The Overworld: a massive, hardly occupied collection of land with a cluster of biomes spread apart, defying the laws of ecology, such as a taiga being next to the local desert. Unnamed, unexplored, and furthermore, unremarkable. To Roxie, though, it was home. The one occupant in the vast continent was content to stay alone with her pet wolf named Pup and ocelot named Kit (being alone for long periods of time tends to leave a woman like Roxie remarkably uncreative), and thusly was also satisfied to stay alone. As in, no one else around. Ever.

As for Roxie's story, well, she has none. She has always been a product of that one unfortunate human forced to fend against starvation and monsters on a daily basis. Of course, her first few nights-rather, months-in the hellish landscape were difficult, but Roxie pulled through. She mined some iron to make suitable gear for herself, built a cozy one-bedroom house made of wood and stone, and claimed an abandoned mineshaft. (From whom the mine previously belonged to, she has no idea, nor intends to know what happened to said miner.) And for Roxie's past, it is a jumble of forgotten memories in which she has no desire to investigate. But from where does the story begin? Is it the dull life of a female miner who falls for another miner in the area? An adventure against the evil Creeper? A story of her tragic death, alone and loveless?

It is the story of a girl and her rather unusual friend.

Now, Roxie has yet to meet said friend. Said friend was most likely rearranging things. But rest assured that this friend will meet Roxie very, very soon.

To clarify what Roxie looks like, she is a tan Caucasian woman of average height, appearing nineteen or so. Her body is very thin from the strict diet of bread and the occasional pork chop, thus her clothing, ruined from the ashes of bedrock and breaking materials, is extremely baggy on her. At all times, there must be a leather belt wrapped around her midriff. As for her hair, it is brown, long, unruly, slightly dirty, and curly, falling loosely down her shoulders. Would she be considered attractive? Well, with that thinking-should all protagonists be attractive? Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

Roxie crept down into the mining shaft, diamond sword in one hand and iron pickaxe in another, with Kit and Pup following behind her. Nothing particularly peculiar in this passageway. Typical wooden beams, crumbling from the lack of upkeep, and spider webs so ancient they could disintegrate in one nudge. The passage was lit brightly and led off into a thin crevice consisting of pure cobblestone. This crevice opened up into a large, dimly lit cave, flooded with obsidian and lava, with water gushing through cracks from the top. Of course, with a hope for diamonds, Roxie ventured into this cave, squinting her eyes to see somewhat clearly. Redstone glowed just enough for the girl to at least make her way through the winding pathway to mine next to the lava. No worries-Roxie has had much experience with lava.

There was a sense of urgency in the cave. Roxie knew very well when there were monsters lurking about; indeed, it sounded like there were. The low groan of a zombie, in fact. It moaned and groaned, catching contact with Roxie, who had turned around to face the intruder. And within a few slashes of her sword, the zombie fell, pieces of flesh peeling off of its rotten skin. Knowing that Pup enjoyed its flesh, she threw it to her wolf. Pup wagged his tail, whining in appreciation as he chewed on it.

Yet, the eerie feeling didn't disappear; even Kit was meowing. Roxie knew that something else was there. Something different. Not a skeleton. Not a zombie. Not a creeper.

Shoop. The tell-tale sound. Roxie panicked and dropped her pickaxe on the ground with a loud CLANG, deciding to instead swing at the air violently with her sword as she ran out of the dark cave.

Now, one of her early memories of the past which does affect the story is her encounter with a tall, slender, long-limbed black monster. It was approximately during her first month as a miner, in which she ran into the monster. Called an "Enderman," she had made the mistake of looking into its deep purple eyes. Without a doubt, the Enderman screeched and opened its huge, gaping jaws. Each ebony colored limb on its body was shaking and seething from rage, in a lunatic state. A wild frenzy of the highest degree, attacking the poor girl as if she had murdered its family.

This had caused Roxie's fear of the Endermen. Whether Enderman or Enderwoman, it did not matter. All that mattered to Roxie was if she heard that tell-tale shoop! sound, it was time to run far, far away. She had barely escaped alive from the first attack; would she survive a second?

The Enderman in which had teleported stared after the hysteric girl. The look was not hostile, but its curiosity was peaked. Who was this strange, silly thing? Surely a human, but this Enderman had never seen such a thing.

Follow it, said a thought.

But of course. Follow. Follow her. Female. Yes, human female. She must be female. Kind female? Females are kind.

And the Enderman teleported in front of her, making eye contact by mistake. Roxie screamed and covered her face, the sword slipping out of her sweaty hands. What could she do but wait for death to deliver its final promise?

It stared. She waited. And waited. And waited… and the Enderman still stared.

"Go ahead," Roxie said, trembling. "Hurry it up."

"Hurry?" the Enderman questioned, blinking. Roxie froze. Never, never, in her years of being in this dreadful place, had she heard of a monster talk. They just weren't capable of it. Preposterous to think about, indeed.

