his nose red. He took some cold water from the stream and splashed it on his face, the cold soothing his burning skin a bit, and he sat down in the grass.
He looked at his home, his house, where he was born and raised. Could it really be possible that they wouldn't live there in the future? Where would they go then? He observed the fields of his neighboring farmers, now dry where once there was corn or oats. He looked at the village in the distance, wondering what was happening there now. Were they waking up like him? Or were some sleeping late? Perhaps some hadn't slept at all. Did others also have the same problems as his family? Perhaps worse?
Finally, he observed the orchard of fruit trees at his house, seeing the nearby branches pointing to the sky, where fruits once grew, where once there were so many leaves that if you entered the forest, you couldn't see the sky. Now it looked gloomy. He observed his trees, all dead except one that seemed to have grown leaves and fruits overnight. Wow, great, it seems like it came back to life.
Wait...
One of the trees bore fruit?!
He turned his gaze back to the grove of trees, noticing one among the 30 that had a lush canopy, full of bright green leaves and violet fruits. He immediately recognized it as his plum tree. He wasn't hallucinating; the tree had truly come back to life and bore fruit.
It was a miracle.
Stan got up from his spot and started running as if his life depended on it, praying to God that it wasn't a mirage or his imagination, but the closer he got, the more real it was. Overcome with excitement, he decided to cut through some dry bushes, causing one of the thorns to scratch his right cheek. He winced a little, touched the freshly made wound, and noticed it was bleeding, but he cared little and continued running until he entered the forest, where he began to walk slowly, always looking up, seeing the plums ripening perfectly. He kept getting closer, looking up, observing a specific plum that seemed to be growing slowly on its own. When it fell from the branch, Stan followed it with his gaze until it touched the ground, and that's when he noticed another child sleeping under the tree.
Stan stifled a scream of fright at the sight of a new face, another child his age sleeping and trembling at the same time. He had a bushy head of well-formed red curls, some curls falling over his face. Stan noticed his long eyelashes and eyebrows of the same color, his eyes went to his cheeks, which had some freckles, and then to his clothes—the boy wore a thin white shirt, no longer so white due to dirt, brown pants, and rather elegant shoes. The child seemed quite thin. Where did he come from? Did he sleep here with the cold last night? How long has it been since he ate?
Stan's thoughts were interrupted when the strange curly-haired child moved to get more comfortable and continue sleeping, causing his hair to move, revealing his ears, long and pointed, which reminded Stan of a goat's, but straighter. Stan wanted to analyze them a little more and approached the boy, not noticing a dry branch on the ground that made a noise when stepped on, waking the child from his sleep, alerting him immediately when he saw Stan, who was as scared as him.
"Ah! Sorry! I didn't mean to scare you, I-I won't hurt you!" he said, noticing the child taking a more defensive position. "A-are you not from around here? D-did you get lost?"
The boy, still sitting against the tree, didn't know what to say. He felt that whatever he said would be a trap that would make him end up where he didn't want to go back. He looked around for a place to run.
"Uh... are you looking over there? That's my house..." he said, pointing with a smile that faded slowly as he saw no reaction from the boy. "Uhm... I'm Stan, and you?"
'Doesn't he know who I am?' thought the runaway.
"...ok, I don't think you want to talk, it's just... I came here because... do you notice that all the trees in the area are, well... dead?" The red-haired boy glanced around, of course he had noticed, it was awful. He nodded, looking directly at the person in front of him. "Well, they've been like that for a long time, but this tree, it came back to life... I-I know it sounds crazy, but yesterday it was dead like the rest here, and now it has leaves and even plums again. That's why I saw it from the stream over there and ran like crazy. Look, I even got a scratch unintentionally, hehe," Stan pointed to his cheek, which had a cut with blood nearby, the boy's eyes widened.
"Come here," Stan was surprised to hear the other boy speak for the first time; his voice was soft and calm. He was scared but did as he was told, approached the stranger and knelt down to be at his eye level.
"Uhm... so you can speak, I thought you were mute haha," the boy didn't say anything and analyzed Stan's wound, "maybe you're just... not very talkative, or you only talk to those you like."
"I talk to those I trust," the boy said firmly, his way of speaking seemed strange to Stan, more formal, more adult, but he could assure they were the same age. "My name is Kyle."
"Oh, what a good name, I'm glad you told me. Your name is short, and I don't think I can give you nicknames.Just like mine, you can't do much with Stan, but still, I think-" Ah!" Stan shouted when he felt Kyle's hand on his cheek, right where he had his freshly made wound, "Kyle? It burns there..."
"Stay still," Kyle closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and when he opened his eyes, his left hand began to glow. Stan could tell he was very focused, he was scared when he noticed the light starting to spread from Kyle's hand to his entire arm, the curls of the boy began to rise in the air as if he were about to float, around Kyle, herbs began to sprout, as well as flowers and small vines that slowly wrapped around his leg. Stan must be dreaming because he couldn't believe what was happening to him, everything that happened in the last 15 minutes seemed like something out of a dream, maybe he was still sleeping, but it felt too real.
Suddenly it stopped, Kyle took his hand off Stan's cheek, and he immediately touched it, noticing that he didn't feel any pain, only the pressure of his fingers on his cheeks.
"...done, now you can stop crying..." The redhaired boy gave him a little smile, looking extremely tired.
"My cheek doesn't hurt anymore! What did you do?! How?!" Stan exclaimed excitedly when he was surprised by Kyle falling on top of him, luckily the boy had quick reflexes and held him up. "And that light! Where did it come from?! How did you make that... Kyle? Hey, wake up!"
The boy seemed exhausted after the strange maneuver he did, his face showed discomfort, and Stan quickly brought his hand to his forehead, noticing that he had a fever.
He carried him on his back and quickly took him home, turning around once again to see the only tree on the farm with fruits. He quickly connected the dots.
"Oh my God, you made the tree flourish."