"There's a rumble and a whisper underneath the cover,

Louder than a dead man's drum.

It's a joke that they told her when she got much older,

When she knew just what she'd become."

The Fratellis

Tuesday, May 6th, Year 1

"The doctor will see you shortly, Daniella." Maru says brightly, her vibrant voice yanking Dani out from her storm of thoughts.

"Fantastic," Dani answers, flashing her teeth in the hope that Maru may mistake it for a smile.

On the day of her second appointment with Dr. Harvey Hoffmann, Dani has opted to wear the same sweater she was worn for her first visit. The shredded edges of her sleeve sway with each step as she makes her way to the front door of the clinic. Why she decided to choose to present herself in this way, she may never know. Perhaps it is keeping in character, or perhaps not. She is beginning to wonder what parts of her personality are even consistent at this point.

There was a girl like that at inpatient, her roommate and a tentative friend. She was always doing things to piss off the staff, and she succeeded at her task with surprising efficiency. She would stray from her bedside the moment the opportunity struck. She would rile up the fellow patients by trading words of gossip and dissent. She even broke out into the courtyard once, and Dani had watched her get tackled by security right from their room's window. She had been so worried watching this scene unfold, but the girl was laughing, cackling so hard that it was difficult to deny how humorous the scene was, and sure enough, Dani was laughing alongside her, separated by the window but alongside her in spirit. Why it took three adult men to subdue a critically underweight teenage girl will always be one of Dani's greatest mysteries in this life. The fact that hurts Dani the most is that she cannot remember her roommate's name. Kayla or Kalie or Karrie, something along those lines. But most of these memories have been lost to time and Ativan.

She has to wonder what the doctor will think, what he will have to say. To try and foresee the actions of others has always been a pointless endeavor for her, but that has never stopped her from devoting so much mental energy towards the thought. Doctors may be professionals, but at the end of the day, they are still human beings to the bone. He will likely take one look at her and deem her crazy. This would be keeping with routine, with what she has come to expect from medical professionals. But nothing about this little town has been particularly predictable. And to pass on a judgment towards the man would be unfair, considering that she hopes to expect the same from him. She cannot skate by comparing her previous experiences with the reality of the present. This level of relationship is a two-way street, but to understand that is not as easy as practicing it.

And truly, could she blame him if this goes south? She is showing up to her appointment wearing a ruined shirt in some of vague, guileless protest. Surely that has to scream some degree of mentally unwell, but hey, she's not the clinician here.

The man of the hour opens the door, causing Dani to jump slightly. She has only been waiting for a few minutes at most; the doctor's punctuality is yet another deviation in her long list of expected outcomes. Sokol would have her waiting a half hour at the minimum. "Daniella," Dr. Harvey says, his voice level and uniform, not a syllable out of place. "Thank you for coming by. I'm ready to see you now."

Joy. "Let's get this show on the road," she says, the pitch in her voice sounding more artificial than she hoped. She rises to her feet, unsteady, the slight hesitation in her step already a potential sign of weakness. Perhaps it will be another note for him to write down in his log book, another bit of her humanity to catalogue.

"How have the last few weeks been treating you?" Dr. Harvey asks as they walk down the hallway towards the clinician's office, his footsteps one pace ahead of hers. The height differential between them is more apparent now than ever; he must be at least six feet, if not taller.

"Oh, interesting." She should have prepared for such questions, but if truth be told, she has been winging it the moment she stepped into the valley. It may not be an elaborate answer, but in her eyes, it should get the job done.

"Interesting?" He repeats her words, shifting aside to allow Dani to step into the room ahead. The rooms in this clinic are as she remembered them, the utter opposite of what she would expect a doctor's office to look like. There is a homelike quality to the space here, which has been cause for Dani to wonder if this agency is being operated out of his own house. It would not be too surprising in a little town such as this, but it is a thousand leagues different than the massive medical centers in Zuzu City.

"I suppose I'll take interesting over anything else." Though she halfway contemplates sitting in one of the guest chairs, she decides to make the doctor's life a bit easier, so she sits down on the edge of the cot.

