The Runaway: A Stardew Valley Story

Spent

For the first time in two weeks, I wake up without needing to vomit my guts up. Unfortunately, this is because there is nothing to throw up. My stomach makes an unholy growl, and I drown it with a bottle of water. I sip slowly trying to savor the lukewarm water.

A quick glance in my backpack says the onions are still good to sell, but a few of the green stalks were broken in the journey yesterday and have begun to brown. I frown and swing the pack onto my shoulders. It's beginning to be a comfort to have with me even if it smells like its contents currently. My hand barely covers the doorknob before a knock sounds.

I need to make a sign that says no visitors before noon.

"Hello?" I answer just as the door swings open to reveal the dark-haired boy from Friday. Sebastian, I remember.

Sebastian has a large spike-toothed sword contraption resting against one shoulder. I jump back in surprise and fear. He smells like cigarette smoke, and there are dark circles under his eyes. Has this man come to kill me just on a whim?

"It's just for cutting down the trees," he reassures me when I can't take my eyes off the death contraption. "Mom said you were expecting me this week?"

Oh Yabba, the kitchen! "Oh yes, um not particularly at this moment, but that's... that's okay."

"Well, I have real work to do too, so maybe let's get started?"

Real work? As if farming and fixing my home aren't real work?

"Oh, what do you do for a living?" My hands travel to my hips.

"I'm a computer programmer. I write code, and occasionally build a website or two." Sebastian sounds bored or irritated having to explain himself.

"Like Spiderwebber from Spy Renaissance?" The awe in my voice overrides my indignation at the man's tone.Spy Renaissance was one of the few movies I was allowed to watch. It was actually my favorite for several years. Castor Kent is too good-looking; I couldn't help it.

"I mean, I don't hack the government or anything," he shrugs, "but sure."

"And you can do all that from here? Why don't you live in the city?"

Sebastian's air of frustration only grows at this. He motions to the toothy sword. "Are we going to cut trees or not?"

I clamp my mouth shut. Even though I had planned to sell my hard-earned onions at Pierre's, I need a kitchen, and this guy doesn't seem like he's willing to help for much longer. It takes me only a moment to brush off the idea of chopping trees down myself. If I could barely swing a hoe to till the ground, it doesn't look good for cutting down an entire tree let alone enough to fix my house.

"Let me get the axe," I reply with the same lack of warmth shown to me before leaving my trusty backpack by the door.

The chainsaw, as Sebastian called the horrifying monstrosity, roars to life as we stand in front of a tall tree a good distance from the cottage. Sebastian told me I am in charge of chopping off minor branches whenever the trees fall. He will take care of the main trunk and larger limbs. Other than that, I am supposed to stand back a very far distance as I do not have the earmuffs and glasses Sebastian uses for safety.

This is all Sebastian says to me for the rest of the day. The chainsaw is deafening, and the constant thunk of my axe against wood only adds to the noise. It isn't a situation ideal for chitchat, but I still feel like Sebastian is purposely ignoring me. Each time he moves to another limb, the dark-haired guy doesn't bother to spare a look in my direction or give me a warning that another tree is headed down. He just works.

By midday, we have cut two trees. My arms ache with an even deeper pain than that I felt when I plowed the garden. Dark spots dance across my vision, and I'm reminded that it's been over a day since my last meal. I want to ask Sebastian if we can call it quits when he tugs off the earphones to remove a black hoodie, but I notice the black cord of earbuds that must have been hidden underneath. As I stand there trying to get this guy's attention, I find my eyes glued to his torso where the hoodie picks up the hem of a black T-shirt. The skin beneath is smooth and pale, and—

Oh, now he looks at me!?

My cheeks flush as he rips an earbud from one ear. "I'll need to come back tomorrow," he says a bit louder than necessary as a result of the ringing of chainsaw no doubt. "This won't be a quick process, but we should have enough after a few days of work. I have some big projects coming up though, so we'll only be able to work Mondays and Tuesdays. That okay with you?"

Yabba, Junox, speak! Say something intelligent, please, I tell myself, but exhaustion swarms my mind like a dark cloud."Um, Mondays and Tuesdays, yeah I can do that. Sure thing."

"Cool," Sebastian says and replaces the earbud. "Mom will be by to pick up the lumber on Wednesday!" This time he shouts even louder.

Sebastian doesn't wait to say goodbye. He just slings the chainsaw over his shoulder. Something in my chest lurches at the image of those tiny blades slicing through his cheek or ear, but I shake the worry free as he continues to walk away.

I have to get to Pierre's. The thought tumbles through my mind like a freight train, and I rush for the backpack inside. I can't imagine how much Pierre will offer me for some day-old onions, but  I hoped to have more time for researching other goods to forage. Now that cutting trees has taken up most of my day and most of my day tomorrow, I may just have to hope that more wild onions have grown overnight.

"Oh, Yabba! I still have to water my own plants!" I curse before making a detour for the watering can.

I just barely make it into the general store in time to catch Pierre. The clock behind the counter says 4:50 as I dump the contents of my backpack before Pierre. Panting, I say, "Melanie--"

"You mean, Marnie?"

"Marnie said you would buy stuff that I foraged in the woods, and I found some super cool onions." I try to follow up with a smile, but inside I am just a hungry, tired shell of the Junox who cares about things like not being awkward.

"Oh?" The shopkeeper puts down a paper he'd been combing through and glances at the produce. "Yes, I can take these off your hands, but I don't buy just anything. Tree nuts won't sell well, and neither will a few of these with broken stalks. I can give you 40G for the lot."

I try to keep the disappointment from my face. It took hours to find all of these onions, and all I get is 40G? How am I going to get the cash for an ultrasound this week let alone feed myself?

Pierre must have noticed my disappointment because he adds quietly, "You know, lots of folks post things to the community board out front. If you need some spare cash, maybe you can run some errands?"

"Oh," I say, and I feel the surge of hope once more. "Yes, thank you for the tip!"

Practically running from the shop once Pierre handed me the cash, I brace myself in a wide ark on the door and plant myself in front of an old corkboard like the one Mother and Father pinned their work to when I was little and things were just starting out. A calendar to my left is marked with stickers and brightly colored pens to denote birthdays and an event called the Egg Festival. I make a note to ask someone about that soon but turn my attention to the scrap of paper beside it. In tight print, it reads:

Help wanted,

These nights are still a bit too chilly. Haley and I could use some more firewood, and neither of us feels like chopping it.

Buying firewood at 250G.

-- Emily

I break into a grin.