Bloomfield, Canada: Last Day In North Carolina (Fan Fiction Farming Simulator 22)

The porch swing creaked and groaned beneath me, the tired wood protesting my weight. Early morning sunlight glinted off thousands of dew drops clinging to blades of grass and trembling leaves. The breeze whispered like a lover’s secret. Occasionally, a fish rippled the surface of the pond, breaking through for a careless insect.

These were the kinds of mornings my dad had loved. A chill in the air, steaming coffee in one hand, the newspaper in the other. Sometimes a stogie instead. Now, the space beside me was empty.

An icy hand walked up my spine, one finger after the other. Goosebumps chased it.

“Here, this’ll knock that chill back.”

Mom had slipped through the squeaky screen door, a steaming cup in hand. “Your father wouldn’t want you to be like this.” She nodded toward my legs. I pulled them in tighter so she could sit.

“Like what?” I asked, taking a sip while eyeing her over the rim of my cup. Black and bold—Sumatran dark roast. The heat burned my tongue just enough before it sank into my chest and pushed the cold out.

“You know what. Don’t play coy.”

Her voice was firm, with just a trace of heat behind it. Enough to warm me further.

She was trying to be strong—for both of us. But Dad’s death sagged her shoulders, slowed her steps. Her grief was deeper than mine, hidden behind fake smiles and relentless busywork: pulling weeds, polishing china fifteen times in a week, laundering linen that hadn’t been touched in five years. Anything to keep her hands moving. Anything to outrun memory.

It showed. Mom seemed to have aged a year for every month since Dad passed. Her skin bruised easily now, her crow’s feet were now hawk’s talons, and the luster in her gray eyes had dimmed.

I looked across the pond—the ripples had settled. Songbirds were in full chorus. The dew was nearly gone. I took another sip of coffee and imagined myself shrinking, small enough to fall into the cup and disappear into its blackness.

“The longer you hold in the pain,” she said, “the harder it’ll be to shake it. Your father doesn’t want that for you.”

I sat upright, too fast. “Don’t you mean didn’t!”

The words burst out before I could stop them—raw, bitter, with the kind of thick, black fury sadness leaves behind. My throat tightened on the tar. I cleared it twice before speaking again. “I’m sorry. It just came out.”

Mom had already turned back toward the house. She paused at the door and looked over her shoulder.

“It’s okay to cry.”

“No, it isn’t,” I said, still crass. “Dad never did. Jacob never did. And I won’t.”

Jacob, my older brother, had died during a training exercise ten years ago.

She disappeared inside, then returned a few minutes later holding a diary in one hand and a box of tissues in the other. She sat beside me and patted the spot next to her. 

“Do you remember when you broke your arm?”

“I was six, so…vaguely.” I sat down, feeling the edges of suspicion creep into my mind.

“Your dad and I used to talk every night after you kids went to bed. That night, after we got home from the clinic, I tried to get him to open up. He was so upset...”

“I don’t remember that. I don’t remember him being upset at all.”

“Why would you? You were distracted by the cast—it was like a shiny new toy to you.” A small smile lifted her face as she thumbed through her diary. When she found the entry, she handed it to me.

I found Robert in the barn. He was slumped over the workbench, holding himself up with shaking arms. His chest was heaving. He was crying. I walked to him and put my arm around his shoulders.

“What is it?” I asked, cupping his face in my hands.

He poked his chest with one finger. “It’s my fault.” Weak, defeated.

“What is?”

“Maddy’s broken arm. I turned my back for just a second.” He pinched two fingers together. “I heard her hit the ground. I heard the bone snap. I grabbed the bridle and hurried Jess away—didn’t want my horse panicking and stomping her. You know how skittish Jess is. When I got back to her, she was already trying to stand. But one arm…”

“Go on,” I said, my heart already splintering.

“Her arm just dangled there.” He paused, then looked at me. “My job,” his voice broke, “is to keep her safe. And I didn’t.”

I shook my head. “No, no, no. It was an accident. Maddy doesn’t blame you. I don’t blame you.” I held him until the storm passed. After a while, he spoke again.

