Your girlfriend got a call early that morning that they needed help clearing out dead tree trunks from the town square. They call her, of course, instead of you - even though it's your power they need - and while it's hard for you to imagine, it might actually be because they're intimidated by you now, instead of just turning their noses up at you, like you're used to. Either way, one look from your girlfriend and you were never going to refuse.
Everyone was still rebuilding from the disaster of a year ago. For months, people were huddled en masse in shelters as the rubble was cleared, lining up for food, praying through the night.
You could've left. You could've gone anywhere, except-- she was here. Her heart was still with the people of the town, and there was no way she could turn her back on her community now, in their hour of need.
And, well, work's work. Even though you'd set up your business - had a sign and everything - you still spend most your working hours helping out around the city. The most action you see is exterminating dangerous things in the forest. By comparison, pulling dead wood out of the earth is a simple task.
You stay to help them replant new saplings, too. (Another wonder: a younger you would've ditched them as soon as the dirty work was over with.) And when's all said and done, the townsfolk thank you profusely. You, in turn, tell them you can't possibly take payment for this - your girlfriend wouldn't stand for it. After all, getting by was hard for everyone, and they needed any penny they could spare.
But they won't let you go with nothing, so-- once again, you're coming home with a full crate of zucchini. You carry it in one hand as you come through the door.
"Heyyy~ Guess whose zucchinis are takin' over her fields again?"
Your girlfriend - radiant as always, even in the humble lifestyle you've built together - claps her hands together and beams. "Oh, how generous! We can have zucchini pasta tonight!"
And then, on cue: the children come barreling towards you with enough cheer and vigor that you nearly drop all that squash. "He's home, he's home!" "What's that?" "Are we having pasta again?"
Laughing, you pick one of them up one-handed and swing him around while the others yell to go next. You don't ever remember smiling so much when you were their age - a orphan, just like them. Maybe finances were tough with a full household like this, but as you kiss your girlfriend on the cheek and get ready to help with dinner, you couldn't trade it for the world.
Children
Everyone was still rebuilding from the disaster of a year ago. For months, people were huddled en masse in shelters as the rubble was cleared, lining up for food, praying through the night.
You could've left. You could've gone anywhere, except-- she was here. Her heart was still with the people of the town, and there was no way she could turn her back on her community now, in their hour of need.
And, well, work's work. Even though you'd set up your business - had a sign and everything - you still spend most your working hours helping out around the city. The most action you see is exterminating dangerous things in the forest. By comparison, pulling dead wood out of the earth is a simple task.
You stay to help them replant new saplings, too. (Another wonder: a younger you would've ditched them as soon as the dirty work was over with.) And when's all said and done, the townsfolk thank you profusely. You, in turn, tell them you can't possibly take payment for this - your girlfriend wouldn't stand for it. After all, getting by was hard for everyone, and they needed any penny they could spare.
But they won't let you go with nothing, so-- once again, you're coming home with a full crate of zucchini. You carry it in one hand as you come through the door.
"Heyyy~ Guess whose zucchinis are takin' over her fields again?"
Your girlfriend - radiant as always, even in the humble lifestyle you've built together - claps her hands together and beams. "Oh, how generous! We can have zucchini pasta tonight!"
And then, on cue: the children come barreling towards you with enough cheer and vigor that you nearly drop all that squash. "He's home, he's home!" "What's that?" "Are we having pasta again?"
Laughing, you pick one of them up one-handed and swing him around while the others yell to go next. You don't ever remember smiling so much when you were their age - a orphan, just like them. Maybe finances were tough with a full household like this, but as you kiss your girlfriend on the cheek and get ready to help with dinner, you couldn't trade it for the world.