I spent much of yesterday outlining this project, and I came up with a story that I think you guys will enjoy, and that I'll enjoy writing. Also, happy Super Bowl Sunday; it'll be somewhat hard to compete with the big event, but I've never cared much about football. I only care because if the home team wins, people around me will be in a better mood.
This is the first chapter, and they will get longer than this. I plan to post the next one four days from today, assuming it is completed.
It was the kind of day that made anyone want to be outdoors, no matter how sedentary they usually were. There was hardly a cloud in the sky, and, while it was early summer, it wasn't nearly hot enough to be unbearable thanks to the slight breeze.
As he drove from his home to his new workplace, Brett Porter could hardly have been happier. The most important thing, after all, was providing for his family, and that's precisely what he would be doing.
A close second, however, was the knowledge that this job would be one he enjoyed. After much searching online for an employment opportunity that would suit his needs and wants, he'd come across a job as a helping hand at Happy Valley Ranch, a Pokemon sanctuary about fifteen miles from town.
The pay wouldn't be anything to write home about, but it was something, and besides, most college students didn't need to make that much money unless they blew it all on "booze and women", as his grandfather might say. Brett wasn't the type to do that.
So no, the money wasn't the most important reason he'd applied for this position. Far more valuable would be the experience he gained working on the ranch, as well as the knowledge that he'd be helping Pokemon.
As Brett maneuvered his vehicle further and further away from Cerulean City, he marveled at how abruptly the suburbs of the city yielded to farmland that contained an excellent view of the mountains. Of course, the mountains could also be seen from the city itself, but the best views were from the surrounding countryside.
He pulled his car into the ranch's driveway. The wooden gate above the entrance read HAPPY VALLEY RANCH in faded letters in the shape of a frown. Brett found this rather ironic, but he didn't let it distract him from his good mood.
After about a minute of slow travel along said driveway, Brett backed his vehicle into one of the available parking spots. He then turned off the engine, climbed outside, and made his way into the small house the ranch's owner, a man named Kenneth McCormick, lived in.
Mr. McCormick was also going to be Brett's boss, and the young man felt his stomach rise into his throat as he realized that today was the day. His earlier happiness largely faded, to be replaced with a feeling of uncertainty that maybe, just maybe, today wouldn't be a great day.
Brett knocked on the front door. For some reason, he felt more nervous for his first day on the job than he had for the interview last week. It didn't help that his car was one of the only two in the parking lot.
A few seconds later, a rather portly man in blue overalls and a red baseball cap with the letter M on it opened the door. Twirling his bushy brown mustache, the man smiled at Brett.
"Ah, good morning, Mr. Porter! Welcome to your first day on the job at Happy Valley ranch!"
Brett was taken aback by how lighthearted Mr. McCormick was with him today. He wasn't always like this; the man had appeared sullen during the job interview, and this had led Brett to believe that he most likely wouldn't be accepted.
"Uh, thanks" Brett replied awkwardly. "You can just call me Brett, you know. There's no need to be so formal with me, boss."
Mr. McCormick laughed. "How ironic that you accuse me of excessive formality as you call me boss. More to the point, however, you might notice that yours is the only car in the driveway besides mine."
Brett nodded. "Yes. Why is that?"
"Well, it's really quite simple. Neither of our other new employees - we had three in total - were able to make it today. They both had other obligations, but they'll be here tomorrow."
Great, the young man thought to himself. It's not only my first day at work, it's my first day of work, AND mine alone.
"In the meantime, though, I'll show you the ropes. That way, you'll have a leg up on the others when they get here, not that it's a competition."
Mr. McCormick led Brett into his home, showing the young man into what looked like a locker room. "This is where you'll find your boots and whatnot. It's important to wear boots and long pants when you're in the tall grass; you don't want to get any ticks on you."
Brett shivered at the thought of ticks crawling all over his body; while he didn't know exactly what that felt like, the power of suggestion was enough for him to make sure the boots were as tight as possible around his ankles, and that the laces were all done correctly.
"Okay" the young man said once he'd gotten his boots on, a harder task than he'd expected. "What now?"
"First we'll head to the barn, and you'll get to meet our Miltank. This might be a small family farm, but we still make cheese and butter from the milk they produce, and we sell some of it to other municipalities."
"Sounds great" Brett replied, excited at the prospect of helping to make fresh cheese and butter. He wondered if he'd get to try some; he'd had a fairly light breakfast that morning, and his stomach didn't quite feel full.
The Happy Valley Ranch was impressive in scope; there were fields for the livestock to graze on, a small pond for the Psyduck and other waterfowl, an apple orchard…it was quite a contrast from the city located not far away. The light summer breeze rippled through Brett's short brown hair, making him feel even more alive.
In the distance, there was a large red barn. Brett had seen this building before when he'd come for his job interview, but he hadn't actually entered it yet. As excited as he felt about this job, however, there was some residual anxiety within the young man; however, it wasn't related to the job at all.
Last night…I had a dream. It wasn't a pleasant one, but I don't quite remember what happened.
It needs to be said that Brett didn't have dreams very often, and even when he did dream, he rarely remembered them vividly. The fact that he could recall some detail was significant in and of itself.