"How is 'Wright Farm' faring?" The corners of the doctor's mustache are curved, an authentic expression of goodwill. But the question has the opposite effect of what he had likely intended. Her homestead has more in common with a burning ship sinking beneath a stormy sea, but his prompt is polite and she should respond in kind. Should she lie her way out of it, a customary action she has taken with doctors as routinely as breathing? This has been her habit since adolescence, and perhaps it is best to leave that childlike manner behind her.

But the cost of telling the full truth is a well-documented endeavor. "As well as it's bound to get." The words are their own, but professors would likely require a self-citation. She must be feeling especially avoidant today, which is not bound to do her any favors. In her experience, doctors are keen to pounce on that level of evasiveness.

She can see the apprehension in his movements; the slight quiver in his hands, the nervous habit of adjusting his glasses. There is fear here on both sides, but the causation could not be more different. There may be some level of understanding between the two, buried somewhere deep, a sense of what the other is feeling. But there are roles in place here, and it is too soon to tell what behaviors can slip beneath the radar.

The regime begins once again. The velcro wrapping around her arm squeezes, the thermometer between her teeth, the scraping of a pen to paper. These sounds are familiar, blending into both her memory and the present. There is a strange sense here and now though; the last few weeks have broken every semblance of her old routine, so this return to what was once the norm leaves her uneasy.

Her ears are straining now, trying to decipher any audible clues that Dr. Hoffmann may admit. She cannot see the number on the scale; all she can do is stare ahead at the self-help posters the doctor must have hung up. She is still listening, her breathing hitching in her throat, a sense of internal panic being forced down before it can surface.

"Any higher?" Dani asks, the pitch in her words betraying her fears.

"Your pulse is a bit higher, yes." He briefly scribbles down something in his notes, and when he lifts up his gaze, Dani tears her stare away, searching for anything else to focus her attention on. Tiles upon the floor, positivity posters plastered to the walls, anything. She got away with the question, but it is not giving her the answer she is craving. "Now, that can be caused by numerous things. It could be from physical activity, such as the work you are doing on your farm. Sometimes medications can change your body's chemistry. Or, it could also be the result of stress and anxiety."

At his words, Dani looks up, making direct eye contact with Dr. Hoffmann. Her fingers clutching into themselves, digging deep, she says in the lightest tone she can manage, "Oh, do I seem anxious, doctor?"

The question has the effect she is looking for. Dr. Hoffmann chuckles a bit, and Dani uses this opportunity to exhale deeply, perhaps under the guise of herself laughing too. "You know, I think it is a good quality to have," he says amiably. "Being self-aware, I mean."

"If I'm anything, it's that." Dani raises her hand to give a little wave, the shreds of her sleeve swaying. The doctor looks away as she does so, and she can feel a bit of the warmth he gave her retreating. It is as though someone switched the thermostat a degree downward. "Uh... I was meaning to ask, doctor—"

"You can call me Harvey, by the way." The words cut her off midsentence, and he seems to realize that in an instant. He clears his throat, a touch too loudly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you. It's just that I know too well how formal this whole process can be. So, if it helps, uh, you do not have to refer to me as a doctor or by any sort of title. I'm just a professional who is trying to help you in any way that I can."

That's what doctors are, though. The expression on her face must have informed on her thoughts, because he is quick to continue. "Yes, I just realized that what I said might have been a bit trivial." His mustache is curved again, but it has an artificial quality to it now. Perhaps he is just as bad at faking a smile as she is. "What I'm trying to say is, I know that these appointments can be a bit stressful. Especially in your case. But what I want is for you to be as comfortable as you can be throughout this process."

There is quite a bit to unpack here. Her initial thoughts are mostly negative; she wants to ask him what he means by her case, and why she should be so eager to trust him as opposed to some other medical personnel. A first name preference means very little to her in this scenario. She lets out a shaky sigh, lowering her head and steadying her thoughts, knowing that they are likely readable upon her face.

Give him something to work with, she thinks to herself. "I prefer Dani," she says, her voice sounding smaller than she intended. There is no lie there, at least; the only people who call her Daniella are the ones who don't know her well enough. It is hardly an olive branch to extend, but it may open a single door. And she can recognize that she hasn't exactly been the easiest patient, despite her efforts to keep this simple and painless for both parties. She is nothing like K-whatever, even though she may yearn to be; she doesn't want to provoke the status quo, as that leads to more surveillance and supervision. That is how she survived inpatient, and that is how she will survive this doctor. To be a pleasant, pliable patient on the surface is usually a green light to medical professionals; it signals that the client is willing to work with you and not cause waves. On second thought, maybe wearing this ruined sweater was a bad idea after all.

