Hey everyone! This is a story near and dear to my heart. It's been in the works for probably around four years now, and thankfully I'm finally getting around to posting it. I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it.
Want a better way to keep track of what I'm up to and any updates I have concerning my stories? Follow me on my twitter, I always tweet whenever I'm working on something and give you updates on when I think I'll have the next chapter up! I'm bakedcornlover. There's a link to my page on my profile.
Please remember to review after you finish reading and tell me what you think! Enjoy! (:
-JR
As a child, I had always loved fairy tales. My favorite stories were the ones about the princesses. There were always these helpless damsels, who started off poor and alone. They were then saved by a dashingly handsome prince...and then they lived happily ever after. I liked to imagine my life was a fairy tale. Everything was perfect. Even if things may have seemed bleak, in the end everything would have to turn out right. Just like in the stories. I'd have my very own happy ending.
But this isn't a story about happy endings.
It seems from the day I was born I was forever destined to have a sad, lonely life. I was never meant to be one of those beautiful girls who ended up happy—with a brave prince to sweep me off my feet. My mother always used to tell me to never stop dreaming—I should never be brought down by things that others told me. Things that were out of my control. But the things that others kept telling me weren't just words; they were reality. And I couldn't run from reality forever, even if I may have wanted to.
My troubles seemed to start in the city. We used to live in the countryside. We owned a small ranch house...but we didn't actually own animals or grow crops. My grandfather however, was a farmer. He and my grandmother spent most of their lives working on that farm of theirs. I always loved to visit them. They had all kinds of animals for me to play with—though, with my adventurous vigor, they never were too fond of me. Sometimes I would sit outside with my grandfather for hours while he tended to his crops. I would make sure to sit nicely and not say a word so I wouldn't be dragged back inside by my mother because she thought I was disturbing him. But I didn't mind not being able to talk. Instead, my grandfather would tell me all kinds of things. He'd tell me of his childhood and all the crazy things he did as a boy. He'd tell me of what my father was like when he was my age. And he would talk about the farm and how much it meant to him.
I loved when my grandfather spoke of his ranch. His eyes would fill with such emotion and he would always have a large smile upon his lips. He described what I first considered as "a huge stretch of dirt" in such a way that soon I too found myself loving the farm just as much as he had. He would always tell me about hard work and how he had to give one-hundred percent in order to get the results he wanted. Even though it may have been tiring, the final product was always worthwhile. He inspired me to do my best in all I did. Being a quitter wasn't something that was in my blood, he used to claim. We were genuine, pure-blooded, hard-workers. I think he was right. Well, about most of that anyway.
Eventually, things began to fall apart for my family. Grandfather's farm wasn't doing very well. The men from the city who usually bought his crops found a new supplier. With less money to spend, my grandparents had a hard time affording the materials needed to keep their crops healthy. So everything began to die. I remember going to visit them one day during my family's depression. I hadn't seen my grandparents in a while, so I was excited to come see the farm. But when my father pulled the car up, a horrible scene was displayed before my young eyes. My grandfather's beautiful field, which he put so much of his time into, was now a field of death. There was nothing green in sight, only the rotting brown color of the dead carcasses that remained. The barn, that was always so full of life and noisy animals, was now empty. My grandparents had sold all of their beloved furry friends in order to scrape up enough money to pay the bills. I was devastated and heartbroken.
The worst part of all was the look on my grandfather's face when I walked up to greet him. I had never considered my grandfather that old of a man. Sure, age-wise he was far older than I. But his spirit was always so young and carefree. Sometimes he even seemed like he was a kid again. But now his age was really starting to show. His face usually bore creases from smiling too much. Now they bore wrinkles from his stress and aging. His eyes no longer held that jubilant sparkle. He was broken, and there was nothing I could do to mend him.
I wish I could tell you that my grandparents managed to save the farm and got things back to normal. But I can't. Eventually, they sold their ranch and found a small condo in the city to live in. But they weren't there for long. My grandmother died a week after they moved. My grandfather went a month later.
I'm not sure if it was because his parents had just passed or because we no longer had any family out in the countryside, but my father decided one day that we were to move. Like my grandparents, we traveled to the city and bought a petite place in an apartment building to live in. My mother tried to sugarcoat the place by calling it cozy. I considered it cramped. It had only three rooms: the bathroom, the bedroom, and the kitchen-living area. I had a tiny cot in my parents' room that I would curl up on every night. My parents claimed the place was merely a temporary home. We stayed there for two years.