As Brett and his boss made their way across the farm to the barn, the younger man could feel the light breeze against his skin, and smiled at that. At the same time, however, he couldn't help but try and make sense of what he'd seen in his nighttime vision.
I think I saw…what were those, little green men? They came in a flying saucer, and they attacked some rural areas. But what was that all about? Were they…ALIENS?
I mean, sure, the universe is a pretty big place. Extraterrestrial life probably exists somewhere out there, but I don't see why they'd try to contact us. The fact that no confrontation has happened yet…that's got to count for something, doesn't it?
"Brett, are you still there? You seem like you're thinking about something besides this job."
"Uh…yeah" Brett responded, hoping that Mr. McCormick wouldn't think he was shrugging off his responsibilities. If his boss perceived him as slacking off, the young man knew that he'd have a one-way ticket back to unemployment. And then he'd have nothing to do all summer, and restlessness rarely ended well.
"If you're still here, you should focus on the task at hand" Mr. McCormick told him sharply. "Don't forget that I gave you this job, and I can fire you too. And if I fire you, there are plenty of others who can take your place."
"Yes, right. Sorry" the young man said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck from mild shame. "I'll try not to think about other things from here on out."
Right away, Brett realized he shouldn't have said that. He had, after all, just admitted that he'd been distracted. His heart pounded as he thought he might get terminated at any moment.
Fortunately, this did not happen. Mr. McCormick, rather than snapping at his employee like a drill sergeant, seemed to be a little more understanding than Brett had expected. He simply led the young man into the barn.
The first thing Brett became aware of upon entering said barn was the smell. He had, of course, expected some level of odor, but he hadn't expected the stench to be this immoral, to make him want to puke within seconds.
"Every day when you come to the ranch", Mr. McCormick told Brett, "your job is going to be to feed the Miltank and Rapidash and clean up their excrement. Gloves will be provided, but nose plugs will not be."
"No…nose…plugs?" Brett asked, trying to resist the urge to plug his nose with his fingers.
His boss nodded. "I'm sorry to say that you're just going to have to deal with the smell. It's what I've been doing my whole adult life; I used to be a city boy, but my dream was to start a farm. And the job sucks, but it has to be done eventually."
Brett frowned, but he wasn't going to complain any further. After all, he'd gotten the job he wanted, and there wasn't much else he could ask for.
As he was put to work carrying hay bales into the barn, Brett found himself relishing the physical labor. It was something to distract him from the smell, and for that, he was immensely grateful.
Every few yards, it seemed, there was a small pile of pungent manure, which the young man had to maneuver around. The last thing he wanted was to ruin his new boots, since Mr. McCormick had been kind enough to provide him with this necessity.
Although this was an inconvenience, it was also exactly what Brett needed. Every second he spent worrying about where to plant his feet was a second during which he didn't have to worry about his weird dream from last night.
After an hour or two of carrying hay into the barn and cleaning up manure (a job that Brett hadn't imagined would take so long), Mr. McCormick called for a short, five-minute break. His employee sighed with relief; his arms were already aching, and the mere whiff of manure no longer made him want to vomit.
Brett and Mr. McCormick sat in chairs facing each other on either side of a small coffee table. They were on the back porch of the latter's home, and each held a glass of sweet, homemade lemonade. The air was starting to get hotter, and Brett was almost ready to take back his earlier assumption that the weather was perfect.
As the younger man sipped some of his luscious lemonade, an idea occurred to him. It was a bad idea, maybe even a ludicrous one. But he was also curious as to what his boss would think; if nothing else, maybe it would bring him some peace of mind.
"Mr. McCormick, do you believe in aliens?"
The man in the red hat spat out the liquid he currently had in his mouth and dropped his glass. It shattered into a million pieces on the porch.
"What the…what an odd question that is, Mr. Porter! Why would you ask such a thing?"
Brett shrugged. "I had a dream last night. I'm not exactly sure what happened in it, but I do recall that it involved aliens somehow. That's all I remember."
"Talking about dreams, are we?" Mr. McCormick replied incredulously. "Well then, I could tell you about…ah, I won't. The point is, aren't we a little old to set much store by dreams?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean", the rancher continued, "that everyone has dreams. Only children think that there's any significance to them. But you're an adult now…how old are you again?"
"Nineteen" Brett replied. "But I swear, I saw aliens over Kanto. Yes, that was my dream."
"Mr. Porter, you do realize that aliens don't exist, right? We've been looking for them for who knows how long, and we haven't found them yet."
"That doesn't mean they aren't there. The universe is huge, it's pretty arrogant to dismiss the possibility like that."
"Enough!" Mr. McCormick replied, banging his fist on the edge of the chair. "Mr. Porter, I want you to sweep the broken glass off the porch. And then it'll be time to go back to work. I will not tolerate such tomfoolery on the job!"
The youth sighed, knowing there was no point in resisting his boss. If he did, he was likely to lose his job; while he wasn't the best at reading people, Brett Porter could be reasonably certain of that.
The 19-year-old stood up to grab the broom and dustpan from just inside the house. For better or worse, as he swept the floor, Brett had no idea what was happening elsewhere in Kanto.