“I wanted her to cry. But she wouldn’t. She never does. I wanted to be her rock. I wanted to tell her it would be okay. But she just held her arm and said it hurt.”

I didn’t finish the rest. I couldn’t. I closed the diary and handed it back.

“I didn’t know.”

“Of course not. Your dad didn’t want you kids to see him cry. He didn’t want you to think he was weak.”

She reached out and placed her hand on my arm—right where I’d broken it so many years ago.

“You can cry, Maddy.”

Then she stood and went inside.

I sat there for a long while, turning over the pages in my mind. The box of tissues sat next to me on the swing, a quiet invitation. A final hint.

I stared blankly over the water. But I didn’t cry. Not then.

Maddy’s Journal 8 (Farming Simulator 22 fan fiction)

I got a little sidetracked in my last entry. Well, a lot sidetracked. But that’s the benefit of a journal and not a—gasp!—diary. When I journal I can take every rabbit trail I want and not feel like I broke some unwritten rules. I always found diaries as too specific and full of excessive introspection. Me, I just prefer to write whatever comes to mind. Sometimes those ramblings jar loose rusty memories, which is where this entry is going to take me. Back to December 11, 1990. The day I became terrified of fog. It was a Tuesday. 

The decision to begin Christmas break early my senior year was not my idea. I wanted extra days to spend with friends. And hit up your typical high school party. A little drinking, petting, strip poker. You know, standard young person exploration mixed with stupidity stuff. I’ll admit to being on the wild side. I was safe, or at least I believed I was safe at that age. Okay, okay. I had been on the pill for five years already, so I was a lot more careless than I should’ve been. At least looking through the twenty-twenty hindsight eyeglasses, I was safe. Before you all think I was the local bicycle, I had—yes had—as in not anymore, a physical condition that birth control managed. Of course, how would I know? Mom is the one who insisted I be on birth control. 

TMI, I know. But you’re the one reading this so don’t throw stones in my direction. 

My dad’s family all lived in Chattanooga. And I do mean all his family. They had migrated up and down the east coast from Florida to Maine and back south again. They were like migrating animals always chasing the rainy season for greener pastures. But when they arrived in Chattanooga, it was like they arrived at the Mara River, and not one of them was willing to take that first leap into the River of Death. 

And that’s where we were headed on that Tuesday morning. We had to leave early even though we had driven all the way to Asheville, North Carolina the day before. Still almost four hours to go. So, we were out the door by six that morning, and planned no stops until arriving at my uncle’s house. 

At Knoxville we took Interstate 75 south after leaving Interstate 40 from Asheville. I don’t recall what the traffic was like. Or the weather. Or anything, really. My mind concerned itself with other things far more important to an eighteen year old. Besides I wasn’t driving. And Knoxville wasn’t new. We had been there before. An hour later all hell had broken loose. And the images I saw that morning still haunt my sleep. 

If it wasn’t for my dad’s heroics, I’m not sure I would’ve ever come to grips (as flimsy as they still are) with the carnage. But what my dad did that day for so many people has always provided me with a lifeline. And the scars on his arms are a not-so-subtle daily reminder of the events that started with the fog. 

I’ll need a break for now. The memories are too overwhelming for me to focus on writing. And the tears in my eyes are making the screen blurry. 

Maddy’s Journal 6 (Farming Simulator 22 fan fiction rough draft)

 September 1

It’s early afternoon here in North Carolina. LW called here around 8, so 6 his time. He said some of the estate money had trickled in. He told me he wanted to make a land purchase and get contractors in to build a chicken coop, a couple pigsties, and a cow pasture. I told him to go ahead with the purchases, and I would see him in a week. 

He sounded shocked at that. When I asked him why, he said he didn’t expect me to return so soon. But the way he said it burned my ear a bit, and for a few moments I didn’t see him in my minds eye. I saw a greenish, drooling troll running across a bridge with an army bag stuffed with cash. And for the first time since I met LW, I wondered if he was on the level. Or was he taking me for a ride? 

Then he asked me if I would be willing to sell calves. The price wouldn’t be better than adults, but if we managed to get 40 top quality heifers, and if they bred well, we would end up with 40 great cows. Quality breeders were more valuable in the long run. Maybe 8-10 years. 