But things did get better, at least after a while. We actually did get a new home. A much bigger and nicer home. To be honest, some might've argued that it could even be considered a mansion. I didn't care either way—it was just a house. After working many grueling hours at his office building as a low-paid journalist, my father finally struck up some luck. A big-time magazine stumbled upon one of my father's short articles in the paper and called him up right away. For whatever reason, they saw something in his writing that my father's old boss didn't. So they offered him a job, with a paycheck you couldn't refuse. It took no time at all for us to get back on our feet. My father even went on to publish a few books. They weren't the biggest craze or anything, but they still sold enough to rake in even more cash for us.
One would think that I had it all. A luxurious house, a fancy school, plenty of money, and anything I desired. But it wasn't that simple. My mother easily adapted to our new rich lifestyle. As for myself, not so much. Shockingly enough, I found the fact that we could get anything we wanted absolutely repulsive. I remembered my grandfather's words, and how he spoke of hard work and determination. The only one who had actually done any work was my father, but he had more or less retired after his third book was released. My grandfather would have been ashamed of all of us.
I didn't like our new life one bit. I hated the dinner parties my mother always threw. I hated the golf outings my father dragged me to. I hated all the official people around the house that always seemed to be asking me questions. I didn't want to go to all the fancy schools just because I could. I wanted to go to a public school and learn like any other student would—I didn't want to be treated differently from anyone else. I wanted to listen to my grandfather again while he worked on the ranch. Most of all, I wanted to live on my own farm and raise crops, just like my grandfather. It was my dream.
And then when I was fourteen, things began to change. My mother became more timid and frightful. My father developed thick worry wrinkles near his brow. I wasn't allowed to leave the house. I was given more and more things—things I didn't even want. My mother felt she needed to spend more time with me. My father felt he needed to spend less. More and more people I didn't even know kept coming to visit and bother me with those annoying questions. I got older and nothing changed. I continued to grow and tons of people seemed to be watching me all the time. I felt like I was in a fish tank.
So I left.
I was twenty-four when I decided enough was enough. I was done with everyone and their stupid advice. I was through listening to everyone's words. I was tired of living the perfect life and being watched by everyone. And most of all, I was tired of being told what I couldn't do. I was going to live the rest of my life how I wanted. And I wanted to live on my grandfather's ranch. Unfortunately for me, the property had been sold and the owner would only sell it for a price I couldn't afford by myself. I didn't dare ask my parents for money, for they surely wouldn't like the idea of me running a farm. So I found a different ranch to run in a faraway town. Even better, it was dirt cheap—cheap enough for me to purchase with my inheritance money and still have a decent amount left over. Though, I realized why this was when I first arrived.
"You're Miss Till?" a short, plump man asked. He had round glasses and a fire engine red suit—it even had a matching top hat. Most people would probably find his appearance comical, but I liked it. Then again, I wasn't exactly normal myself.
"Claire, please," I nodded, giving him a pleasant smile.
"Nice to meet you, Claire—I'm Thomas. I'm the mayor of Mineral Town," he said. He held out his hand for me to grab.
I had to reach down to complete the handshake, a first for me. "It's a pleasure." Good manners were a genuine trait to have, my grandfather had always told me. I took his word to heart.
"Zack can take your luggage for you." he instructed, turning on his heel to begin walking. "I'll show you to your farm."
I suddenly noticed the bulky man to my right. His hair was thick and went straight up. Literally. I found myself staring, pondering how he was able to style his hair in such a way. Did he use gel? A fancy hairdryer? It wasn't that tall, but it still made me wonder. Aside from his kooky hair, he had a furry mustache and a toothy grin.
"Here, I'll take those, Miss Claire!" he announced. He stepped forward with a bounce and reached for my suitcases.
"Oh no!" I clutched them—the two of them—in my hands. "I mean, thank you-" I dipped my head. "But, I'd prefer to do it myself, you know? I don't want everyone to just do things for me."
Something seemed to twinkle in Zack's eyes. "A true worker!" he exclaimed as he threw one hand affectionately around my back. "Thomas, I have a good feeling about this one!"
I laughed at his compliment. "You have my grandfather to thank for that." I informed him. I decided I liked Zack. Unlike Thomas, who was just being overly nice because that was his job, this man was genuine.
"Sounds like a fine man!" Zack declared.
"He was." I nodded, a smile on my face.
"Oh-! I'm... Sorry..." Zack released me, stumbling over his words.
