The Tale of Mr Stéphane Kaspersky: A Bad Fanfic That Shouldn't Exist

Chapter 1: Pop Out Son, Life's a Long Shot

Let's start where all good, or at least half-decent stories should, at the beginning. Stéphane Kaspersky was born a young tot in the bright year of 1968, admitted into Rombourg General Hospital on the 16th February. For those unaware, Rombourg is unfortunately found in the Lozère, the most rural region possible of the Occitan Republic. Needless to say, Rombourg itself is somewhat of a backwater, even by agragarian standards. This was the background that young Kaspersky was suddenly dropped into, one of underdevelopment, farm life and peace amid the brutal clash that was the Cold War. Even if Occitania was aligned with NATO, nobody was interested in plundering it and the Lozère was hardly knowledgeable of the world outside of its borders; so Kaspersky led a peaceful first few days of life, laying at his mother's side and being pampered by kindly staff. Unfortunately, this age of shortfound comfort was not to be eternal, as the farm needed tending to, and so Kaspersky went to what would be his family home for the first time.

A young baby doesn't exactly have a very defined idea of good real estate compared to more mediocre housing, yet even Kaspersky had some reservations about this new demure as soon as the spluttering old Renault pulled up to it. It was quite a welcoming home, to be sure, and a fairly steretoypical village house as well, but clearly financial problems had begun to show its cracks (literally): the yellowing painting was blistered and flakey, slowly peeling away, revealing a once-white underbelly covered in blemishes and dirt. The west side's bricking had begun to crumble somewhat, and the roof had to be covered with corrugated sheets of iron to prevent leaks.
Still, the inside was more warm and welcoming, even if the colours were dull and dry. The sunlight's warm glow shining through the flowery shades helped negate this, and the home was in fact rather comfy, if a little poky. His room in particular was well furnished, decorated with light pink walls to match the creamy yellow of the humble bed's duvet. Some toys were neatly arranged around the bedroom, and a couple of plush toys adorned the pillowcase. Last of all were old books that Stéphane's mother had from her own childhood, that were there for safekeeping for when the wee bairn grew older. Kaspersky settled in quite nicely, and over the years learned much in those very walls: how to walk, how to talk, even how to read and write somewhat. However, farms required tending to, and it is encouraged by 9/10 agragarians that children learn these skills from an early age, and so by the age of 5 Kaspersky began to help out with menial work.

Working on the farm was gruelling work, and lengthy at that. It began with filling the troughs so the bloated pigs may gorge on food, and ended with shepherding the flock of sheep back into their pens when the day broke. Out of all the animals making up the farm's vast diaspora, Kaspersky loved the cows most of all, and when he had free time he would often sneak into their field and play with them. He grew very close to the gentle animals, and they to him. Having to say goodbye to one was always an unbearably tearful event, as his friends were ripped away from him and were never to be seen again, either sold to another farmer or served on a piping hot plate.

Cows weren't the only source of suffering either. Farm work meant hard work, and it was possible to be wounded during those labouring hours. More than once did Kaspersky have to have his hand bandaged after a horse bit it, which was generally the work of Curly, the great mare. The tractor, too, was catalyst of a few incidents. It was a jumpy old thing and nearly took the small lad's leg off once. From that day onwards, he was always cautious around faulty vehicles.

Despite the occasional spill of a few tears, life on the farm was idyllic. Kaspersky loved the small community he was a part of, he loved the nature surrounding him, he loved the animals who seemed to understand him better than any human did, he loved the routine of caring for the livestock and ensuring they lived a healthy life, he loved reading his mother's old dusty volumes that tightly fitted the oak shelves, telling stories of ages past that made his imagination run wild. He loved life and existence itself, and he was fine with accepting that the rest of his life would likely be spent on this very farm, tending after beasts till the day he died. Alas, this was not to be, for things changed drastically in 1976.

Unfortunately for the agricultural communities of Europe, the rural exodus peaked in the 1970s, as even Soviet society had begun to massively urbanize; the post-war collapse had finally been put down for good. Cities were the future, it seemed, and the impoverished folk living slightly less than lavish lives in the countryside wanted a slice of this pie that promised welfare, stability and prosperity. It just so happened that Occitania's desperate gamble to join the European Economic Community had paid off and they were accepted as a full member on the 12th June of 1975, and, while this did come with strong economic benefits, it had a rather large drawback: tons of Occitan migrants flocked back to the nation of France, hoping it would be the financial haven of their dreams, a rebuilt utopia that they left during a moment of weakness. It had to be said that Occitania's secession was only a recent event, breaking free from French control in 1946, and so therefore many of its citizens still considered themselves French to a certain degree. A member of the younger Occitan generations would not be fearful of leaving his home country if he knew he would earn more abroad. All this meant that after one year of tormented indecision, Kaspersky's parents had made their minds up: they had waited long enough and could no longer look a gift horse in the mouth, and so they sold the farm, packed their bags and fled the country, determined to give their son a bright future in this new world.

(Notes: This isn't exactly the best entrée en matière ever written, I'll be honest; I kinda struggle to write about babies because they really don't have the most fascinating lives ever. Planning on the future chapters being more interesting and fleshed out than this one though, and I might revisit this one in the future to develop it.)