Harvey almost seems relieved by her admission. "It suits you," he says, referring to her nickname. The topic is still as uncomfortable as it can get, and the doctor continues to talk, speaking now in medical verses. "I think you may be on the right track, Dani. There are some improvements to your overall health. Your blood pressure is a touch higher, though that too may be caused by anxiety. Have you been able to follow the plan your prior physician recommended?"

"Yes!" Dani's response is a bit too eager, but perhaps that will help sell her sincerity. "Not just the meal supplements. I've been trying to eat actual meals too." When I can. All options are burning a hole in her wallet, but she doesn't have to mention that to Harvey.

"That's wonderful to hear. Now, I know I've mentioned this before, but it is absolutely crucial for you to keep up your caloric intake; especially since you are likely quite physically active these days." For some odd reason, Harvey sounds a lot more natural now. Perhaps he wears professionalism like a mask, much like how she pretends to be a healthy, functioning adult. Harvey continues talking, stressing the importance of carbs and proteins, and Dani can feel herself tuning out. This type of education is wasted on her because she has heard it a thousand times before. She could probably succeed with becoming a nutritionist, if only she had managed to finish her degree. "Also," Dr. Harvey says mid-spiel. "I just remembered I interrupted you earlier. Was there something you were going to ask me?"

Quite a few questions spring to mind, but the loudest thought cannot be voiced aloud. What is my weight now? Higher or lower? What can I say to convince you to tell me? It is much too soon to ask about that topic; if there are the beginnings of trust forming here, then she'll have to play the long con. So she simply asks, "Do you want me to come back here in a month again? Is there any way we can make it two?" There are two reasonings to this: she still cannot shake her uneasiness when it comes to medical settings, and she also could save the coin if these visits were bimonthly instead. It is worth shooting her shot by asking.

"I think that's a fair compromise," Harvey says, extending one hand to hers. She shifts off the cot and back onto her feet so she can return the gesture. She hopes that he doesn't notice that she is still a little shaky. This appointment appears to be wrapping up, and the sooner she can get out of here, the better. "A pleasure as always, Dani. Best of luck to you."

"You too, Harvey," Dani turns to leave, stepping into the hallway that leads to the front of the clinic. She offers a quiet goodbye to Maru, who answers cheerfully in kind. Dani has to admit that it is easier to remain relatively calm in a medical facility such as this one. She would choose this place any day if she was offered the choice. Zuzu Central Hospital would seem like an alien environment in comparison, cold and sterile and unwelcoming. You were lucky enough to learn only the surnames of the staff members; otherwise, they remained as distant and disconnected as possible.

And yet, she eventually learned to trust Sokol. Doctor or not, her conversations with him meant something to her, and he never appeared to be just another sanitized official who did not care an inch. There was a weird kinship forged there, even in their first meeting, because he was willing to speak to her like she was a person instead of a statistic. It sounds so easy, but it had worked in its own way. It is a fact that she cannot comprehend, cannot categorize into her own mental schema.

Perhaps it is not that complex. Perhaps Dr. Sokol was the only adult in the room who lent her a hand of humanity, something that she has never truly gotten from her parents or from other figures of guidance. No guard rails, no padding. She had to grow in order to escape inpatient, no matter what it took, like a weed cracking through cement pavement. When she was able to confide in him, it was as though she finally had the permission to speak freely, and she was elsewhere, not completely alone in her predicament. Maybe that was the only thing she had ever wanted from a parental figure. Sometimes the simple answers sting the most.

Sokol. Her father. Her mother. Her grandfather's bones laid to rest in a graveyard beside a church that he never frequented. Put them out of your mind. Dani opens the front door of the clinic to make her way through, not even recognizing that it takes her less effort than times prior. She made the choice to leave behind her family and her home. They will follow her forever like ghosts if she allows them to. The door clicks shut behind her, and she shifts her focus away from her thoughts, knowing that pondering on the past will do her no favors now.