"Don't worry about it," I chuckled. I adjusted my grip on the suitcase handles. "It was very nice to meet you—I'll be seeing you, Zack!"
"You bet! Goodbye, Miss Claire!"
I beamed, nodding my head in reply back to the man as he waved broadly after me. Thomas lead me through town at a steady pace, which was surprising since his legs were so stout. Everywhere I looked I could see green. There were flowers of all colors along the path as we walked—I almost stopped to drop and pick one. The town was so full of life. So different than the busy city. I inhaled deeply, taking in the fresh air. My lungs seemed to purr in delight. Everything about this place felt so right—it was like I had been destined to come here.
I became aware of the fact that Thomas's pace had slowed greatly all of a sudden. At first I figured he had just gotten tired. But then I noticed how he continued to glance back over his shoulder at me when he thought I wasn't looking; he had a bleak look on his face. What was his problem? Was he afraid of me or something? I didn't have time to ask however, for we had rounded a corner and arrived at our destination.
My grandfather would have been ashamed of the previous owner of this farm. The fields were full of weeds, twigs, and rocks. Nothing about it looked fertile...or even worthy of being planted upon. The barn was missing boards and was full of holes, definitely not suitable for any animals. And the house—peeling and unstable—didn't look like it was large enough to possibly live in.
"Well, you probably want your money back now, huh?" Thomas sighed, a saddened expression on his face.
I found myself unable to speak. What exactly was I supposed to do now? Go back to the disgusting city—remain locked up in my parent's home like a prisoner for the rest of my life? I clenched my fists around the suitcase handles.
"No, of course not." I instantly shook my head, answering both Thomas and myself.
"You're...serious?" Thomas looked as if I were playing a mean prank on him.
I took a deep breath in and cast my eyes around the farm again, trying to look at the positives. The field may have been a disaster, but it was a field nonetheless. And a large field, at that—my grandfather's field would have looked small in comparison. If I could get it clear, it could definitely become a garden of green. The barn was definitely fixable. But, until then, there was a chicken coop that still looked like it was in good shape. I could busy myself with chickens until the barn was ready for more animals. There was a beautiful stream that outlined two sides of my farm as well as a clear pond. Those both would be perfect for watering—grandfather had only a single well to venture to for a refill. There was even a large tree rooted near the pond. Perhaps it might bare some apples in the fall. And let's be honest, the house was heaven compared to my family's old apartment. I could definitely work with this.
"Yes." I insisted.
I couldn't help but to grin. Thomas must have shown so many people this lot before and they all must have turned him down. And here I was, actually seeming interested in this junky place... I would have thought it was a joke too. But, regardless of its rugged exterior, I wanted this ranch. And I wanted to get to work on fixing it up right away.
"Is there a drugstore or market in this town, by chance?" I questioned. "I want to buy some seeds."
"Y-Yes, there's a supermarket on the north end of town." Thomas still looked bewildered. I stifled a giggle. "Just take the path from your farm straight—all the way down to the end."
"Thanks!" I chirped. "Well, I'm off to settle in now. Thanks for everything, Thomas!" With that said, I turned on my heel and walked over to my new abode. The handle, though rusty, turned smoothly in place. I stepped a few paces inside before throwing the door shut behind me, leaving that little red man to stand gaping after me.
The house itself was quaint, but had a homey feel to it. Unlike our old apartment, the place actually was cozy. There were about four sections to the house. The first section was the living area, or so I'd call it. There was a faded couch seated in front of an ancient looking television. There was a simple bookshelf—empty of all but about five books—and small end table. There was also a little chest in the corner which, once I opened it, proved to hold tools for the farm. Well, isn't that the added bonus? There was a wall that extended almost all the way to the other end of the room on the right side of the living area. If you walked over you'd see that it sectioned off the bedroom area—which simply was a bed and a nightstand. To the left of the living area was the kitchen. Surprisingly, it had just about everything you would need: a refrigerator, a stove, utensils, and even a blender. There was also an unsteady looking wooden table with four equally as wobbly chairs to eat at. Last but not least, there was a bathroom leading off of the kitchen. I was relieved to see that little dinky room—I had thought I'd need to get a bucket or go do my duties outside. Yuck. It wasn't much, but it was enough. And now it was my home.
