Winter 13th
Year 1
A Decision is Made

Pitter-patter. Pitter-patter. Pitter-patter.

This was a slow pace for me. Typically, I could hammer out words and sentences on a computer so fast that I'd finish the keystrokes before the sound reached the next cell… or rather, the next cubicle. That was how I typed when I was first brought on to work for Joja Corp. – the as-advertised 120 wpm freak of computing that could find a bug in the code and squash it before it ever even knew it was found. Three years of the constant hum of machinery, the lack of any exterior windows, and the down-to-the-minute tracking of employee clocking slowed me down a good bit.

Not that I couldn't pick up the pace if I wanted to, of course. I was still a killer of keys, a terror of typists, a wizard of word processing. Simply put, though, I didn't care.

Maybe it was the four bosses I had, or perhaps it was the completely impersonal nature of the job… After all, everyone had to say each other's title before their name. Division IT Director David is what people called me if I was lucky. If not, they'd stretch that IT out all the way and lord almighty, was it a mouthful to say and a chore to hear.

Or maybe it was the complete lack of freedom I possessed.

No matter which of the above it was, I had morphed from a starry-eyed college graduate to a sarcastic, impersonal coworker in three years. The former was a talent I had from day one. The latter Joja cultivated on my behalf.

A sharp click echoed throughout the giant room that housed cubicles packed tighter than sardines. I knew the sound well – it was breaktime! The click of glory that signaled your ability to get up and take a piss… but really, no more than that because it took five minutes to get the bathroom and back again.

I rose with a start and looked across the sea of blue paint and walled-off environments. Without so much as a lingering glance, I could spot the people lining up at the bathroom door. I'd be late back to his desk for sure, and being late back to your desk meant they docked you.

I slumped back down in his chair, the recognizable squeak bouncing off the walls around me and penetrating my skull. It made nails to a chalkboard feel nostalgic it was so awful. My whole body responded to the noise, a wince the likes of which legends are made of. With a long, awful groan, I leaned forward and buried my hands into my face. The sharp stubble cut against the soft skin with a sandpaper bite. More and more lately, I'd felt the need to skip shaving. What was the point? No one cared whether I took care of myself or not… well, no one except my mother and two sisters, but they were so busy enough with their own lives that it'd been weeks since I saw any one of them.

I missed his family. Truly, I did. But whenever I saw them I knew there was something else dragging me down. Something loathing and distant. A disconnect from reality, it almost felt like. I needed something more. Something real. My family sometimes brought out that satisfaction in me, and when they did I really felt great about the world around me…

Almost without thought, my hand drifted to my top drawer and pulled it open. "The envelope," my brain stated. "Open it."

Cautiously, I sat straight up and lowered my other hand. With great care, as if it would shatter into a million pieces, I pinched it with either hand and brought the letter to eye level. Staring at its crisp, white sheen, my mind whisked away into the past, and the memories it brought.

**** Sixteen years prior ****

I can still smell the fire place crackling in the night, giving the purple wall paper an orange hue and illuminating the sword above the mantlepiece. My grandfather, starting show the wear and tear of being an old man at last, lied in a cozy-looking bed placed in the center of the room. The day of the Winter Festival had passed, and he felt that it was time for a living will to be read.

It was mostly a standard affair – to my son this, to my second son that, to my daughter what's more… but then he paused, the fire sparking a single ember in the air as he reached under the covers, and he spoke in raspy, aged voice. "… and for my very special grandson," he said, "I want you to have this sealed envelope."

He produced a plain white, standard-issue envelope with a purple seal and handed it to little David. Being a nine-year-old kid, my first instinct was to open it as soon as possible. It was the celebration of the Winter Spirit, after all… but my grandfather stopped me at the pass. "No no… don't open it yet," he instructed. "Have patience.