The weather is pleasant, light breezes that ruffle her hair. A few hours of sunlight left, becoming longer and longer with each passing day. The temperature has become increasingly warmer, leaving the valley with sunnier skies and less rain. Rain was once the thing that froze her to the bone during her treks throughout the town; it had been so difficult to work in, as it would leave her shivering to the point of chattering teeth. There are few things so unpleasant as being so cold that nothing can seem to warm you through it. But with summer on the horizon, she may find herself wishing for those days to return. Springtime has spoiled her in terms of how much free watering it has provided.

Just like that, her mind is already back on the farm, on her progress. Her thoughts often drift to it in idle moments, as it is a pressing matter and something in her power that she can actively change. She will always prefer something that she can work on as opposed to something that is out of her control.

Located right beside the clinic is Pierre's General Store, a shop that Dani has ventured into on a few occasions. The mayor had told her that it is best to try and support the local businesses, though that did not go as successful as she had hoped. She sold most of her jam to Pierre, as well as artisan bundles of scallions and five cartons of fresh dandelion greens that she foraged for. Her father is a businessman first and a parent fourth; of course she learned some tricks of the trade. Framing product into appealing pictures is part of the scheme. But even then, the gold she received for the effort she put forth was so funny that she almost burst into laughter on the spot. If she ever needed an indication of why the farm was not going to succeed, that was it. Pierre paid fairly, but it was an especially long nail in an already bolted down coffin. On the bright side, she was able to purchase a few rolls of twine from Pierre, which may give the impression that she is doing her part to help out the small-scale shops. She is not going to stop inside there today; she has brought nothing to sell on hand, and she doesn't want yet another reminder of how hard she is going to fail.

Failure. The very thing she fears more now than anything else. All of her loved ones had told her that this is where she would end up, should she choose to leave behind the city for this lonely little valley. But not every step along the way has been a disaster. May 6th. She has lasted over a month, hasn't she? That is no small feat, especially for someone with absolutely no prior outdoor experience. She is not thriving, no, but she is surviving. Surely that has to mean something.

Living this way has helped a bit with her eating habits, she had not lied about that when speaking to Dr. Harvey. She is moving around much more than she had been when she still lived in Zuzu City; if her little stint in Cindersap last month proved anything, it showed her just how different her lifestyle was going to have to be in order to sustain herself. Calories, whatever the source, are an absolute necessity in the name of the farm's progress. This fact has altered her way of thinking, and as a result, it has been much easier to condone consumption.

Across the cobblestone bridge that stretches over the river, the glaring blue walls of JojaMart lie in the distance. Right on the edge of town, worth the walk if a deal is what you're after. Admittedly, the megastore has been invaluable to her; some of her essentials are exclusive to Joja, and even generic supplies are far cheaper there than elsewhere. Pierre's shop is family owned, but it is hard to justify the higher prices when she is clutching every last gold coin she has to her name. For now, she will have to rely on her former employer, though she doesn't feel any better for it. She wanders towards the blue building, unsure of what she will do. There are a plethora of things that she needs to buy, but what she needs to consider is the feasibility of such purchases.

Joja products are a part of the meal plan that Sokol prescribed and Harvey upholds. She had to half the amount they recommended, which she doesn't mind too much; after so many years of forcing tasteless calories down her throat, she is more than happy to modify this instruction, all in the name of saving a few gold pieces. She had to supplement her sustenance with something though; it's doubtful that Harvey would accept her using water and sunlight as a substitute for the standardized nutrition that Joja products provide. She decided to buy some filler food in bulk, brown rice and oats to be exact, because the cost was minimal and the fare can last for a long while. The meals themselves are rather bland, but after a long day of trekking over town and working on her farm, she is willing to eat almost anything she can afford.

Dani stares at the automatic doors that welcome Joja customers, sealed shut as she is not close enough to trigger their sensors. She had been planning to buy some sort of lipid, likely oil since butter would be far too pricey, but the light press of gold against her pocket convinces her otherwise. Inpatient had taught her lessons on nutrition ad nauseum, so she knows that some day soon, she will have to buy a source of dietary fat. It can wait, surely, could it not? It might be okay for her to take her time. Somehow, she is embracing the concept of recovery, so she may as well roll with it, and not become too consumed with doing everything correctly. That is how she always sets herself up to fail.