And so I began my life on the farm. It started slow at first, but eventually things got easier. It took me about a week and a half to clear out my field. My grandfather would have been able to clear it out much faster. Probably in two to three days, honestly. I, on the other hand, was a first time farmer who had to stop for breaks every so often. Aside from a few large rocks and stumps that my hammer and axe (and strength) were unable to remove, it looked ready to use. I planted some turnips and cared for them every day. I even managed to scrape up enough money to buy a chicken. The chicken coop, as I had predicted, truly was in really nice shape. My hen, who I had named Cluck, settled in nicely. Zack gave me the idea to go forging to earn some extra cash. I didn't think I'd have the stamina to mine, so I just gathered all the herbs and plants I could find after I had finished tending to my crops each day.
Although I still had a good amount of money left over from my inheritance, I didn't want to touch it unless completely necessary. After all, if this whole farming thing didn't work out as planned I'd need to make sure I had enough cash to get home. Or, if my parents had decided to disown me, to find some new place to live. So I kept that money tucked away and started from scratch. I felt like I truly was following my grandfather's code. I was putting in hard work to earn money; I wasn't just using the cash I already been given to buy whatever I wanted.
Before I knew it, I finally had a good amount of money on my hands. It wasn't a lot, but it was enough to finally afford a cow. And I was very eager to get one. But first I needed a milker, and maybe a brush. So that was how I ended up at the Blacksmith's that fateful day. Looking back, I probably would've avoided a whole lot of hurt, pain, and even heartbreak if I had just stayed away. And yet, I don't regret anything.
I walked to the door with a smile on my face; I was excited. Because of my immense devotion to my farm, I hadn't really left my ranch to meet the other villagers since I had moved in. So whomever worked here would be someone new to finally meet. I pushed the door open and a tiny bell jingled, signifying my presence. But no cheerful shop owner came to my greeting. Instead, I discovered that I had just walked in on a heated argument.
I had entered the building at a bad time, that much was clear. In front of me was a small, old man with long, white hair. The top of his head was mostly bald and he had a long, fluffy beard to match. His eyes were narrowed in anger, though thankfully it wasn't aimed at me. I directed my attention to what—or better, who—he was glaring at. In the left corner of the room was a tall man, around my age. He had fiery hair peeking out from under a peculiar red and blue hat that bore the word "UMA". He had two striking blue orbs (currently narrowed into silts) and a long, pointed jaw. His face twisted up as he was glowered back at the old man. He waved his arms above his head in exasperation as he spoke rapidly. Okay, time to get out of here-
"Face it old man, you never liked me and you never will!" he snapped, slamming the hammer in his hand down on the table. I flinched, suddenly finding myself frozen in place. I did not want that hammer aimed in my direction, and I was afraid that any sudden movements might cause for a bad reaction. It was clear from his build and the way his clothes fit snugly to his body that this man was no stranger to physical labor. He most likely worked in this shop pounding away at tools all day long.
"You never learn, boy!" the older man hissed back. "You've never respected me or worked as I've instructed!"
"I've always done exactly what you want!" the redhead snarled as he whipped his hammer at the wall. The tool hit the hard surface with a clatter before splitting into two pieces and falling in a heap to the floor.
Okay, I was awake now.
"You've hardly even done that!" the balding man barked. "I tell you to work with heart, with pride, and you do no such thing!"
The other man snorted obnoxiously. "'Work with heart,'" he mimicked. "Whatever! I'll never be good enough for you, and that's all there is to it!"
I let out a squeak of surprise as both men suddenly turned towards the door and noticed me. "O-Oh, um, hello..." I tugged nervously at my overalls. "I...came to purchase a milker... But maybe I should just come back later-"
"Oh nonsense!" the old man huffed, his tone changing to one of welcome. "Gray! Go get this young lady a milker from the back!" I'm sure the redhead, Gray, wanted to tell the man standing before me to "piss off". Yet he obeyed, disappearing almost instantly into the back room.
"Th-Thank you..." I chimed in softly, still feeling out of place.
"Sorry you had to witness that, it was very inappropriate of us," he apologized. "My name is Saibara, and I run the Blacksmith here with my grandson—that oaf—Gray."
"Oh, that's alright." I lied. I reached into my pocket and pulled out some money. I quickly fished out the correct amount for the milker and handed the wad of cash to Saibara. "I'm Claire Till—I just purchased the farm across the way." Although I was eager as ever to get out of there, I still had my manners.
"Ah, so it's you who everyone's been talking about!" He smiled up at me. I flashed back my own weak grin and rubbed the base of my neck. So everyone was talking about me? Go figure. Small town—word must travel fast. "You know, it's a great responsibility to run a farm all on your own." He cast me a look of doubt. Like the one parents gave to their children when they thought they couldn't handle something.
