Author's Note
Clouds on the Mountain.
Weird story title, right? Not really. Y'see, I was in the desert recently, and I was sitting on a tube, floating down a river…
And you'll have to wait for the rest of the story. Don't be mad, I'm smiling as I type this. This is my second shot at Harvest Moon, so don't bash me right away. Just… YEAH. Read and review?
Try to leave a review, huh?
They're gonna clean up your looks,
With all the lies in the books,
To make a citizen out of you.
Because they sleep with a gun,
And keep an eye on you son,
So they can watch all the things you do.
Because the drugs never work,
They're gonna give you a smirk,
Cause they got methods of keepin' you clean.
They're gonna rip up your heads,
Your aspirations to shreds,
Another cog in the murder machine.
Teenagers by My Chemical Romance
It was a Friday, at the start of spring. My best friend Meg was helping me load the last chair in my dining room set into the bed of my truck. I knotted the last bit of twine twice, just so it wouldn't fall loose.
"Are you sure that it's cleared for me to go, Meg?" I asked nervously, picking at one of the ragged ends of my hair. My gay boyfriend (we'd been friends since before he told me, and we like to joke that he's been my longest relationship to date) convinced me to get it cut, model style, which included a quick little razor job to layer it up.
Meg knocked my hand away from my hair, in only the way a best friend can without getting yelled at. "Yes, I already told you. I talked to Hamilton, he's the mayor, everything is fine. He even arranged for a house to be built!"
"B-b-but-"
"I told you, they're giving you the house so you can help with the economy." Meg said as she looked over the knot, undid it, and retied it. She glanced back at me, and then did a double take when she spotted my apprehensive expression. "Yes, you have to work! We already went over this."
"But why do you have to move away?!" I nearly wailed, tears coming to my eyes.
"Because I just have to…" Meg got that far off look in her eyes, and I stopped my act. I knew it wouldn't do any at that point. She shook her head, and looked at me, like she was really seeing me. "Look," she said, taking my shoulders, " I can't baby you forever. Just…" Meg sighed and shook her head. For a moment, she dug into her bag, and pulled out a small bag, like a cosmetics bag. "There's directions in there, a bit of money, and some other things you might need."
I took the bag, and nodded at her. "I'll see you later, then?" Tears were coming back to my eyes.
"Yeah. Who knows, maybe I'll come visit. Y'never know."
We made our goodbyes, I got into my old pickup truck, and drove away. After I had gotten far enough away from where the two of us had been, I stopped, and opened the bag. I pulled the directions out, and read through them quickly.
The trip to the harbor didn't take long at all. I wasn't even paying attention most of the time. When I reached the harbor, I pulled up to the dock where the ship was moored, and got out.
There was an older man standing on the dock, dressed in blue seafaring uniform. I glanced down at the sheet of paper, and held my hand to my hat, saving it from the sea wind. The man waved at me, smiling brightly. Not like I could really see though, since the glare off the sea was blinding.
"Hello there lass! Are you taking the ferry today? I've gotta say, today's the best lookin' day to sail into Waffle Island I've seen in a long time."
The captain of the vessel had a very kind look about him, like a man who spends most of his time outside, and loves every second of it. His outfit was a bit more impressive up close, and I felt bad for criticizing his uniform. He looked far warmer than I felt.
Gingerly, I climbed out of the truck, trying to hold on to the directions, my hat, and my keys all at once. I smiled broadly at the man, my eyes squinted against the bright springtime sun. The breeze slowed down for a moment, and I took the opportunity to run up to the man, my hand extended. He smiled and shook my hand vigorously.
"I'm August. I'm taking the ferry today," I said, trying to juggle all of my things. The old captain laughed heartily at me.
"The name's Pascal. I'm the captain of the only ferry out to the island. Give me a moment and I'll lower the ramp for your truck." Pascal smiled and started walking back to the ship. I smiled as he went, and turned back to my truck. Maybe Meg was right. This could be good for me.