Parked next to the JojaMart sits a semitruck, a massive transport vehicle painted blue to ensure that the brand recognition goes every extra mile. But what lies beyond that? She should know, considering she used to answer calls of all sorts, including from Joja employees who were having trouble with their shipping quotas. She may have the response to her own question due to her prior experience. JojaMart has never had an easy time with waste reduction; it wouldn't be uncommon for items to stay stored in freight, only to be tossed away before it could reach the shelves due to oversight and mismanagement.

It is a ridiculous idea, but it strikes her fancy in the moment. A notion not born out of a need, but opportunity. There is a chance that their dumpsters are filled to the brim with "expired" goods, and maybe it isn't out of her reach. Who would notice, anyhow? It feels safer to snag something from JojaBins as opposed to the townsfolks' trash cans. There are likely less eyes around as witnesses. She doesn't have to commit to an actual game plan. But why not take a looksie around the building? That in itself is not a crime.

Dani strides past, her boots scraping against the pavement, making her way past the parked truck and reaching the end of Joja's immense walls. She passes a sign that reads in bold print: Join Us. Thrive. Lovely. She remembers the phrase; she was instructed to answer each call with such slogans, though she usually chose to say Life is Better with Joja. Somehow, it felt easier to get those exact words out; maybe they just roll off the tongue better. She has to stop her steps at the edge of the barrier to what lies ahead. In front of her, she can see a wooden fence, tightly intertwined with orderly lines.

Well, that is a disappointment to see. Back in Zuzu City, most of the fences around her were chain-link, a type of barricade that can be maneuvered around if you had skill for climbing. Metal set into uniform patterns, easy to slip the tip of a boot into. Dani presses herself against the hardwood, trying to peer into the cracks to see what lies behind it. Though she does not have much room for sight, she can glimpse the telltale blue JojaBins, out of her grasp, but that notion is almost a challenge itself. Her fingers brush against the perfect timber, no risk of getting a splinter, and she wonders if there would be a way to clamber over it. Likely not. There is no place to put her feet, just sleek, systematic stockade. No matter. At least she—

"At this point, I'm too afraid to ask."

The words freeze Dani into place, her hands fixed to the fence. It sounds like him, but where is the source? Through the wooden planks, she catches sight of him, a faded blue hoodie leaning against a bright blue JojaBin. Of course he is here, he told her that he worked there, after all. But it's not surprise that she feels. There's another feeling there too, a thrill, a reaction that leaves every nerve tense. No explanation there, no meaning, no purpose. Just pure adrenaline lacing through her veins. Flight or fight, maybe? It wouldn't be difficult to flee; all she would have to do is turn back the way she came. But something within her keeps her in place, and she forces out the words, "Fair. I would've waited for nighttime, but maybe the raccoons would have beaten me to it."

She regrets the words as soon as they leave her lips. But what else could she do? Making up excuses is not uncharted ground for her. But there doesn't seem to be any point to that route. She is somewhere she shouldn't be, scoping out a scheme that she likely wouldn't ever execute. There isn't any explanation to be entertained. Surely Shane can see that plainly.

In the thin cracks between the fence, Dani can see Shane smiling, unmistakable. Has she ever seen him smile before? She cannot truly recall a moment where she has. "Well, you're something else, aren't you?"

Dani is momentarily thankful for the barrier between them, because she can feel herself smiling too, not a false one with teeth but the real thing. Why does this feel so monumental? Because it's really minimal, but she is elated that he seems almost charmed by her nonsense. It is a distinct difference to how he treated her when the two of them first met. That brings her a sense of joy that she cannot describe nor deny.

As if sensing her thoughts, Shane turns his face away, now looking at the dumpsters themselves. His smirk fades into the typical scowl that she has come to expect from him. "We lock these things at night, just so you know. Don't break a bone over it, it just ain't worth it."

Briefly, Dani pictures herself lying still beside the JojaBins, dead from a broken neck. She imagines her epitaph: Here Lies Daniella Wright. Died as she Lived, Being a Dumbass. "Don't tempt me with a good time." Who even is she?! Is this her idea of banter? To call it cringe would be too generous.