"Yes, I know that." I nodded in irritation, trying to stop myself from rolling my eyes. He wasn't about to begin to tell me what I could or couldn't do; I'd already dealt with enough of that. I wasn't a child—I could do this. "But I also know that, with a lot of hard work and determination, anything is possible."
Saibara glanced back up at me. If he hadn't been paying attention to me before, he definitely seemed interested now. "Such wise words..." He rubbed his chin slowly. "I've never heard them spoken from someone your age."
I bet he didn't, based on how short-tempered his grandson seem to be. I bet the two of them probably fought like that all the time. "Just something I learned from my own grandfather," I told him. "He's the wisest man I ever met..." I paused. "And, I'm not just saying that to be a kiss ass."
He laughed at my words. "No, I don't think you are." he agreed. "I can tell you genuinely loved and respected your grandfather." I nodded instantly, glad he understood. "Now if only I could say the same about my grandson..." He sighed in aggravation.
"Oh, he can't be that bad," I argued, not wanting to judge someone I didn't even know. "He just needs more time to learn."
"He's had too much time for that." Saibara grumbled. He sighed once more before shaking his head. "Sorry again, I shouldn't be telling you—the customer—about all of my burdens."
"It's perfectly fine-"
Suddenly the back door opened again and Gray came stomping out. "Here's your milker," he told me, a scowl on his face.
I reached out to take it from him. I wanted to get out of the shop quick, before another brawl broke out. "Thank you-"
"Honestly, Gray!" the old man behind the counter bellowed. "Do you have no manners? Be a gentleman and carry it to the farm for her!"
"Seriously?" the man huffed. "Her farm is, like, literally ten feet away."
"Do it!" I was surprised at the amount of venom in Saibara's tone.
"Alright, alright! Sheesh!" Gray brushed past me and strode toward the door.
The milker actually looked a lot heavier than expected, so I hastily pushed past him and shoved the door open. "Here, I'll get that for you," I offered. I stepped aside and held it ajar.
The storm in Gray's eyes dimmed noticeably. "Thank you," he nodded, stepping out in front of me.
I glanced back at Saibara briefly before exiting. He was still sitting at his spot behind the counter, grumbling to himself. "Maybe if I'm lucky, some of that girl's personality will rub off on that buffoon..."
I bit back a laugh as I gently shut the door and hurried to catch back up with Gray. He glanced over at me when I arrived at his side, a curious expression on his face. "Sorry you saw that," he mumbled. "Gramps and I fight often, but never in front of a customer."
"It's alright," I shrugged. "Just water under the bridge now."
He flashed me an uneven smile. "Anyway, I'm Gray."
"Gray, like the color. Easy to remember," I beamed at him as we turned and entered my farm.
He looked away, suddenly flustered. "Ah, Gray Farrier, to be exact."
I laughed out loud. "How fitting! Farrier, like a horseshoer?"
"Exactly like that," he confirmed. He stopped in his tracks and turned, his expression curious. "I'm impressed, most people haven't even heard of that word before, much less know what it means."
"I know my terms." I shrugged and flashed him a teasing smile. He averted his gaze again and stared at the ground awkwardly. Obviously, Gray was easily embarrassed. I felt my smile grow larger. Soon my eyes skirted back up to that colorful piece on his head. I was intrigued. "Though, I'm not familiar with the word on your hat..." I still found it so unusually interesting; it was unique in its own way.
"Oh, this?" he questioned, nodding his head as he glanced upward at it. "My mother got it for me when she was in Japan. She liked to travel, and she usually got me a souvenir whenever she was away. It means 'horse' in Japanese." I grinned, and soon even he managed a sliver of a smile. "She, like you, made the connection with our last name. She thought it was funny."
"It's neat, really," I agreed. I reached up and flicked the red brim. I watched as his eyes widened—he seemed to have sucked in a deep breath of air. "If I ever rake up the cash to afford a horse, I'll make sure to ask you to make him some nice, sturdy horseshoes."
Slowly the color returned to Gray's face. "I've actually never made horseshoes before," he replied. "It would be fun to try."
Suddenly the manners fairy hit me on the head. "Oh, and I'm Claire," I informed him. I had only just realized I hadn't introduced myself. "Claire Till."
"Till—like a tiller." Gray noted. "What a perfect name for a farmer."