You see, Meg's a few years older than me. Our mothers were the best of friends, and we grew up like sisters. When mom died from breast cancer, I was a wreck. I started failing my classes, I stopped drawing, I even stopped going to my equestrian classes. Meg was a Senior then, and I was a Freshman. Her mom told her about what had happened to Julia, my mom, a week after it happened.
The next day, she came running into my Ceramics class, nearly bawling. I saw her come in, and look around for me. As soon as she spotted me, she ran over to me, tore me away from my vase, and dragged me out of the room. Once we were in the hallway, she shook me and demanded why I hadn't told her. I'd said that the only reason we were friends was because of our moms, and mine was gone, so there was no reason to be friends after that. Meg just looked at me, and I'll never forget what she said next.
"If you honestly thought that, why would I have come to find you? Not just because I'm sad, but because I know you need me far more than I need you right now."
After I graduated from high school, she let me stay with her. After awhile, I was okay. Meg's mom stood in for mine, and instead of just losing my mom, I gained another.
After I jammed the key into the ignition and Pascal lowered the ramp for me, I drove my car up onto the ferry. We quickly tied the truck down to the boat, and we were off. As I lounged on the hood of my truck, letting my hair blow around in the breeze while I stopped my hat from flying off and my sundress from exposing my frilly things, Pascal asked me a few questions about myself.
"So, your name's August? Short for Augusta?" I get asked this question all the time. It doesn't bother me anymore, not really.
"No, just August. Not short for Augusta. Just August," I said as I inspected my sundress. It was a pale cream color that made my rather fair skin look a little darker, and flattered both my honey blond hair and my bright hazel eyes. The lace was all a-flutter in the breeze.
"Alright then. When were you born?"
I looked at him, a tad puzzled. Not the usual wording, but alright. "The 8th of the summer."
"What kind of gifts do you like?"
I started at that question. I mean, the old guy seemed cool but… "Er… I guess I like food? Like, fish, vegetables, fruits, raw ingredients. I like to cook, you know."
"Alright then!" Pascal clapped his hands and slid what looked like a notepad into his back pocket. I had the sinking feeling he had been writing down what I'd been saying.
"Well Augusta-"
"AUGUST!" I shouted at him suddenly, snapping upright. Pascal looked rather startled at my reaction, and I made a quick point of smoothing my ruffled feathers. "I'm not a fan of being called the wrong name."
Pascal nodded, appeased by my answer. I reclined onto the windshield of my truck, and tipped the brim of my hat over my eyes and enjoyed the weather. It was quite nice, actually, except for that odd breeze. I furrowed my brow as I tried to identify what I didn't like about it. It seemed far cooler than the previous breeze…
I opened my eyes and looked out over the water. Far off, but getting closer with each moment, was a mass of white-capped waves, roiling about, and dark skies with purple-black clouds.
I got up quickly, and as I checked the tie-downs on my truck, triple knotting the firm ties, I shut all of my windows. As soon as I had finished, I ran along the port side of the deck to the ladder that led to the upper deck. From years of experience climbing trees, I clambered up quickly.
"Pascal! Pascal, we have a problem!" I shouted as I ran toward the driving room….er, place. I don't know what it's called!
As I ran, a wave crashed into the port side of the hull, rocking the boat back with violent force that threw me into the wall of the cabin. I scrambled to my feet as quickly as I could, with salt water already speckled across the upper deck. When I had the chance, I glanced at my truck, and was relieved to see the tarp on the things I'd put in the bed was still tied down tight and dry.
"Pascal!" I said as I opened the door to the bridge (yes, I finally remembered) and staggered in. Pascal was already at the helm, struggling to keep the boat under control. He looked like he was concentrating completely on the storm, and I quietly slunk back to sit down on one of the chairs that wasn't occupied. I was gripping at the seat, my nails nearly tearing holes in the seat itself.
One of the crew members was doubled over. At first I thought he was sick, but he was actually praying. With a gulp, I turned to look out the window. I really wish I hadn't.
Angry clouds, flashing lightning, roaring thunder and pounding waves was what I saw, heard and felt. I concentrated on keeping the Chicken Ramen I'd eaten for lunch down, and tried to stay firmly attached to my seat.