Somehow, Shane smirks at that, shaking his head. When he smiles, his lips are slightly lopsided, the right corner of his mouth tilted a touch higher than the left. It's a little detail that she hadn't noticed before, but it captivates her attention now. Deep down, she knows that she should leave this encounter here and now, before the interaction has a chance to sour. This is what she should do, right? But her feet feel frozen to the gravel beneath her, and she decides to speak again before departing. "I'll get out of your hair now. Thank you for the heads up, though."

"Aight. I've got work to do, anyhow." Shane says, already turning away from her direction. She is hoping that he might say something else in parting, but he is only shaking his head, adjusting the blue cap on his head, nothing further to say. Dani relents, her feet finally coming back to life, moving away from the fence that separates them. A massive wall of wood between the two of them, though she knows that this can be interpreted as symbolic. Something between him and her, something that makes conversation so strained and tense. That's a way of looking at it, right?

No.

As she walks back towards her farmland, the facts edge their presence towards the forefront of her mind. This is the same truth that she has been confronted with time and time again. She remembers the Flower Festival, dressed in black as though she was heading to a funeral, and chatting with Shane on the outskirts of the townsfolk. That conversation has remained with her, as has the discussion by the pond, and the time he helped her home, and again and again. These instances have meant the world to her, because her days have been marked by a new kind of loneliness, one that she only ever experienced in the antiseptic confines of inpatient. But just as it was back then, she has to make her peace with the idea that others simply do not think of her in the same way that she thinks of them. K-whatsit likely does not remember Dani. The medical personnel have no reason to recall her presence either; she was just a number among many. There is nothing about her to stick out in their minds.

And Shane does not care for her. He doesn't, and he won't, not today or ever. He outright tolerates her, which is the best she could have hoped for. Maybe she might earn a smile or a joke or whatever. But to be her friend? That is a ridiculous notion that she is a fool to entertain. Nothing more. Why waste further thought on the topic?

That is a great question, and it is one she has no answer for.

By the time she reaches the boundary of her land, the sun is beginning to set beneath the horizon, her day drawing to an end. She is thankful to make it home before nightfall, though she feels distinctly empty, the type of vacancy that cannot be filled with food. She has to find something to do, to keep her thoughts steadied and focused. This has been her only strategy for sanity when she is by herself, which is almost always. As she steps inside her farmhouse, she casts a look towards the scrambled assemble that is supposed to serve as a fence. That has been an ongoing problem, to be sure, but she has been toying with a solution. One that may actually be attainable.

Building a fence on her own would be a disaster, and a costly one. She would have to spend gold on proper materials, and with her tenuous health in mind, she could not imagine assembling it herself. Her makeshift creation of branches and firs and twigs is proof enough of her inexperience. That leaves the idea of buying the help. Robin the carpenter is available for hire; the woman had made that fact clear enough when they had met on her first day in the valley. But the price of such service would no doubt be extraordinary. Both the raw materials and the labor would set her into the red range for a month or more. A proper fence would last for years, but what does that matter, when she has next to nothing to hold her over until then? Good faith on future success is a gamble that no reasonable business owner would take.

But Dani cannot give up without finding a semblance of a solution. Shifty tricks, life hacks, whatever to call them. Some sort of compromise that will suffice for the time. Perhaps not a solution, but a substitution. Something that cannot last, but can help her in the short term. Wooden planks made for fencing are costly, but twine is as cheap as dirt. She snags the roll of rope from the floor, the remnants of woven patterns already formed, and she settles herself in bed, ready to work despite the darkness shading through the curtains. A tangible task at her fingertips, this is where she thrives.

Using a careful hand, she takes the strand of twine in stride, crafting knot after knot. To create your own net requires a degree of precision and plenty of patience; thankfully, this may be the only area that she truly excels in. All of those years of being forced to practice piano have paid off after all. It is almost relaxing to do this as well, curled up in her bedsheets, her fingers working the strings into twists, over and over and over.

And just like several nights prior, her day ends just the same; the net half-crafted in her hands, her exhaustion getting the better of her. A sleep that finds her before she even knows that it is coming.