He warned me that the livestock would likely need to be fed by purchase. But next fall we would have grown all the crops needed to produce our own feed. 

And finally he put a bug in my ear about cotton. It wouldn’t be of any benefit to the animals, but the current market was good, and we could use it as a cash crop. Maybe even ship some off by train for a premium price. The initial investment would be high, but he thought it would be a boon in the long game. 

Then he signed off. He said a long day was just beginning. 

Just now heard from LW. He said a local farmer just sold off his entire spread. Something about a grisly divorce. He would be willing to sell all his slurry to us on the cheap. Since I wanted to go as organic as possible to told LW to get it all. 

Treva's Watch from the "Saga of Regine" by Brunhilde the Bard.

 The following is an excerpt from The Saga of Regine (Biography of a Vampire) as told by Brunhilde the Bard. 

ONE

Regine approached Treva’s Watch from the shoreline of the Treva River. The fort sat large on the northern shore of the river. The southern wall faced the river, and a single gate secured the entrance. Several timber ramparts protected most of the wall sections, providing cover for archers or mages. The fort’s tower occupied the northwest corner, providing an elevation advantage agains any assaults from the north where enemies could attack along a hillside. A campfire provided some orientation on the northeast wall where bandits could rest and eat when not on patrol. 

East of the fort another campfire offered some illumination against the growing darkness of night. As Regine approached she notice three Nords sitting in a half-circle around the fire. They were engaging in conversation she couldn’t quite make out. 

A man named Stalleo sat on a wood stump. He had gray hair cut in a thick stripe and the sides of his head were shaved to the scalp. A large beard extended well beyond his chin, almost to the chest, and matched his hair in color. His eyes were deep set and blacked with war paint. Across from Stalleo a female donned in heavy steel armor sat, her features muddled by the firelight and steel helmet. A male in fur armor and a hunting bow sat to Stalleo’s left. He turned toward Regine, and asked if she was there to help, mistaking her for a mercenary. 

She told him he was and she would be better than anyone else he could find. Her fee was high though. Stalleo agreed, and told her a story.  

It was about three or four months ago when everything started going bad. My friends here, and my family, we’re doing work to the exterior of the fort when a Stormcloack courier arrived. He walked to the gate and asked if he could come inside to discuss the militia that was forming. As a good son of Skyrim, I agreed to hear him out. I opened the gate and let him in the courtyard. 

It turned out he was visiting every village and city in Skyrim. He didn’t have a horse, or carriage ride to hold capitals. Only his own two feet as mode of transportation. He looked exhausted and weary. He limped profoundly. His eyes were sunken and dark, the whites more red than not, and his cheekbones looked like they would burst free at any moment. “Come on in and have some meade,” I said.  He started to refuse but I cut him of with a hard glance. “You’re coming in for some meade and a meal. You look like you’re an hour away from being a draugr that escaped the Ansilvund crypt.” He mulled it over for a moment then nodded his head slightly as if too much movement would cause it to tumble off his neck and roll into the Treva River. I slapped him on the shoulder and guided him toward the door where my wife stood ready to ring the dinner bell. 

I led him into the dinning room and offered him a seat. “What’s your name, soldier?”

He sat down, slowly, and with a grimace splitting his face into one part pain and one part exhaustion. He sat for a moment before speaking, and when he did the words seemed just as pained as his face, “We aren’t supposed to give anyone our names, sir.” He shrunk farther into the chair, head bowed, arms limp to his sides. 

I finally noticed this man wasn’t in his late twenties or early thirties but not even out of his teens. He likely took the courier job to show his loyalty and patriotism, but didn’t account for the severe impact such a job would take on his health and body. Walking long distances for hours and hours, avoiding wolves, frostbite spiders, trolls, and Imperial patrols could age a man years within weeks. And here he sat so worn down from trying to prove himself to the Stormcloak cause he appeared to be decades older than his years actually accounted for. 

