Disclaimer: Of Mice and Men is owned by John Steinbeck.
Note that all misspelllings in dialogue are intentional.
This bunkhouse was just as long and rectangular shaped as most bunkhouses were. The wood was old and dark, the ground almost rotten from the years of wear. There were a few windows on the back wall, all lined up showing the night sky and millions of stars. On two walls there were sets of bunk beds going up and down the walls, and the two others had single beds. In the corner of one wall was a large wooden door with a rusted latch. All the beds were made and had a single shelf over head. On the shelves were small boxes full of the bed owner's items. Just as most bunkhouses, the shelves were covered with miscellaneous items that whatever the owner would need. There was a stove in a back corner and this night the fire inside was crackling loudly.
At the small round table in the corner next to the stove, set up for workers to play cards or whatever they fancy, sat George Milton, playing his usual game of solitaire. He had been doing this often. Especially while all the other men were out in the next town, spending all the money they earned down to the last cent, like they were now.
He hadn't gotten to know any of the other men, nor did he really want to. He had left Tyler Ranch, specifically because he wanted to get away. He wanted to be in a place where nobody knew who he was, or where anyone really cared. All he wanted was to start over.
Many miles away, up near the Oregon-California border, he found the small Anderson Ranch. The boss was a widower with no children, meaning there were no Curley's around, and no women in sight until you reached the next town over. There were far less workers than at the last ranch, and most had been there a long time, with no intention of leaving.
Most of the men were friendly, at least the ones in his bunkhouse. They seemed to all keep to themselves however, which was how George liked it. He was intending to spend the rest of his days alone, which was how he wanted it.
George's silence was disrupted as Wilson walked into the large room. Wilson was the oldest worker on the ranch, being there for nearly twelve years. He had a face like a road map and his eyes were murky sapphires. His hair was white with a few remaining strands of blond hair. He walked with a slight limp and a small hunch, due to many mild injuries over his many years as a rancher.
Behind him walked a new face, something rare at this ranch. It was a man, but just barely. Boyhood was still very apparent in his hazel eyes. He was thin and small, as short as most women. He had small hands but large feet and he walked while looking at the ground, like he was afraid of tripping over them. His coal colored curls were unruly and his fair skin was quite freckled. His clothes were fairly clean showing that he hadn't done much work. The boy couldn't have been any older than eighteen.
"You can take dis' bunk Samuel," Wilson crackly voice told him, pointing to the small bed next to George's.
Samuel dropped a small brown raggedy sack atop the bed and sat down. He bounced a bit, and seemed disappointed when the bed didn't move with him.
"You'll get used to that," Wilson assured him. "Now work starts 'morrow morning, bright and early. Most of the men are out in da next town over, but I'm sure they'll be back soon."
Wilson looked around the room, spotting George at the table, pretending to be concentrated on his cards.
"Hey George, how you doing?" He asked politely.
George shrugged. "Fine."
Wilson nodded, knowing George's wouldn't say more. He looked back at Samuel. He was seated on the edge of the bed, looking down at the ground at his feet. The boy seemed to be thinking, his face distant.
"See ya boys, I got work in the stables," Wilson said with a wave before leaving out the door.
The bunkhouse remained silent after that. George acted like he went back to his cards, but he was really watching the new one. He'd seen young ranchers many times before, but something about this one puzzled him.
Samuel stood up after a few moments, shuffling his feet against the floor as he took a few of his possessions and put them in the apple box atop his bed. He was clumsy, dropping nearly every item he picked up at least once before being able to successfully put it away. He put everything in the box carefully though, with deep concentration, as if he was solving a puzzle of some sort.
After a while his things were finally put away and the sack was set under his bed. He stood there a moment, twirling his fingers and rubbing his wrists. George could tell he was trying to say something, to introduce himself to George, but was struggling.
Samuel walked over, the same way he walked in, watching his feet carefully. He took a chair across from George, making a loud squeak when he pulled it out.
George ignored him, setting up for another game.
"A-a-are you p-p-playing solitaire?" Samuel questioned, stuttering severely.
George nodded.
"My s-s-sister's used to p-p-play that all the t-t-time," he continued, trying to make conversation but shyly, as if he were afraid of saying something wrong.
George didn't respond.
"Do you have any s-s-sisters?"
"No."
"B-b-brothers?"
George paused, not sure how to answer that.
After a moment, he shook his head. "No."
"I-I've never been on a ranch before," Samuel told him.
George nodded, finding his suspicions true.
"I-I, ah, I-I-I haven't been around p-p-people much. I'm a little worried."
George still didn't respond. He had to admit that he felt a little bad for the kid. It was obvious he had some problems and was incredibly inexperienced.
"Wher-Where you worried your first time working on a ranch?"
George nodded slightly, moving his hat down to cover his eyes.
"Is it really hard work, or…" Samuel trailed off.
George remained silent. After a few moments of silence, Samuel continued.
"D-d-d-do you ever miss your family?"
George paused, that question striking a chord. Memories of his family and other people from his past ran through his brain. The memories weren't warm and kind, it was like they were taunting him, reminding him what he no longer had. Reminding him of what he had done and who was no longer with him.
He shot up out of his seat, slamming his fist on the table. "Will ya stop questioning me!" he snapped.
Samuel was silent, eyes wide like a child being scolded.
George grunted. "I know you're a kid and this is your first time on a ranch. You'll learn to mind your own business quickly. Guys around here don't like ya goin' 'round, questionin' them about their lives and their families. They think you up to somethin'."
George took deep breaths, calming himself down. The kid's face was still in shock and he barley blinked. George sat down in his chair slowly.
"I-I-I-I-I'm s-s-s-s-s-sorry," Samuel said quickly, stuttering worse than before. He got out of his seat and trudged towards his bunk, his head down as usual. His shoulders were slumped and he dragged his large feet against the rotted floor.
This whole event reminded him, brought memories back to his brain. He remembered similar words being said, and the way Samuel had walked towards his own bunk reminded him of someone.
George sighed, wondering why he was doing this again.
He sat up from the table and walked over to his own bunk, next to Samuel.
"You're probably going to be working in the fields, a small guy like you…"