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Crops are fragile. Most of them take weeks and even months to grow. So much effort is taken into nurturing crops. So much time. The conditions needed to keep those crops alive. How many of them it took to care for all the crops around the farm.
And Chips had fucked it up. He had spent most of the day in the stables, with his horse, Joaquin. It wasn't unexpected for him to be in the stables. The stables were practically his second home. The smell of hay, the familiar neighs of all the horses. And especially his partner, his guiding light through the darkness of his home, Joaquin. All of those gave him a sense of comfort. But today, he had spent far too much time with Joaquin and the other horses while his parents were out of town.
He had completely forgotten about the crops he was supposed to harvest. He had only remembered the next day when he woke up. And all he could think of that morning as he laid in bed was,
"Please dear God, don't tell me all of them spoiled overnight."
He got his wish. When he went to check the crops not all of them were spoiled. But most of the crops had rotted overnight, with all kinds of creatures crawling all over them from the inside out. Some had gone overripe. The surviving crops besides the overripe ones had a clear quality decrease.
Chips was completely panicking. There was absolutely no way he could explain this. Both his parents were seasoned farmers and Chips knew they could tell when the crops were left overnight. And he knew that he would be punished somehow. Like he always was.
He could already hear the sound of hooves on the pavement, the chatter of his parents talking about the success of the sales they made in the city. Chips could feel the lump on his throat, the sense of dread washing over him like a tidal wave. His parents were in a good mood. And him telling them bad news now...it was like calling upon the devil himself to drag him to the deepest pits of hell.
But Chips knew he had to do it. It was worse if his parents found out on their own. If he owned up now, they would go a little easier on him. At least that's what he hoped. From what he's seen and experienced all these years on the farm, owning up to his mistakes and accepting his punishment was better than rebelling.
So he begrudgingly trudged over to greet his parents and tell them the news about the crops. He was trying not to look too down and not to drag his feet. He didn't want his parents to sense something wrong immediately.
Chips put on the best smile he could possibly muster in this situation as he approached his parents. And he hoped to god he won't be punished too bad. His father, Paul Bettigan was already helping his mother off of the horse.
"Ma..? Pa...?"
His mom, Kayleigh Bettigan got off of the horse, she looked a little irritated at the sight of Chips. He never really knew why but whenever he was around, it seemed to dampen his mother's mood. She merely raised an eyebrow at him, snapping out a "What now Chips?"
"I...uhh..." He looked down, trying to avoid biting his lip or kicking his legs. He just had to get it out...it wasn't too difficult. He could do it. "...I left the crops unharvested overnight."
Chips could see the way his parents froze for just a second, the look the both of them exchanged. He could see his mother's face of slight irritation to one of pure anger. He swore he could even see a bit of hatred in her eyes. Paul meanwhile had mostly the same look of nonchalance but with a hint of frustration.
"Chips Arthur Bettigan." Kayleigh slowly approached Chips, her voice raising with each word. Paul didn't really do anything. He kind of just stood there as he watched his wife intimidate their son.
Chips bit his lip as he tried to avert his gaze away from the ground. He knew he should look up at his mother. She hated it when his attention was elsewhere when she was scolding. But before he could even lift his head to look up at her, she grabbed his chin, forcing Chips to look up at her.
"You little piece of shit, do you know how long it took for us to grow these crops?" Kayleigh's voice sounded oddly calm. Firm, but calm. Which was...incredibly odd. Chips had never seen his mom talk that way. He was more used to her yelling at him, calling him slurs. So seeing her this calm made Chips feel a sense of dread.
"Ma, 'm sorry I...I didn' mean..."
"Shut up Chips. For once in your GODDAMN life, shut the fuck up."
Chips stiffens as he felt Kayleigh's grip on his hand tighten. He could feel his mother's fingers digging into his skin, leaving curves in the shape of the moon. He opened his mouth to protest, give an excuse...hell, even just make a noise. But he didn't. He quickly closed his mouth again.
His ma was acting...different. And God knows, he was terrified. He felt a bead of sweat on his forehead and his throat felt dry. What in tarnation was his mother planning? Before he even had the chance to open his mouth, his mother started dragging him into the barn.
Chips glanced back at his father, eyebrow raised in confusion and eyes slightly wide. Paul as usual barely had any expression on his face. Just the slight purse of his lips to show his disappointment in Chips as he followed behind.
Once Chips was in the barn with his mother, his father turned back to close the door and lock the barn before approaching them. Chips was trying everything, trying to look at his father's body language to find out what he and his mother would do to him.
All Chips could see from his father's body language was that his hands were behind his back and he only showed his front. Chips could deduce his father was holding...something. He wasn't sure what. Chips just kept staring at his father's hands, trying to figure out what he was holding.
"Sit down Chips."
Chips looked even more confused. Why would he have to sit down? What kind of punishment involved sitting down??? But before he could ask, his mother just grabbed him by his collar, dragging him over to a chair in the corner and plopping him down.
"Ma, pa, what...?"
Paul suddenly went closer and shoved some sort of fruit into his mouth while he spoke. He couldn't really see what it was but he could feel something inside of it, wriggling frantically.
Chips tried to recall what it could possibly be. For a few seconds he couldn't seem to process what was in his mouth, his mother's grip on his body rough and her other hand forcing his mouth to stay open.
As Chips bit into the fruit, he tasted something sour, too sour for a fruit. And he felt a long wriggly creature venture down his throat. Oh. It was one of the crops that had spoiled overnight and had been eaten by worms and caterpillars.
Once he realized what he was eating, he immediately tried spitting it out and his body went into panic mode. He was thrashing and wriggling as his mother kept him down, hissing into his ear,
"This is your punishment Chips. Listen to us. We're only doing this for your own good, to get you to understand consequences. Eat."
Chips tried so hard to get out of the chair, to break out of his mother's restraint. But even as he writhed, thrashed, screamed his apologies, nothing seemed to get his parents to stop.
He stared up at his father, tears in his eyes, whatever fruit juice and creature remnants left around his mouth a painful reminder of his punishment. His eyes were practically pleading, begging Paul for some sort of mercy. Some end to this.
But all he could see in his father's expression was the slight furrow of his brow, a small quirk in the corner of his mouth. And the taste of more spoiled crops, the blood of whatever creatures ate through them in his mouth.
Chips didn't know how many of those rotten crops he ate. How many of those creatures lives he had taken. He felt undeniably gross. He was shaking in the chair, bile in his throat, the urge to throw up strong.
He closed his eyes, his breath coming out short and fast. He didn't feel the grip on his body anymore. But he didn't dare open his eyes. He was glad he didn't, holding in a gag as he felt his mother's lips press against his forehead.
"It's for your own good dear. Now stay here, we'll let you out in the evening."
Chips waited until he heard his parents footsteps fade away, the barn doors opening and closing. He almost breathed a sigh of relief. Instead he ended up throwing up.
Everything was coming out, the chewed up bits of worms and caterpillars and whatever other chewed up creatures he bit into earlier. Even when he threw everything up, he could still taste it. Would he ever get the taste out?
He took a long time to throw up everything. He wasn't even sure it was everything. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, tears dried, throat hurting.
He was alone in the barn. Just himself, his own puddle of vomit and a hat.
...
When did that hat get here?