The Golden Tree Project
By Cherry-sama
AN: This fanfic brings up an important question. How the heck did a HUMOUR writer get DEPRESSED off of ANIMAL CROSSING!? Please, I wish somebody would tell me…
Yes, I am new here. A few other townspeople have noticed me rush past. 'The girl holding the shovel'? Is that what they refer to me as? That is all I really am. The girl holding the shovel…an appropriate title… An only title.
My name? Why bother asking for my name? I have none. I'll never have one. I am too worthless to have ownership of one. Besides, I could never afford one. I am nothing but a human, sitting outside the shop door, holding a single Bell within my hand.
Why did I move here? I had no choice. It was part of the role I must play. Still must play. It's not like I have a choice. I am only a pencil line; only to be the guideline to the perfect picture and erased as soon as it has played its part.
What role do I play? I sometimes wonder myself. They call it the Golden Tree Project. I only stand on this planet, to plant a shovel into the ground and watch it grow, along with many others. My creator only made me after acknowledging that the other humans in this village had a strange disability. And after I am unable to make the trunks nurture and the leaves thrive, I shall forever perish.
'It sounds silly'? Is that why you laugh at me like that? I suppose it is silly. I am only breathing to plant trees made of gold. I suppose you must find it funny how I slowly count down to my final hour by watching seedling wriggle out of the soil. It must be comical how I as I stand here, chatting with you, my life terminating faster and faster. Do you only see me as a walking gag? A clown? …A clown holding a shovel…?
After I perish, a replacement will be sent in. One just like me; compelled to a shovel. I know that when I vanish, nobody will give them foul glances; nobody will break into tears, just talking to them; nobody will read over any letters I have sent, withstanding their watery eyes. They will greet the newcomer with open arms, smile, and tell them secrets about themselves. You won't miss me. You'll never miss me. That is because, masked by those greetings you utter, I know the truth. You don't care about me.
There is no point to my smile, painted onto my face. There is no point to the clothes I'm garbed in, or the clock on my shelf. Once I'm gone, they shall depart along with me. Their fate is twisted into mine. Once again, they have no choice. Seems that none of us have a choice.
So here I am, standing as I wait for my world to shatter. But that doesn't matter. I just do my work and watch the saplings grow. For this is my role, my only role: to maintain the Golden Tree Project.
AN: This story was based off my character, which I have named '???'. I made her after finding out that somehow, my other people could not plant trees anymore. While playing this character, I somehow though of this and got depressed. Once again. How the heck did I, a well-known humour writer, get so depressed off of one of the happiest game I know! Please review and tell my small brain how…