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Dear Valued Customer,
BIG BLOWOUT SALES this week AT JOJAMART!
Come on down and SAVE BIG on ALL of your favorite Joja Co.™ Products!
Pick up some Joja Tortilla Chips and Joja Tomato Adjacent All Purpose Dipping Sauce™ for gridball game night!
Or, how about some Froot Cups™ and Green Stix™ for the hungry rancher out on the pasture?
Fancy yourself a greenthumb? We’ve got all your seasonal crops just waiting to be harvested for Feast of the Winter Star! And at HALF the price of those other guys!
And what goes well with everything, no matter the occasion? That sweet, crisp, unforgettable taste of Joja Cola™!
There’s something for everyone down at the Pelican Town Jojamart. So come on over, we’re family!
Your friend, Morris
The sound Mars made was drowned out by the frenzied shredding of the circular between his hands, but if he had to guess, it was probably somewhere between desperate and animalistic. The pieces drifted to the ground in an anticlimactic, dainty sway that only further irritated him. In an attempt to find something to calm his nerves, he reached back into the mailbox to retrieve his payment from the previous day’s shipment.
The number on the check that greeted him had different plans.
It wasn’t actually as bad as it seemed, he might have thought. Afterall, a good number of high value products he’d been preparing all season had gone towards the Community Center effort. And with the upgraded barn and a nearly full grown pig, he could have realized that a fat payday would soon be on the horizon.
He didn’t think about these things.
Instead, he felt hopeless. Small, futile, diminished and deflated. The looming specter that was Jojamart clouded him like a dense fog, leaving him feeling like a wayward husk. It was all too impossible, and he was all too stupid to be heading the task.
It was getting harder. Everything, he thought, that was this perceived idyllic life in the countryside, was getting so much harder. He felt like a fool, to think that he could escape the seemingly omniscient grips of Joja, even way out here in a place so otherwise unsullied by the rages of rampant, disillusioned capitalism.
Worse still, he felt like a fool to think he could ever escape himself. At least with Sebastian, he could pretend like he was someone else.
“Fucking hell…” He threaded farm-rough fingers through his blue locks, gripping mercilessly to his scalp to keep the panic at bay. He took sharp breaths through his nose in a feeble attempt to keep the spiraling thoughts from consuming him whole.
He pried his eyes open, having at some point squeezed them shut in his near-miss panic attack, and looked down to his boots; the glossy paper of the ad skittered and slid against the dusty planks, threatening to blow away in the next pass of unrelenting autumnal gusts.
With another shaky breath in through the nose, and a deep, empty sigh out the mouth, he reached for the broom to tidy his ill begotten mess, and began another day.
~*~
“Looks like it’s building to be a nasty one up there…”
It was a quiet, whisplike voice that managed to snap Mars quickly and coldly back to reality. He wasn’t sure when he’d drifted into daydreams, or how long he’d been staring mile-long past the river, but he’d certainly been far enough away in his own head that he hadn’t noticed Penny take the seat next to him.
“Oh, um…”, he cleared his throat, dry from disuse, and peered towards the sky. It was turning out to be a dark, dreary day. The wind whipped dead leaves this way and that, and the heavens threatened to break open at any moment and shower Pelican Town in a chilling, unforgiving torrent.
He tried not to acknowledge that it felt fitting.
“It does, huh.” He shifted slightly against the chilly library bench, and glanced over his shoulder at her now, trying to be conversational, “You still gonna hold classes today? Seems a little touch and go for the kids, doesn’t it?” She met his gaze and smiled faintly and sweet; it was a little sad, too. It always was, no matter what she said, or what the weather was. On days like today, he shared that sadness deep in his bones.
“Today I’m here just for me, actually.” She turned now to stare out into the distance, “I can’t stand to be in the trailer on days like today. So I brave the storm and head to the place where I feel safest and warm.”
There was silence. The wind whipped around them, and Mars’s eyes rested on her lips. They were taut, and did not betray the deep grief that her words would suggest.
