Wednesday, January 6, 2016

Microstory 228: Perspective Three

I’m still not sure if this was a good idea or not. After I won the lottery, a part of me wanted to do something practical; to invest in my future. Another part of me wanted to do something fun, something spontaneous, something stupid. These two halves of my heart collided and compromised on some farmland. I don’t know what I was thinking, though. After taxes, I only earned a few hundred thousand dollars, and it’s not like I had any experience. I spent my whole life in the city, with my dream of living in the country being created when I was a child and my parents convinced me that my dog went to live on a farm. Even after growing out of that lie, I still yearned for “fresh air”. Whatever that means, I’ve yet to be impressed. I bought some land with a halfway decent barn. All I needed to do was commission a tiny home, build a fence, plant some crops, lease some equipment, find some animals, and learn how to do everything. Easy. Of course, it wasn’t. I hired an extra hand, but I’m not able to pay him much because I’ve yet to turn a profit, and I’m nearly out of my winnings. The only good thing about this plan was that, even though people knew I was a lottery winner, I didn’t seem like a winner to them. The number of people who asked me for handouts were few and far between, especially once they found out that I wasn’t exactly a millionaire. Today, I’m rather grateful for my decision, and almost think God might have had something to do with putting me here. Sure, I’ve been placed in quite a bit of danger, but now this girl who has literally run into my life has a fighting chance. She’s either in late middle school or early high school. She’s been dressed up in one of those terribly unflattering gowns they used to put on babies for photographs two centuries ago. She’s obviously malnourished and exhausted. With barely a thought to consequences, I call the police and tell them what I know. I then take the girl out to my truck and drive off, because there’s no other farm for miles, and this will be the first place the kidnapper looks. I knew there was something off about that guy. A woman can always tell.

Perspective Four

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