I felt a knot of sorrow and sympathy far deep inside tying up my guts and heart. This is the toll that war takes on not only those on the frontline but by everyone. When this conflict with the Imperials finally ended the whole of Skyrim and her people will bear the burden for generations. Friends and family will be dead from enemy attacks, others will die of starvation, and more still will succumb to disease and illness. Proof sat at the table, broken and scarred physically and emotionally. 

“Here you are,” my wife said, placing a bowl of tomato soup, a plate of carrots with apples and cabbage, and a platter with beef steak and crab cakes in front of our guest. “Ale or meade?” She waited for a moment, but he didn’t answer. She placed a flagon of ale on the table. My wife handed the rest of us a bowl of tomato soup and ale. Then she sat down and gave me a slight glance, I nodded in reply. 

The message bearer sat for a time, staring at the food and drink before him. I didn’t think he would eat on his own. “Go ahead. Dig in.” He grabbed a fork with a shaky hand and took a mouthful of crab cakes. It must’ve been tasty as he ate without so much as a look up. Every morsel of food was consumed in less than five minutes. None of the rest of us had done anything but watch him eat. 

Vampire Regine Journal Entry 6 (Skyrim Anniversary Edition)

Regine Journal Entry 6

Yesterday:

On my trip to Iverstead, I walked up a winding path. I rounded a corner and a thief stopped me. He wore a hood and clothes, likely something he stole from someone else he tried to (or succeeded) shakedown for money. But his blood spoke to me, and I felt his confidence was shaky at best. He approached with a threat and asked me for all my money. I wondered if I could kill him. But I didn’t try. Instead I narrowed my eyes at him, fixed my jaw, and told him I didn’t have any money and it would be in his best interest to walk away. 

He astonished me when he stammered and then agreed to just walk away. When he was out of sight, I smiled. It felt strange to smile. Then a question formed in my mind: was my powers of persuasion and seduction becoming stronger and more convincing? Would I soon be able to just talk my way into the homes and lives of others? Did I not have the appearance of a vampire? Aside from my pale skin, I didn’t know the answer to this curiosity. 

Further along the path and uneasiness crashed over me like a way from an icy sea. I sensed a presence, something terribly dangerous. I advanced cautiously, hoping my more comprehensive powers would alert me before I stumbled into something (or someone) ferocious. 

A guttural sound formed off in the distance. I saw the cave before I noticed the troll! Brown, aggressive, and extremely dangerous. I had heard stories about these creatures attacking wanderers. Feasting upon them and anything else that trespassed. I understood from tales they could regenerate their health, making them more formidable than other creatures in the wilds of Skyrim. 

I idled for a moment and watched. It patrolled near the entrance of the cave. It often growled and hoped up and down with a flailing of the arms. Then in would skulk to the opposite end of the cave and repeat the display. I watched as a rabbit skittered too close and enraged the troll. It shuffled after the intruder. I took my cue and made a break for the river in the opposite direction. I scrambled into the water and stumbled over moss-slicked rocks and stones, falling face-first into the cold water. 

I arrived in Iverstead to find a bear had invaded the village and most of the townsfolk were attacking it relentlessly, protecting their homes. I joined in and helped them dispatch the bear before heading for the inn for some rest. When I awoke I heard some conversation about a place called Treva’s Watch. A group of bandits had confiscated the outpost from a local. A man named Stalleo. He was seeking help to overthrow the thugs and would be willing to pay for any assistance. I wondered if he would be willing to pay with his life. I could tear his throat out and—

I shoved the thought away. But decided I would seek out this man and offer some help. If nothing else I would be able to sink my teeth into some bandits. They are, after all, relatively easy to manage as I learned in the Embershard Mine. 

Gaming History

Welcome back to LittleWatt Gameplay. I thought I would share a little gaming history. And hopefully you'll respond with a little gaming history of yourself too. 

Although, I can't pinpoint exactly the first video game I played, I believe it was either Missile Control or Space Invaders, I can recall what system I played on. It was a Commodore 64.  

After the Commodore 64 came the Atari. With games like Pac-Man and Q-bert and Asteroids. One button and one control stick. The games were so simple back then and I managed to find hours of entertainment. Now it takes an hour just to figure out all the controls and buttons. 