"I guess our names fit us well," I chuckled. I became aware of the fact that we were both just standing there near my mailbox; Gray was still holding my new milker. My new, heavy milker. "Oh right—that can go in the barn for now. Here, I'll show you." I said hastily.
I led the man, who was much taller than I, into my broken barn and indicated a spot for him to leave the tool. He bent down to set the white object on rickety looking table before rising back to his full height. "This place needs some work," Gray commented, glancing around.
"I know." I sighed. It was on my list of things to do. When it would be done...that was another story. I suppose I had kind of gotten ahead of myself with the whole "getting a cow" thing. "Zack told me there's a carpenter in the forest, just south of my farm? I was thinking about hiring him to fix it for me."
"That's Gotz," the redhead replied, snorting once. "But I wouldn't go with him—though his work may be pretty good, he charges far more than he really should."
My smile faded. "True, but who else would I get to do it?" Well, there goes my hopes of getting a cow anytime soon. I guess it would be just Cluck and I for awhile.
"You could always fix it yourself," Gray suggested. He paused, mouth open slightly, as he seemed to decide whether or not to continue speaking. "I...I could show you how to chop wood down into boards and you could repair the place on your own."
I considered his offer briefly. But, the more I thought about it, the less possible it seemed. I already had a chicken and crops to tend to, and those already took most of my energy away each day. Now I was also supposed to chop wood and build a barn with my own bare hands? "Sorry Gray, but I'll have to pass," I told him with a frown. "I don't think I'd be able to manage that."
Surprisingly, the boy seemed slightly disappointed. "Ah, well if you change your mind just let me know." He looked away, adjusting his hat again. He did that a lot when he was nervous or flustered, I noticed.
"I will." I promised.
I walked with Gray all the way back to my farm's entrance. We didn't talk anymore, but I really didn't feel like there was much more to say. It was a content silence; I believe it was safe to say that we had gotten off on a good note. "It was nice to meet you, Claire Till."
"And you, Gray Farrier." I beamed.
He seemed to hesitate for a moment. He avoided my eyes once again as one hand reached up to straighten his cap. "Ah, I'll be seeing you?" He didn't look completely sure.
"Of course," I nodded. "I'll definitely be needing some new tools soon enough, my current ones are pretty old."
"Alright, sounds like a plan." He nodded once and flashed me a half smile before turning and heading back in the direction of his shop.
I found myself humming as I returned to my turnips. I was happy to see that the new batch was coming along just as well as the last; it would only be a day or two until I could harvest them. After a few moments I sat back, panting. I really hated how easily I tired out. I wiped the sweat from my brow before slowly getting to my feet. A nice, cold shower sounded great right about now. So into the house I went. I carefully put my tools away before I removed my clothing and stepped into the bath. The faucet didn't spray out a huge amount of water, but it was enough to begin cooling me down.
I let out a soft moan of delight as the water sprinkled down onto my shoulders before trickling down my back. As I waited for my hair to dampen so I could begin to apply shampoo, I thought back to the day's events. Though my visit to the Blacksmith's had started off rocky, it had ended well enough. Saibara definitely seemed fond of me, and I think Gray may have liked me too. Maybe in time the two of them could even become my friends.
Suddenly I froze in place, shampoo bottle in my hand. Wait a second—what was I thinking? I set the bottle back down and shook my head, bewildered. Friends? Where did that come from? I pressed my back against the tiled, shower wall and closed my eyes. Friends, that's what I wanted. But friends were something I couldn't have. I didn't move out here to make friends; I moved out here to get away from my old home and live my life in peace. Developing friends wasn't part of the plan. Having friends would only complicate things. I could not make friends here.
I began to realize that my actions weren't helping to keep me from remaining friendless. From the moment I bought the farm, all of my actions had been nothing but friendly. I always had a cheerful chat with Zack when he came to pick up my shipments. I always greeted Karen and her parents when I went to purchase things I needed at the supermarket—sometimes I even helped them when new shipments came in and merchandise needed to be put on the shelves. I also even brought Thomas some of the vegetable salad I made the other day because I had leftovers. It wasn't the kind villagers to blame, but me and my overly friendly personality.
I wasn't following my original game plan at all. The plan was simple: find a farm, buy a farm, move to the farm. Then start and maintain said farm. And lastly, live out my life in peace. Away from the city, away from my parents, away from everyone. I did the first steps right; it was the last one I seemed to be having trouble with. Well, no more. It was time to get back to my main agenda.
It all had to stop. No more playing nice with everyone. Things needed to change.
