The Farm
By: Samuel Ade
Tags: Literature, Fiction, Post Apocalyptic, Imagination, Short Story

Noon. Year 5. I think.

I never thought my father was sane. I thought he was out of his mind. He often strode here and there around the farm, observing I suppose. He always forced me to do stuff I never wanted to do. I couldn’t do things my friends in school did. I was still allowed to go to school though, but right after, my schedule was always packed, almost like I was booked by him every single day, even on holidays. What did we do, you ask? Well, lots and lots of things. Hunting, cooking, knitting, piling a bunch of canned food, make a fire, fighting, shooting, but mostly farming. He never stopped talking about it. ‘Farming is your life!’ He said, almost every day, sometimes more than once a day.

Anyway, my father knew the internet. He too, often spent his time in front of his laptop. When I asked, he always just said indifferently, ‘Research, boring stuff’. I could see on his screen; he was reading tons of articles about the survival skills he taught me every single day. I didn’t think that’s weird, we lived near a forest, we owned a farm, I had got to know the basics, right?

As for me, he didn’t allow me to surf the internet that often. I only got an hour every day, and I mostly used the time to chat with my crush through Instagram DMs.

But that was five years ago, right before everything happened.

Now, I live alone, my father is dead. Well, I am not really alone, I got my livestock and crops. Right now, I am sitting under an apple tree. I am trying to get some rest in the middle of the day. I’ve eaten my lunch, and probably am going to nap after this. But first, I want you to listen to my story, whoever you are, since nobody around here hardly ever listen again.

My name is Brown. Well, that is not my real name actually. I use it to introduce myself to passerby nowadays, who still like to speak, of course. Brown, because I work on soil most of the time, that’s the story. But the last passerby who can speak, that I met, was a year ago; a man and his wife. I don’t know if they’re still alive right now. There is no way I can contact them. It’s not like they had their phones when we met.

Anyway, living alone can make you think things, well, differently. I need to keep myself sane. I talk to myself a lot, that helps, but not much. I need to keep focusing my mind on goals, both small and big. That’s why the content of my days are filled with tasks. I always have a to-do-list full of chores.

Usually, I wake up at five. I make sure no-body trespasses the night before. I’ve put up fences around my farm, so I usually just walk along the inner part of the two and a half meter tall fences. When I am sure the farm is safe from any kind of danger, I start to take out my tools and work the land. I restock the fodder, then I tend to my livestock. So far, I’ve managed to get two cows, one bull, a dozen chickens, and a goat. I don’t worry much about my livestock, my neighbors don’t really like the taste of their meat. That’s why I can find some of them in the nearby farms, alive and well. Then after feeding them, I’d work the land again. So far I’ve got pumpkins, cabbages, and potatoes. I want to create a rice field, but I haven’t gotten around it yet. Maybe next month.

In the middle of the day, I’d rest and have my lunch, just like what I am doing right now. I love boiled potatoes, and an apple to wash my mouth. I’d take a nap right after, even though sometimes it’s kind of hard with the presence of the nearby neighbors, but I am used to it by now.

On normal days, I would just read my book collection, do some cleaning, go out a bit to find junk I might need, try to meet people who do not drool nor bleed, or my favorite: read the piles of newspaper I compile from five years ago and before that, over and over again. I memorize the biggest headline on the newspaper on the day my father died, those huge black-colored words filled the newspaper’s front page, “IS THIS IT?”

Well, I guess that was it. That newspaper got it right.

Now, since I’ve talked about my small goals, those small chores, let me tell you about my big goal. I want to build a community. That is why every day I try to improve my farm. I try to plant more vegetables, reel people in to live here (that couple from a year ago was perfect! Too bad I was too excited about meeting people back then, I probably scared them away now that I think about it), expand the fence’s perimeter, and provide everything that a community needs. I still got a long way to go, I know, but this dream keeps me alive and sane.

Oh, and guns. We need lots of guns for safety. They only die from major trauma to the head. Speaking of which, one of my neighbors is trying to break the northern fence. Glad I have my shovel with me to smash his head with. Alright, I’ll write again later, got to take care of this…