Most mornings, I wake up with an intense craving for something extraordinary to intertwine itself with my mundane lifestyle. Unfortunately, my craving continuously remains unsatisfied, and I instead devote myself to my unchanging schedule as a farmer.
Growing up on a plantation, planting and harvesting crops
was second nature. Gardening quickly evolved into my favorite hobby, and I was
blessed with a green thumb. Sharing the spotlight with seven siblings was
unimaginably difficult, and my parents scarcely spent quality time with us
individually, too busy to even mutter their own names under their breath. By
the time I turned eighteen, they had politely
suggested that I move out to allow more space for their seven other sprouting
children.
Hurt, dejected, offended – did they not realize the
absurdity of their request?! With what money did they expect me to begin a life
on my own? Pocketing the Rainy Day
jar from the kitchen counter, I sought refuge in the nearby town of Sugar
Valley. The local housing authority office offered me a decent plot of land
accompanied by a small home; I accepted the offer without thinking twice, and moved
into my humble abode that evening.
Before my home had been occupied, the property must have
served as a playground for the stray animals of the town. Many of them
relocated once they realized the land was now inhabited, but a gorgeous wild
horse adamantly refused to leave the premises. Over time, I befriended the
mare, and we developed an easygoing relationship. Glory is most certainly the
best thing that’s happened to me in a quite a while.
Evenings are incredibly lonely for me; I spend my time twiddling
my thumbs or mulling over food, longing for someone to rescue me of my boredom.
In a sense, I suppose I’m awaiting my prince charming, even though I’m far from
deserving. I lack desirable qualities; after all, I’m nineteen and have yet to
even kiss a boy.
Oh! I’m Mist Fantasy, by the way. 