Ah, she thought, I'm going crazy. "I'm going crazy," she repeated out loud.

"I thought you already were," the Enderman replied, blinking again, but solemnly. Roxie paused, pulling her arms down slowly, too confused to understand. How could this be? How is this possible? The Enderman speaks-fluently, in fact-and seems to be docile. Impossible! Everyone knows that Endermen are evil creatures. Eldritch abominations. The Enderman picked up a dirt block next to her.

"H-Hey…!" Roxie snapped. "T-That's part of my landscape! Don't move it!"

"I like to move things," the Enderman stated simply, walking next to her house and putting it down. "Do you humans have a name?"

What was this creature going on about? Did it really ask for her name? At least, maybe it's not an it… it sounded male. Perhaps it was male. For now, Roxie assumed, it was male. "My name is Roxanne… just call me Roxie."

"Roxie." It had a hard time pronouncing the "x" sound. "I don't have a name. I can't remember."

Aha! The culprit! Right? Roxie swallowed. "Can't remember what, if… if you don't mind me asking…"

"Oh, no, I don't." If the Enderman could have smiled, it would've. It looked around in the air for a split second and turned its gaze back to her. "I can't remember what I was doing before I teleported into the cave. All I know is that I am not human and I like to move blocks." He-the Enderman in question will be referred to as a "he" from here on out-literally sat on the ground like a kid, legs spread out. "What about you?"

"I'm just living," Roxie replied. She felt at ease around this docile Enderman, although his appearance unnerved her. The explanation for his ability to keep calm under eye contact must be because of his amnesia, although his capability to speak English is a mystery. Fluent English, at that. "Oh, no! Where are my pets?" The realization of her missing pets suddenly hit her. Her eyes widened and her mouth gaped. To the Enderman, she looked rather silly. Comparable to a creeper.

"Your pets are okay," the Enderman stated. "I sense them. Want me to bring them?"

"Fine."

"Okay." Shoop! Roxie waited, tapping her feet. Another shoop! The Enderman stood there, Pup and Kit running to Roxie's feet. He made a pleased sound, familiar to the sound all Endermen make when they are idle. "See? I told you they were okay."

The ridiculousness of the situation baffled Roxie, and though the Enderman's friendly-if not alien-sounding-tone of voice was relaxing at best, the human girl couldn't help but feel wary. It would be so easy to simply succumb to paranoia and believe the Endermen were in a plot against her. Kit and Pup did not seem to mind his presence.

"Do you have a place to sleep?" Roxie asked him, staring into his eyes. The Enderman took a moment to think, and slowly shook his head, as if ashamed.

"No."

Such a difficult decision to make. Despite her desire to be alone with Kit and Pup… her desire to return to the way things were before this strange encounter… Roxie knew it would be dreadful to just leave the Enderman out in the wild. Just as Roxie was about to reply, however, she noticed a burn on his shoulder. The burn was like a tear, as if tiny needles had pelted his body. Dried black substance was on the wound; this, she decided, was an Enderman version of blood.

"What is that?" Roxie cried, making him bend over to examine it. She touched it, and the Enderman screeched, pulling away. "How… how in the hell did you get that…? It looks horrible!"

"It's just a wound," the Enderman choked out, standing back up. "I was out in the rain. I'm fine, really."

"You can't just stay out! It's already getting cloudy!" Roxie yelled. It was such an odd occurrence to feel pity and caring for the monster. She felt entitled to assist him, but there was always the chance of an attack. Always the chance for him to revert back to his old state and kill her. Regardless, it was cruel to just leave him in the wild.

Yet, the Enderman insisted. "I'm okay."

"No you're not. My mind is made up. You're staying with me… at least until you heal. You'll thank me later!" She grabbed him by the arm, leading him back to her cozy little house, with Kit and Pup following behind. Ever so loyally.

There may be questions of what the point of this story is. Do stories ever have a point on the outside? Is it all pseudo-psychological babble, such as The End? All stories are written with a moral, because at the end of the day, even a child's favorite stories have inserted some sort of morale within them. For Roxie and the Enderman, their story could be interpreted as a human desire to befriend those different to them-seeing as many desire to be open-minded, as the phrase indicates-but still remain wary. As for this story, it's a classic tale of a friendship-the girl and her Enderman-with, perhaps, a moral. A moral which has not been uncovered yet. Which, supposedly, is what all stories do.

A/N: You readers may notice the narrator does its job in a different fashion. Through most of this chapter, the narrator indirectly addresses the reader, which I think is fairly appropriate for a game like Minecraft. This was loosely-I repeat, loosely-inspired by the Ending Poem, in which what is said to be two Endermen speaking indirectly to the player, and then directly. The narrator in the last paragraph reflects on this. Agree or disagree with the narrator, that's all on you-the narrator does not reflect my beliefs, but, in some ways, it does. Decide what you want.

Thanks for reading! Perhaps I will make this a series. Who knows, really?