"There will come a day where you feel crushed by the burden of modern life, and your bright spirit will fade before a growing emptiness." He paused and smacked his lips, wetting them so he could say his last peace. "When that happens, my boy, you'll be ready for this gift." He paused and hummed thoughtfully as I clutched the envelope. "Now, let Grandpa rest."

Grandpa would pass on before the Spring.

**** Present day ****

Shaking and nervous, I pulled three pieces of paper from the envelope. The crinkling of the paper seemed to bore into my skull and drown the white noise of computer machine upon computer machine out of existence. One seemed simple enough: a name, Lewis, and a number below it. The second, however, caught me off-guard: a handwritten letter from the Old Man himself, pouring his wisdom out one last time for me to submerge in.

Dear David,

If you're reading this, you must be in dire need of a change.

The same thing happened to me, long ago. I'd lost sight of what mattered most in life… real connections with other people and nature. So I dropped everything and moved to the place I truly belong.

I've enclosed the deed to that place… my pride and joy: Highwind Farm. It's located in Stardew Valley, on the southern coast. It's the perfect place to start your new life.

This was my most precious gift of all, and now it's yours. I know you'll honor the family name, my boy. Good luck.

Love, Grandpa

P.S. If Lewis is still alive, say hi to the old guy for me, will ya?

If I wasn't inside a metal cube of doom, I might've cried. The emotions might've swept over me and I would've bawled like the nine-year-old I was back then whilst clutching the envelope to his chest. The sea of feelings nearly submerged me, dulling the environment around me, so much so that I almost neglected to notice the third piece of paper in my hand: it was, indeed, the deed and title to Highwind Farm, all written out and signed to me by Grandpa.

So, because I was in the metal cube of doom, I went about other steps instead.

First, I sent out an email to All, as was my ability as a member of the IT department, describing the feelings of impersonality and resentment that Joja instilled in me. Second, he attached a .PNG image containing nothing more than a butt… admittedly, not my proudest moment (though, to be fair, it was a really nice butt).

And finally, I scooped up the picture of my mother and two sisters from my desk, this one personal effect employees were technically allowed, and clutched it to my chest with one hand. The envelope and three sheets of paper remained firmly gripped in my other.

Form afar, I could hear the thunk thunk thunk of Matthew's (and I will NOT give that prick the satisfaction of using his full title) footsteps slumbering down the narrow alleyway that was the small gap between one row of cubicles and the next.

"Parker!" he bellowed. "What's the meaning of this?"

I blinked stupidly for a second before turning and facing one my four bosses. "… I'm uh, I'm not Parker," I stated. "Daniel Parker is two cubicles down. I'm David."

Matthew froze in his tracks, a curious looked about his chubby face. "Wait… I thought you were Darryl."

"Actually," came a higher pitched voice from a cubicle adjacent to my own, "I'm Darryl."

"Well then who's Dustin?" Matthew asked, now in a complete disarray. "The portly fellow with the limp?"

Darryl continued. "No. That's Dominic."

"Wait, then who's Darrius?"

It was time, I felt, for an abrupt interruption to the mundane madness unfolding in front of me. "Anyways, uh… I quit." I said, my voice flatter than ironed tissue paper. "I'm done with Joja Corp… hopefully for good."

Matthew, naturally, began to loudly object to that, various obscenities being flung to and fro. Turning away and marching onwards to the elevator, I couldn't bother to care. Being in the IT department had its advantages, after all, and chief among them was monitoring the emails of all Joja employees, whether above or below your paygrade.

"Sorry, Matt," I said casually without turning back, "I just can't do it anymore."

I honestly can't remember whether Matthew continued to bellow at me as I passed cubed cell after cubed cell. Most of what happened between that moment and phoning Lewis early the next day was a blur.

The only thing I can really remember was something I would never be quite certain was real or just a living dream.

Was that the remains of a human skeleton lying on top of the desk in the last cubicle he passed? And had the computer screen illuminated the small space in big, bold and shiny white letters the following two simple words?

GET. OUT.

That I had to ask was problematic enough.