Meet Annie.
Her eyes are the color of carrots, she has jet black hair, and she's living on a stupid farm that everyone agrees is badly in need of renovation.
The ceiling of her "new" house is patched, barely keeping the rain that splatters on her rooftop out—wait, strike that. The rain is still falling in anyway. There is cold air everywhere because the heater hasn't worked since God knows when.
Propped up on her freezing, old bed, Annie stares at the ceiling with a blank look. If you want to know the details, let's just say that she is reconsidering the direction of her life. Finally Annie thinks, "Well, I may as well get up already even though it's fucking cold outside at six in the morning and all I have for clothing is this silly dress."
So that's how, not even ten minutes later, Annie is outside drowning in the rain while trying to chip a persistent rock. Meanwhile the rain is gushing all over inside her house, and all Annie can think about is, "God, I wish I had breakfast."
In the ultimate showdown between Annie and the rock, the rock beats Annie. It beats Annie so hard, Annie is on her knees screaming with the blood pouring down her hands. The rain, apparently, had no love for the dramatic effect Annie's bloody hands may have easily achieved. After that, Annie brushes off her hands on the sides of her traditional, authentically European dress, and begins to travel west. The west of Annie's farm was another farm, but that farm wasn't very important. No, it was the river south of the second farm that made the area so crucial to Annie's hazy, sleep deprived mind.
It was a rather swell river, composed of a mediocre dock and shallow water, and the best thing about it was that Annie could swim it. Annie could swim any of the shallow, quiet rivers of Oak Tree Town, but this river was the best. It was the place where Annie once learned to swim in only five minutes flat. Just thinking of it even now causes Annie to feel an uncanny satisfaction with herself that ultimately absorbs into the surrounding environment with its snobbishness.
Fully clothed and soaked by rain, Annie stands at the dock. Suddenly, she thrusts down like a fallen bullet, crashing against the freezing waters with an ominous blow. For a few moments the strands of Annie's black hair is the only thing visible. Then Annie emerges, broadly grinning like the lunatic she is. In her hands she holds a crab that is still trying to kill her.
This practice of mantically ignoring crucial survival instincts is in fact quite ordinary, at least with Annie. Every morning she humps into the water to fish by hand, then sells her pitiful findings to the traders.
Sometimes she only gets dirty boots. She sells those, too.
At one point, a very concerned friend questioned her on this absurd routine. Annie did not just confirm it, but added, "It's the economy. The stupid economy is making me do this. I swear to God I would be sane otherwise."
When you're making excuses, you know that you've done something wrong. And with Annie, her failure was flunking high school Spanish. She knew, in some weird, vague part of her mind, that everything horrible going on now has to do with failing that one, very important, Spanish grade. There was absolutely no doubting it.
So Annie didn't plan to.