Chapter Text
Day one: It was a bit of a rush. I’d finally escaped that wretched place. My greatest, most unattainable dream had been reached and… I didn’t know what to do next. That’s the thing about dreams - they’re the end goal. You never really plan what to do next.
Day two: there was a lot of indecision. The hunger and thirst had begun to set in. I’d never had to worry about where my next meal would come from - probably the only good thing the orphanage offered. The people weren’t sympathetic to my cause. They saw loads of orphans on the streets. They’d stopped caring a while ago.
Day five: I eventually came across the community well. It was shotty and falling apart, but the water was mostly clean. There was this big restaurant, catered towards the rich people up on the hill. They didn’t like reusing food, so they’d throw the leftovers out back for the rats. I lived off of those scraps.
Day seven: The restaurant people caught me sneaking around. The doorman beat me a bit before telling me never to come back. I don’t get it. It’s not like they were using the food, so why do they care if I take it. They say it’s ‘bad for business’, but does that really matter more than my life…? I’d need to find a new food source.
Day eight: The orphanage realised I was gone. They sent some of the Nuns out to find me. Mother Jane almost spotted me - she was the worst of them. I couldn’t stay in the city. But where to go? I waited until night, then pilfered a map and water bottle from a small shop. I stared down the road and walked until it was no longer a road. Until I found something.
Day eleven: I finally found some farmland, collapsing to the ground the moment I reached it. I was suddenly very aware of how terribly tired and hungry I was. After a few minutes, a man came up to me.
From there, things got… complicated.
Entry 1
Everything was numb. My feet, my legs, my mind - I could feel the tips of my fingers tingling.
It was kind of difficult to ignore the smell of the fresh grass, since it was shoved in my face. At least it smelled nice. Maybe even nice enough to eat. Though, that being said, anything would be nice enough to eat at that point. I didn’t even know a person could be this hungry. Sure, the nuns would make me skip meals sometimes, but this was a whole nother level.
“Hey, boy!” a voice called out from somewhere in the fields. “That’s my grass you be drooling on!”
I lifted my head just enough to see the man the voice came from. He wore the suit of a typical farmer, with skin calloused and tan from years of labour. His face was wrinkled and seemed to be caught in a permanent frown - not the most welcoming appearance, I must say.
“You speak boy?!” he shouted.
Yes. Speaking. The most unfortunately vital part of conversing.
“Uh, yes sir.” I muttered, my voice hoarse from singing, There’s not much to do on long journeys such as mine. “Do you have food?”
“You want food boy?” the man snarled. “Then go work for it, like the rest of us. That shits expensive, you think you’re just gonna get hand outs?!”
“No, um, sorry… sir. Sorry.” I stuttered, sitting up and rubbing the dirt off my cheek. “It’s just… I’m quite hungry. Sorry, sir.”
The man looked me up and down. “How old are you, boy?”
“Somewhere from 14 to 18, sir.”
“You don’t know?”
I shook my head.
“You got a name?” he asked, leaning against his rake.
I shook my head again.
“You don’t got a name?” he clarified.
“My mum didn’t live long enough to bestow me one, sir.” I explained, fiddling with my fingers.
“‘Bestow’.” the man mocked, grimacing. “You talk like a nobleman, boy. You got an education?”
“Yes sir. I was taught the basics.” I replied.
“You don’t got a name or an age, but you can read and write?” the man wondered aloud. “You’re an odd one, boy.”
“I’ve been told, sir.” Though I appreciate the reminder, I really do. For a second there I’d almost forgotten why I don’t like talking to people! What would I ever do without this joyous man’s commentary?
“Don’t know why you wasted your energy on that nonsense, it ain't gonna do you nothing in the real world.” he sneered. “The real question is whether or not you can farm.”
‘Real question’? I fear that we might be too far into the unofficial interrogation for this to be your first ‘real question’.
“Uh, not much sir.” I muttered in response.
The man let out an audible sigh and turned to leave. “If that’s so, get off my land, boy.”
Oh. Oh no. This is the first place I’ve come across in three days and I couldn’t see anything else for miles. I’d completely run out of water that morning and I hadn’t eaten since the restaurant caught me - I wouldn’t survive if I kept walking. This farm was my only option. Which meant I’d have to convince this man to let me stay.
“Sir wait- I- I’m good with animals!” I tried, shooting up from the ground. “Back at the orphanage, we volunteered to help at the butchers once - I was the only one the pigs didn’t charge at! And I’m a fast learner, too! When we were learning how to tie knots, I was the first one to figure it out! I can be useful, I promise!”
The man paused and stroked his patchy stubble, thoughtfully. “You said you can tie knots?”
I blinked. “I… yes! Yes, of course! I was the best of the best back home!”
That wasn’t entirely a lie, just a sort of, eh… half truth. I was the best. For about two days. Then Walter M. usurped me. And lord, was he smug about it. I wonder how he’d react if he heard me stealing his title right now. The thought of him throwing a fit brings a smile to my face, despite everything.
“Our last knot man croaked recently.” the guy revealed, still playing with his wannabe beard. “About time, honestly. The poor old fellow could barely bend his fingers enough to tie a simple knot. Whatever sickness or curse plagued him was brutal.”
Ah, yes, I’ve heard of that sickness. It’s called being old. It appears you may be coming up on it. That was a bit mean.
“That’s so unfortunate. I’m very sorry to hear it.” I apologised, holding a hand to my heart.
“It’s really a shame.” the man lamented. “But how do I know you ain’t just saying whatever’ll get you fed.”
“I’m not lying, I promise!” I insisted. “I swear it, on my mother’s name!”
The man scoffed. “You never knew your mother. That means nothing.”
Okay. Rude. Not wrong, but he could do with some lessons on manners.
He pulled a rope off a fence post loosely surrounding the farmland. “Take this. Tie a Tucker’s Hitch.”
I stared at the farmer in front of me. Then down at the inch thick rope in my hands. Then back up at him. “With this rope?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, no, this is much too large for a Tucker’s Hitch. It’ll get all jumbled up and-”
“Atatata-ta.” the man interrupted, holding a hand out to silence me. “That is not my problem. Tie the knot, or keep walkin’, boy.”
I tried to hide my sigh. Despite my better judgement, I made my way towards the fence post and began tying.
I remembered back to when a Tucker’s Hitch was my arch nemesis. Walter M. would rub it in my face any chance he got. Not too surprising, M would steal any chance he possibly got to mock me. In spite of him specifically, I practiced it as much as I possibly could.
I’m sure the old man assigned me this task because he thought it would be challenging. Little did he know, the Tucker had become my strongest knot.
When I was finally finished I stepped back and gestured towards my work, plastering a smile on my face. “All finished.”
The man leaned over, inspecting the knot thoroughly. “It’s a bit junky.”
No shit, genius. It’s almost as if I said that would happen.
“It’s a bit difficult with such a big rope.” I replied instead, widening my smile.
“Looks alright to me.” he shrugged. He pulled a carrot out of his pocket and tossed it to me. “Keep up. And eat that while you walk. We can’t have ya collapsin’ on me, ya.”
I shoved the carrot in my mouth, as though it was instinctual. Rushing to keep up, I weaved through the paths riddling the farm.
Finally, I had my own employment, where I could decide for myself how I live. No one would control me. No one would hurt me. I was finally a real man.
Little did I know, life wasn’t eager to be easy.