Chapter Text
I really should stop going to bed at 2AM.
The sound of the rooster crowing, the sunlight shining through the cracks of the blinds, and not to mention the glowing red 6AM on my wristwatch are enough signals to start another day of exhausting farm work. As much as I would rather pull my blankets over my head and doze off more, the remaining digits in my wallet are already pathetic enough to motivate me into work. I am one parsnip away from being forced to bankruptcy, and it’s not even halfway through the spring.
Changing into my usual everyday clothes, I quickly grab my brown jacket hanging beside the entrance of my cabin before prompting the door open as the fresh breeze of floral nodes enters my nostrils. The sun is as bright as ever and the birds are chirping in a little melody, a warm welcome to a sunny morning, yet my fatigue from last night’s endless errands and my humiliating farming progress leaves me to start the day with resentment and coffee instead of sunshine and giggles.
Out of habit, I take a peek out of my mailbox to see another letter and—what the fuck is that smell?
I unfold the paper, blue ink scribbles fill the page with a sign from one of the locals I talked to weeks ago.
“Hey, I thought it would be fun to send you a letter. I really don’t know what to write though.
Here, I’ve enclosed a treat for you. Don’t tell anyone, but I snagged this from the back room of JojaMart ages ago.
Okay, see you soon.
- Shane”
I stare at the letter for a little while, my eyes slowly peeking through the interior of the mailbox to see a pizza shoved inside to the innermost corner. Even with the smallest amount of light, I could still make out how discolored the pizza is with blue and green spots, doesn’t help the fact the stench is absolutely revolting.
He’s fucking drunk for sure.
I’ll deal with the mailbox later.
With a watering can in hand, I begin giving my plants the water they need, making sure that I am thorough or my crops won’t grow. Worst case scenario, they get all wilted and dry, and the money spent to buy those seeds? Down the fucking drain.
After almost a month of moving to the farm, I still haven’t gotten the hang of following a somewhat fixed routine with watering the crops and petting the animals. But if I’m lucky enough to spare extra time, I’d go to the mines or stop by the beach for additional cash. Except, I am very unlucky considering the tools I have right now are shit, either in their lowest quality or simply a pain in the ass sacrificing my energy for it—especially this God awful watering can that needs to be refilled for every five unwatered crops. Definitely not because I might be a shit farmer and I’m a disappointment to the family.
And just when I’m about to find a little bit of peace with my fatigue, the scarecrow’s screams, shattering the last piece of patience.
Yeah, that’s right. I have a screaming scarecrow. Two for now, and I’m planning to buy another one as even though it’s annoying rather than haunted, it actually serves its purpose. Today, it scared off 12 crows and “a homeless dude.”
𖧧 𖧧 𖧧
Does anyone in town do their Goddamn jobs?
Pierre’s store is fucking closed.
It is literally in the middle of the week, and I need to buy some grass. I could make the grass myself but Pierre is such a bitch I have to pay 1000G to get the recipe manual for it. It’s not my fault my chickens are a bunch of greedy herbivores, inhaling grasses I just planted yesterday and leaving me with dry land. My animals are surely going to hate me, but they should be grateful they still get to have sustenance while I barely get to eat at all.
“Open the door, Pierre!” My fists bang against the glass doors. I hope the doors would swing open and give me the freedom to get all the grass starters without paying for it—but of course, they’re just fantasies. “OPEN UP!” And just when the lights and the doors remain shut, I admit my defeat.
I guess I’d just have to dig in the trash again.
Which I did—absentmindedly—behind the Stardrop Saloon. As I open the trash lid, I find myself excited to be seeing a bean hotpot, surprisingly untouched as if I found a treasure from the long lost sea of… nevermind. But I’m also kind of suspicious that anyone would throw away such a good meal. And I didn’t stop there. My hands keep digging through the plastic bags, still hoping that I’ll be able to find something valuable. And to my absolute surprise, I did. Why would anyone throw away crab cakes? Maybe the Gods finally take pity on me and at least blessed me with not one but two meals.
I am finally eating good—
“EW!” A squeal interrupts me from digging through the trash further, taking it a sign to take whatever I already have for the day. I turn my head to see the source coming from a woman a little younger than me. She has blonde wavy hair, has her usual light blue flattering camisole and pink flowy skirt. She’s one beautiful woman—especially her blue eyes—except her mean attitude makes her a little unapproachable… sometimes unattractive. Haley points an accusing finger at me with her usual disgusted look that I’m all too familiar with. “That’s disgusting! What’s wrong with you?”
This is actually the second time this week she’s spotted me digging through the trash for food, and we’re both unfortunate enough that we keep seeing each other like this. But I don’t blame her one bit—I mean, it is gross—but I’m desperate and I need sustenance or I’ll see Grandpa in advance.
“I’m sorry, dude.” I lift my hands in surrender. Haley turns her back against me with a huff, her hair flicking from behind as she stomps to the other way.
Great.
𖧧 𖧧 𖧧
The water surface begins bubbling and the string of my bamboo fishing rod tugs it down. With one pull of my rod hoping for a bit of resistance, my hook picks up another piece of trash. Another sigh leaves my mouth, a habit that the valley brings out in me.
I’ve been in the mountains for two hours now, sitting on the grass beneath a pine tree on a small island while fishing by the lake. For such a pleasant view and a tranquility this place gives, the lack of fish I catch and the amount of trash I pull up is so draining. What makes this even more emotionally—yes, emotionally—exhausting is that whenever there is a fish caught in the tackle and I’m trying to reel it in that feels like a neverending tug-of-war, it somehow escapes the hook. But I kind of promised myself I’ll keep fishing until I, at least, have enough to sell and to eat.
I whip the rod, casting a line and letting the bobber float onto the water. I waited for another set of 30 minutes until a tug caught my attention. I reel it in, and… of course it’s trash.
I swear if I get another piece of trash.
Another whip, another 30 minutes, and another tug. Green fucking Algae. What a cruel joke, a joke that might resort into breaking anything that comes in my vision. My fists throw themselves up in the air, punching the open space as my lungs expel an aggrieved scream. It isn’t trash, but it’s not fish.
I drop my head, the heat in my head isn’t worth much to fuel considering I’m already tired. You know what? I ain’t going to complain anymore, it’s an additional edible bite at least.
𖧧 𖧧 𖧧
The sun has long set, the darkness setting in the land with the moon as my only light source. But even that is not enough. I only caught six fish in the past… I don’t even know how long I have been fishing. Carrying everything I caught, I walk through the night back to the farm.
“I made little money today.” I say to myself, dumping the fish in the shipping bin. And as for the trash, my own trash bin is overflowing with other people’s rubbish and my fatigue isn’t really helping so I just place it in the shipping bin with the fish. Separately, just to clarify.
Sorry, Lewis. But that ain’t my problem anymore.
Frankly, I wasn’t keeping track of the time so I peek at my—It’s already 1:50AM? Panic turns into adrenaline, my legs going overdrive to bring my body to my house and onto my bed as I find out that my body shuts down at exactly 2AM. It doesn’t matter whether I’m still working on the farm or I’m still in town…
I’M GOING TO PASS OUT!
My hand twists on the door handle and it opens to see my orange tabby, Ginger, laying on my bed. His paws are out by the edge of the mattress, looking at me with a type of expression either he’s waiting for me or mocking me. Then suddenly my vision turns blurry. Every part of my body starts becoming numb one by one. My knees give up and drop onto the ground, arms dropping, and torso losing its balance falling forward. The skin of my cheek burns from the scratches of the floor.