Practiced, he understood. He knew it all too well.
“Er, ah, I’m sorry, was that too much?” She suddenly panicked, biting her lip and looking bashfully downwards, taking him by surprise. Her voice dropped then, too, and she gripped at the crisp cotton pleats covering her knees, “Yoba, I’m always doing that…” Mars chuckled a soft sound,
“No, not too much. I appreciate your honesty, Penny. The things you say sound poetic sometimes.” Her head whipped around, wide-eyed and with a blanch that quickly gave way to a sheepish blush,
“Oh! Um…Thank you, Mars. That’s certainly kind of you to say.” He offered her a smile as reply, and there was a quiet between them. It was an easy quiet, Mars thought. He wasn’t sure if that was a practiced behavior too, vying to seem as small and unobtrusive as possible. While he wasn’t privy to details, the little he’d seen and heard of Penny’s homelife with Pam wasn’t great by any stretch of the imagination. It made him feel ashamed for having the opportunity to run away from everything he had, and yet still feel so much pity for himself.
“Say…Mars,” Penny spoke again, scarce against the rustling trees, “How do you like Stardew Valley?”
It was Mars’s turn to blanch, feeling like he’d been torn wide open and she was reading him like the books she loved so dearly. He hid it quickly, passing it off as a contemplative rub of his chin. He dared a glance her way, but her gaze was trained on her patent shoes. Calm, collected, practiced.
He could lie. He could sing the praises of the Valley and his farm, and know she’d see right through him and question nothing. He could do it, and keep up a facade that seemed so tired and worn, and she would understand.
“Well…I guess I don’t really know anymore.” He laughed, and it was dry, “I came here running from a lot of things, but I think they might be catching up with me.”
She didn’t respond, nor did her face give away any inkling that she’d even heard him at all. She was still, eyes burning holes into those glossy mary janes, and offered nothing. Mars sunk his gaze into his own muddy boots,
“I’m trying to do better. Find myself and do something good for the world, and all of that nonsense. But I guess the Valley has a way of laying you bare. And that’s…really fucking scary.”
A twinge. The slightest movement in her matte-red lips, something resembling the predecessor to a smirk. He couldn’t help but smile a little too,
“That wasn’t too much, was it?” She faced him, and let out a giggle that sounded like wind chimes,
“No, Mars, not at all.” Her smile reached her eyes now, and it made him feel a little less sorry for himself. She delicately gathered her pleats between her fingers, her matching red nails as glossy as her shoes, “I appreciate your honesty too. Sometimes this Valley can make you feel so alone, like you’re the only one running from something…”
A low rumble thundered over the mountains. Mars huddled snugly into his bomber.
“Yeah…but, I guess it’s a little naive to think that way, isn’t it?” He sighed, “I came out here thinking my problems would just disappear, y’know? Like I could start all over again. And when I was with Sebastian, I-“ He caught himself, and felt a heat come to his cheeks. He shook his head, “S-sorry. That time it really was too much.”
Distantly, the patter of raindrops could be heard plunking against the river, joining in with a chorus of rustling palm fronds and the heavy K-THUNK of Clint’s steam pipe working overtime in the chilling weather. It was dismal, and all too soon, his heart felt heavy again, weighed down by the gray curtain above them. In the midst of his doldrum, he felt a delicate, warm hand rest on his knee. He met Penny’s eyes, and she was looking at him sadly,
“I’m sorry you’re hurting so much, Mars.” The rain began to rapidly pick up around their bubble under the library awning, and the thunder was inching ever closer. Penny had to raise her voice, “I think, if you’re brave, you’ll be able to face what you’re running from. And, if you’re patient, you’ll find what it is you really want from the Valley.” She removed her hand, and in the cold embrace of the darkness enveloping them, Mars ached for it the moment it was gone. She stood, and he mustered up his most convincing courage,
“Thanks, Penny. I hope you’re right.” They exchanged waves, and as the Library door slammed shut in the force of the wind, he was left alone once again.