The twine is entangled in her hands when she stirs, the spool reaching down to the edge of her bed. The beginnings of her new net are incomplete by a mile, but her project is getting there. As she blinks the sleep from her eyes, she pushes the network of string aside so she can return to the task later. She is close to the finish line, it seems; with any luck, the network of knots will ward off hungry wildlife who remain keen on consuming her hard work. The sunlight seeping through the curtains is brighter than she anticipated; she must have slept in a bit late, but she'll make do. She shuffles out from the covers, ready to begin her routine for the day.

She feels the faint static behind her eyes and the hollowness in her stomach, so she lights her stove with a lit match, intending on cooking down a scoop of oats into porridge. She sets a pot filled with water upon the flickering flames, and she leaves it be, smart enough to not waste any energy watching it rise to a boil. She moves to the front door, wanting to take a peek outdoors at her garden, eager for new growth.

When she presses the door open, it seems significantly heavier than usual, unanticipated weight pushing back against her. Odd. She shoves her way through, hearing the scrape of something against the porch, as though something has been placed right against the entrance of her farmhouse. She makes her way outdoors, her focus now fastened on figuring out what could have possibly changed since the night before.

Against her front door, she sees a small stack of three boxes, blue cardboard with dots of dew beading on their exterior. Now she is able to tell what she is looking at; these are frozen pizzas, JojaMart brand. Very odd. Why have they been left here? She hasn't ordered nothing of the sort; all of her transactions have been in person and paid with gold upfront. She spots a folded piece of paper fixed to the side of the stack, only held by a single sliver of masking tape; thankfully, the parchment has been spared from most of the condensation, mostly dry save for a few damp spots. She tugs the sheet free with ease and spreads it open, her eyes scanning it quick to try and ingest the contents of the letter as fast as she possibly can.

The handwriting upon the parchment is in simplistic print and a touch disorganized. Despite this, she is able to read the words with only a bit of difficulty.

Hey.

I thought it might be a good idea to send you a letter. I don't really know what to write, though.

Don't tell anyone, but I snagged these from the back room of JojaMart ages ago. I doubt that anyone will notice or care.

I do know this: no one wants to see you go hungry. Especially me.

Okay. See you soon.

Shane

The letter in her hands had been dry enough, but it seems that this is about to change. The sensation of tears build in Dani's eyes, and she rereads the words on the paper again and again, focusing on the statement: Especially me. Especially me.

Oh.

She blinks her eyes over and over, warding the emotion away. Surely she is reading into this too much. That is what she always does, right? Nothing to analyze, nothing to interpret, only her own feelings projected onto others. Right? Right? She rereads the words over and over, just as she would interactions in her head. And yet, the paper is held in her palms, physical and real, undeniable.

What the hell is she to make of this? Accept it at face value? Overanalyze it to smithereens, until each word takes on an alternate meaning? Oh, she knows what she will do. This is a habit she has tried her best to break, truly. But as she reads the sentences again and again, she can only think, maybe I'm not wrong. Maybe this isn't all in my head.

Doubtful. But it is a very sweet thought, to be sure.

A/N: Lmao. If anyone is reading this, I'm glad to have you here! If not, then I'm talking to the void, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. But I'll try to keep this brief, because if I go on too long, I'll start talking about grief and family losses and graduation and all sorts of things that I try to avoid thinking about while I'm writing this.

I hope I can continue on writing. I straight up have no idea where this is going. I spent a year trying to make a certain angle fit into place, and it just wasn't working, so I scrapped most of it. Most of the chapters, really. I was already flying by the seat of my pants, but now we are just fully paving our way as we go along. For better and for worse.

I've edited a few things along the way in the earlier chapters, for my own sanity. Easy to see errors only after you publish something.

I always, always appreciate kudos and comments. Thank you to those who have reached out because they have enjoyed the story so far. Seriously, I cannot express that gratitude enough.

Until next time! I hope 2023 (at least, what's left of it) has treated you well. I'll be glad to see it go.

This chapter's song lyric is brought to you by She's Not Gone Yet But She's Leaving - The Fratellis. This story's title also comes from the same band, though it's a different song. This chapter's song is a damn banger and I listen to it whenever I want to feel some semblance of motivation to change my life. It never works, but at least it sounds good!