The Runaway: A Stardew Valley Story

Silent Lessons

Sebastian

Mom made me learn how to work a chainsaw when I was nine. At the time, it felt like she wanted me to take over the family business one day. Mom learned carpentry from her father who owned a cabinet shop in Forrest Dale, and it seemed logical that I was being groomed in a similar fashion.

Turns out Robin just wanted cheap labor for firewood and logging.

I wonder if she really needed Farmer Junox's lumber too as I watch her swing the old ax with more precision than the last attempt. When Junox first began swinging, I had to duck my head and pray to some unseen yabba that she wouldn't bury the blade into her shins. The reasonable part of me knew I needed to show her the proper way to hold the thing, but my anxiety...

Damn anxiety.

Today, I swing along with her. Since I don't have the ability to tell her how to correct her form, I figured at least I could show her. After mentally cussing myself out half the morning, it seems that my plan has had some success. Of course, this plan means a crap ton more eye contact than I ever feel comfortable with. We both seem to be trying to find the time to look up when the other is looking down, and wouldn't you know it, neither of us appear to be mind readers.

Green eyes catch the late morning sun. It sets a light in them like a glow stick, and there must be a mix of yellow in them somewhere. I turn my attention back to the axe and wood.

Abigail's eyes are so different in the sunlight. Their periwinkle tones turn almost violet. Well, they do before she goes all squinty from the bright light. Her hair doesn't look too bad in the sun either, and while we both might be a little pale, she actually tans in the summer. Her skin gets all warm and—

My cheeks are flushed, aren't they?

Oh, that's just great.

"Do you need a break?" My voice is dry, and I can't look Junox in the eyes as I talk. It makes me sound like a dickwad.

Junox doesn't say anything for a moment, but then she clears her voice in a way that makes me think she must have shaken her head first. And I missed it.

"I'm fine," Junox says.

"You're voice is weak."

"I said I'm fine!" she snaps.

This makes me lift my gaze. Her hands are stark red against her pale face as she wipes sweat from her forehead. Light brown hair sticks to her cheeks and her chest heaves.

I don't call her out on the second lie. I just head for the cottage leaving my own axe by the porch.

"Where are you going?" Junox shouts after me. "Wait! S-Sebastian!"

The sound of feet thunders behind me, but I just pull open the door to the cottage and stand expectantly. The farmer is panting as she breaks just before barreling into me. It takes some time for her to catch her breath enough to speak.

"You can't just barge into someone's home like that. What if I had..." she falters, "s-stuff. Private stuff."

"I have a half-sister, you know. Panties and pads don't scare me. Plus I'm not in your house, nor am I going in your house. You are."

Junox opens her mouth to argue but then blinks in confusion.

I gesture inside. "Get some water. You look like you're going to keel over."

Balking, Junox crosses her arms over her chest. "No, let's finish this. We didn't work that long last time. I can make it."

To myself, I say that she nearly killed herself with an axe, and I ended the day early because I didn't know how else to fix the problem.

To Junox, I say, "We could both use the rest."

Junox puckers her lips in defiance, but she steps inside without another word. I start to close the door behind her, but she whips shoulder-length brown hair toward me.

"If you're going to make me take a break, you should at least come inside too."

I duck my head to avoid meeting her gaze. "My water bottle is out here. I'm goo—"

"Then bring it inside." Junox spins around again with a twitch. "I don't have many clean cups anyway."

The thought of walking into a stranger's home and making small talk drags my fingers to my pocket where a carton of cigarettes pulls my jeans taught. Maybe if I tell her I need a smoke break, she'll let me stay out here. It's rare someone is cool with people lighting up in their homes, and usually, it's only if they smoke themselves.

Junox doesn't carry the smell of ash on her clothes.

"I could really use the smoke," I try to speak loud enough for her to hear across the room. "I'll just—"

Junox whips around again. She's really going to get whiplash. "You're not smoking on this farm! That's bad for—" She breaks off abruptly. "Um, it's bad for..."

Someone kick me. Not another "Smoking kills talk." It's not like I want to smoke! I just want to go back to my room and never come out. But apparently, that's not very reasonable, so I need something to take off the edge.

Rolling my eyes at my inner frustration, I say, "It's bad for the lungs, the heart, the brain, and every other thing inside me. Yeah, I know."

"Then why do it?"

The words aren't snippy like I would assume after her other comments. They aren't condescending like Mom's or pitying like even Sam's sometimes. Junox's question is almost curious. It's as if she has no idea why someone would want to do something so terrible to themselves.

I envy her for a moment.

"It's just something to do," I lie.

The corners of Junox's lips turn down. "Well, then come inside. You can watch TV if you're that bored."

This time, Farmer Junox doesn't wait to see if I will comply with her orders. She crosses through the only doorway inside the cottage. The sound of running water leads me to imagine it's the bathroom. I suppose with the kitchen out of order, it would be the only place left to get water.

All the more reason to finish quickly, I remind myself as I grab my metal water bottle from the top step of the porch where I left it this morning. I pause just outside the door and take a deep breath. This is just for a little while. I can do anything for a little while.

When I get the TV turned on, there's a news broadcast running on one of the few local channels. A woman with wrinkles around her lips smiles at the camera. I recognize those marks from my own reflection. They're the common tell of a smoker.

"...Police say that it is now suspected that Ms. Hornsby is under the influence of a rare genetic condition. Those suffering from LMAS can experience intense and long-lasting hallucinations when put under severe stress or trauma. These delusions often force individuals into extreme "fight or flight" modes in order to protect themselves from perceived danger.

"Here is Joshua Jones with the official Joja Corporation comment."

The camera pans to a guy with perfect blonde hair several shades darker than Sam's. He wears a blue suit and a face masked with something similar to sadness, but there's a glint in his eyes. His words feel all too practiced.

"Joja Corp has remained silent on the disappearance of my fiancé for too long in my opinion, but I assure you, we had her best intentions at heart. Sharing her LMAS diagnosis was always viewed as a last resort. Joy reserves the right to maintain complete medical confidentiality between her and her care providers. However, I and the Hornsby family realize that her safety is too important at this point.

"The Hornsby family has already seen this disease take away a beloved father, and I will not lose my Joy to the same."

"What a prick," I mutter as the screen clicks back to the smoker newslady. Now there's a number to call as she reminds people to be on the lookout for Joy Hornsby. A reward is posted with a photo of a girl with light hair and a big smile that must have cost a fortune.

The sound of glass shattering fills the room.

Thank you all for the votes and comments! I'm sorry this one was later  than usual, but I hope you enjoy!