~*~
As though driven by some twisted, malevolent force that was hell bent on mirroring Mars’s mood, the storm grew only more treacherous as the minutes passed. The wind cried and whipped mercilessly at fallen leaves and powerlines alike, and the meager show of life in Pelican Town Square had since scurried safely inside.
Mars hadn’t. He knew, however distantly, that he should. That this flavor of storm would only continue to darken and morph the seaside valley into a ghoulish facsimile of color-faded cobblestones and saltworn siding. It was like he needed to face its rotten deluge head on, to prove something to himself. To the very Valley.
It was foolish. It was dramatic and tired and worn, much like his own poisoned soul. And yet he allowed the howling tumults to drown out his better mind all the same as he headed for the canopy of Cindersap Forest.
His slick hair was already plastered to his face and the lining of his bomber soaked through to his clammy skin by the time the wooden fences of town transformed into the lush bounty of the woods. He didn’t quite know where he was heading, though he squished through increasingly marshy ground with purpose all the same. Dimly, he might have been aware of a passing thought, something about the cliffside making for a stunning view of the acres and acres of old growth forest set in an autumnal blaze.
That’s what he would tell himself later, at least.
He wasn’t sure how he noticed it. The flash of deep purple set in the reddened brush should have been all but invisible, especially in the flat grayness blanketing the earth and air. Even then, in these conditions, it should have just been a trick of the eye. And yet, as his curiosity was piqued and he drew closer, a form began to take shape: robust, squat, clad in denim blues and sat so utterly precariously on the glossy cliff face, the streams of muddy water threatened to wash it away in one swift motion.
His heart gave an agonizing thud against his ribcage. He tried to speak, and he wasn’t sure if the word caught thick in his throat, or if it was simply drowned out by the din of too-near thunder above.
Shane.
His legs moved before his mind could catch up. It felt like he was trudging through molasses, each squish of his bootfalls in the muddy cliffside suddenly feeling excruciatingly slow and sticky as he struggled to reach Shane.
Slowly he neared, no longer feeling the cold or damp or sting of the rain. Shane lay there, soaked and unmoving, with two demolished six packs and the scant remains of a third scattered amongst him.
A chilled fear washed over Mars and made him shiver. He saw himself reach out a trembling hand, and place it so, so gently on Shane’s sodden shoulder. He didn’t react, and Mars’s heart leapt into his throat. He tried to speak, at first making only a strangled noise. He tried again, fighting the constricting tension in his throat,
“Shane…?” He shook him ever so softly, “Shane, it’s me, Mars.”
He heard the rain carry his voice away, and felt himself become increasingly panicked. Distantly, he was aware that his teeth had pierced the skin of his lip as he registered a metallic taste in his mouth.
“Mm…Mars…” came a hoarse sound, nearly swallowed by the storm. A rough cough followed, then, “I-I’m sorry…”
Without thinking, he was on his knees, the frigid muck caking his jeans in a thick slurry. He fought to keep his hands steady on Shane’s shoulders, any relief he may have felt to hear his voice taken swiftly away by the galloping of his heart.
A beat passed. Then two. The storm raged deafly in his ears, all at once both a cacophonous maelstrom and a grief-stricken orchestra, each crashing branch and wailing boom a sorrowful, raging instrument in this crescendo of nature.
Shane spoke,
“‘M just so small, so weak ‘nd insignificant,” his voice was scarce and slurred, yet it echoed mercilessly in Mars’s head. “‘M too stupid to take control of my life, t’ be ‘nything more than filth ‘nd garbage in the wind…” his voice cracked, drunken countenance giving way to the harsh sobs of a tortured man.
Mars felt lightheaded.