It seemed to go on for a lifetime, and I was terrified all throughout it.
Suddenly, I heard Pascal sigh heavily, and the boat right itself.
"Thank the goddess, we've gotten through!" Pascal exclaimed, and as I opened my eyes, I saw him take off his hat and smack it against his thigh. He was whooping with laughter, and ran over to me, and pulled me right out of my seat. I couldn't help but laugh as he led me into a lively little jig. A couple of the sailors took turns dancing with me as Pascal guided us to the harbor.
We spent the remaining twenty minutes of the trip with all the windows and doors to the bridge thrown open, and a few of the boys played a few songs on their harmonicas and guitar. When we landed, I was sitting on the top deck, swinging my legs and twirling my sandals. Pascal laid a hand on my head to let me know that we'd landed, and I took my time getting down to my truck. Pascal had told me that there weren't any roads big enough for my truck in town, so he would arrange for someone to take it to a safe location.
As I disembarked, I thanked him and the boys a lively time. They waved goodbye, and I stepped daintily from the vessel, carrying my backpack full of my short term necessities.
I started to worry about where I would go from there, but I didn't get far before I was intercepted by a strange looking man. He was dressing in a powder blue ensemble, and was quite short and round. He too, had white hair, but his looked almost powdered, as did his skin.
"Welcome to Waffle Island! My name is Hamilton, and I'm the mayor. You must be August. Your friend Meg told me you were coming. Well, come along! We don't have a lot of time… Well, actually, you do. I don't." The strange little man named Hamilton started walking…er, maybe even waddling off. I took a moment to enjoy the comedic genius of his being, and started following him. He took me straight to a large, friendly looking building called the Sundae Inn. Once inside, he introduced me to the owner of the Inn Jake, his wife, Coleen, and their chef, Yolanda.
It was already rather late, and I bode them all a fond goodnight. I was tired, and quite frankly, wasn't up to the task of cozying up to the locals.
As soon as my head hit the pillow, I was out.
I had a strange dream that night. I dreamt of a beautiful woman, with long, flowing blue hair, wings, and a sense of distress about her. It seemed she was asked something of me, but I couldn't for the life of me determine what it was.
I awoke suddenly to chirping birds and buttery sunshine. God, that place was such a postcard waiting to happen. With a grunt, I pulled myself out of bed, and pulled my sundress/stand-in nightie over my head, and grabbed my change of clothes out of my bag. Today's outfit would be my new work boots, a pair of leggings, a cotton skirt, my favorite button up blouse and a lightweight cowboy hat. Don't knock it, those things are a godsend in the desert.
When I got downstairs for breakfast, Jake asked me how I slept. I was compelled to tell them about my bizarre dream, and they all started. Jake asked what the woman looked like, and I said she was beautiful. Jake then suggested I had dreamt about Coleen, and they all had a nice laugh about it. Hahahaha. No.
I spent the day learning ironing out the details of my housing with Hamilton, signing paperwork and helping file it all away. I chose a nice plot, on a hill next to a river that overlooked the entire district. When Hamilton finally said that we were done, I was exhausted. He made his way to his own home, and advised I make my way back to the Inn.
I ignored his suggestion and hung around the Town Hall for a bit, and after finding out about the upstairs library, scampered up to take a look at what they had. It was all nonsense, except for a few local legends I came across. I contented myself by reading about the Harvest Goddess, the Harvest King, and even these quaint little creatures called Harvest Sprites. I didn't get very far into it before I was interrupted.
"The Town Hall's closing, miss. I'm going to have to ask you to leave," he said in a rather bored voice. As I placed the book back onto the shelf and turned to look at the boy, I saw his eyes travel from the words on the binding up my arm to my face. He blushed, and said, "Y'know, I have to get home. You can't stay here all night."
I smiled and nodded at him as I walked past him and down the stairs. "Of course. I'd hate to keep you waiting."
As I walked back to the Sundae Inn, I felt oddly proud of myself.
"Oh well," I said aloud to myself. "Maybe I can convince Yolanda to whip up a bit of cake!" I clapped my hands excitedly, and took off running.