“I thought, here’s a chance to finally take control of m’ life, th-these cliffs,” he wept, tears and snot becoming analogous to rain and mud, creating a retched slop that coated his face. It contorted into a grimace, and his far-away whisper climbed to a battered roar, “But‘m too scared! I’m too fuckin scared, Mars! Jus’ like always!” As if carried away on the wind, the power left his voice, and he moaned into the mud, “All I do is work ‘n sleep n’ drink, work n’ sleep n’ drink, tryin’ ta dull the f-feelings of self hatred…”
He opened his eyes, staring off the sheer face of the cliff to some far away place only he could see. His sight lingered there, lost in a threat and a promise shrouded in the sheets of gray, relentless rain. The sky cried its ceaseless torrent around them, the ground beneath quickly turning to a swamp of anxiety and fears and sorrow, threatening to swallow them both whole.
And then, those blood-shot, clouded eyes locked Mars in a startlingly piercing gaze, pleading and drowning,
“Tell me…tell me why I shouldn’t do it. Jus’ one move, ‘nd let the rain take me away, off this cliff.”
Mars dug his fingers into Shane’s soaked shoulder, as though trying to root him to the spot, to keep him anchored for long enough to find the magic words that would take away his pain and misery. Words that could solve all his woes and make him see the devil in his mind that was puppeting him towards destruction; that slick-tounged demon, whispering his greatest shames and failures, and painting him in the colors of falsehoods and agony.
But, there were no magic words. In this space of existential suffering, under the weight of everything that came before, nothing could be said or done that would take it all away.
Still, somehow, he spoke,
“I…I can’t tell you what to do. This decision, your life, it’s your own.” The rivulets of mud caught hold of the empty beer cans, sending them careening off the cliff in a soggy overture. Gripping to the vestiges of some distant strength, he swallowed and steadied his voice,
“Whatever you decide to do…just know that I’m here for you.”
A wet hush descended, and Shane held his gaze, unwavering and dire in the shadow of this spoken truth. The silence marched on, measured in distant thunder and dripping leaves, leaving them gutted and bare on the forest floor. Shane closed his eyes, and a bone-deep weariness took hold of his features,
“…Thank you, Mars. I appreciate that…I really do.”
Mars kneeled there, a sentinel, legs long since gone numb and settled deep into the murky earth. Every inch of him was sodden to the core, cold and clammy, yet feeling nothing all the same. He could not, would not, let the fear reach him. Not while he still held Shane in his grasp.
“Mars…,” that hoarse voice broke again through the gloom of his mind, “I think you should take me to the hospital now.”
~*~
Squish. Squish squish squelch. Squelch squish squash squelch squelch.
A pause. Moaning, a lurch, and the sound of something wet making a sickening splatter.
Squelch squash squish squish. The earth fights to hold them still, to keep them trapped in this whirling prison of green and brown and cold and damp.
The view of cobblestones. An ocean of gray. Patters and whispers, years away.
Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum. Heat and thumping in his ears, his breath clouding his view.
Fwoosh. The chime of a bell. Gasps, and a rush of bodies. He hears himself speak, but this may well be in another life, too.
Then, it’s cold. He’s alone, the absence leaving a deafening hush in his wake.
Alone.
At his core, a chill. An ache so deep he wants to die.
Alone.
The sight of his clenched hands, white knuckles caked in mud and plant matter.
Alone.
He is serenaded by dripping. The endless, forlorn dripping of his own drenched body. Each drip the hands of a clock, ticking away into the reaches of eternity.
“Thank Yoba you found him when you did.”
A voice. Harvey’s voice.
“I’ve pumped his stomach, and he’s on an IV drip to help rehydrate him.”
The drips echo mercilessly in his mind.
“He’s going to be okay. When he comes to, I’m going to talk with him about his treatment options. I know an excellent counselor in Zuzu City.”
He might have responded; his lips move a little, but his mouth is dry. Harvey doesn’t seem to notice.
There’s a hand on his shoulder. It feels miles and miles away.
“Life can be painful sometimes…but, there’s always hope for a better future. You’ve got to believe in that.”
He blinks.
He discards his clothes in a sullied heap by the front door.
The tiles of his shower glisten as steam fills the room. Soon, his fingers are pruny, and the water has gone cold.
He buries himself in bed, tenting the blankets over himself. He’s dry from the shower, but his face is wet.
Alone.