I continued to improve consoles as they came out. The Super NES was one the entire family enjoyed with classics as Super Mario Bros and Duck Hunt to Tecmo Bowl and Mike Tyson’s Punch-out. I branched off and also bought a Sega Genesis. Sonic and Madden Football being favorites. I eventually upgraded my Sega with the 32-bit spaceship thingy. Not sure it did anything but look like it did something. 

Of course the major change came with the PlayStation. It was a huge event and major leap in gaming. Black CDs and game storage. Of course Crash Bandicoot and the Tomb Raider games. Madden Football was only to get bigger and bigger. Let's not forget Metal Gear Solid. It was one of the Tomb Raider games I participated in a co-op mode of sorts. I shared time playing the game with my sister. She did most of the work; I only relieved her when she got stuck and frustrated. 

With the PS2 I shifted (pun intended) away from platform and puzzle games to racing simulation and racing games and football, both Madden and NCAA Football. But not all racing games or all football games. I didn't branch out beyond the Gran Turismo series for simulators and I stayed with Need for Speed: Most Wanted. I simply didn't enjoy other racing games. And, admit it, Madden football has been the go-to football game. But way more than half of my game time was in Gran Turismo, and when GT4 came out, I spent hours upon hours racing. I completed all the races, some dozens of times, and all the side events. And to this day, I think GT4 was the best game in the series for putting time behind the wheel, which is something I have—a racing wheel. GT4 had the most laps and most races out of the box in the series. And if I had to pick what game I would love remastered for the PS4 it would be Gran Turismo 4. And racing is still a major part of my game time. 

As for NFS: Most Wanted, I enjoyed the shit out of that game. I restarted the campaign over and over again. And I even co-oped a campaign with my little brother. He didn't have the racing skill so he did all the cop chases and I did all the races. And even though it was arcady racing there was a proper racing line and my hours playing GT3 and GT4 helped finding those lines. Unfortunately, the NFS series has yet to match the entertainment of the first Most Wanted. 

When the PS3 came out, Gran Turismo 5 was a long wait, and that's when I returned to first-person shooter games with the iconic Resistance: Fall of Man as well as the uber-fun Motorstorm. But, I continued racing GT4 on the PS2, and once EA worked out all their Madden issues for the new PS3, I stuck with football. 

Gran Turismo 5 was a big disappointment for me with the overall lack of laps and races available within the game. Everything was pushed to online play, which is something I don't do. I completed one race online, and just as I was making my move out of the slipstream, the racer in front slammed on his brakes and wrecked me. He refused to lose, and I refused to race against other humans again. And I still don't. 

On to the PS4. I had the console for a year before, I actually bought a game for it. The console came with The Last of Us, a game I still haven't played. Slowly I added games to my library, hoping Gran Turismo would be out, but here it is 2016, and no game yet. 

Still, I collected games for the PS4 only to return to the PS3 again and again. What finally grabbed me was MLB The Show 15, a game I've put hours into. I played MVP Baseball years before and enjoyed it, but football was my game so it fizzled away. And MLB The Show has also slipped away with bug-filled MLB The Show 16. 

But, things have picked up with the PS4 now. I spend lots of time on DOOM, and am anxious to start playing Dying Light, Mirror’s Edge Catalyst, The Last of Us, and the Uncharted series. 

So, that's where I'm at now. I intend on building a gaming PC to add to my PS4. And hopefully building my YouTube gameplay channel. Do me a favor and look me up on YouTube. Here's my latest video:

How about you? 

DOOM Guy Challenge

Welcome back to LittleWatt Gaming. 

In an effort to accomplish a couple of goals this month, I'm creating a challenge. One of the goals is to build up my YouTube channel and the other goal is to become more healthy physically. So here's the challenge:

For every like I receive on my DOOM gameplay videos I add a minute to my daily exercise, which now stands at twenty minutes. For every comment on the video, I'll add ninety seconds, and for every share, I'll add three minutes. For each new subscriber, I'll add five minutes. 

Obviously, I'm not going to rely on these little perks to become more physically fit, but it'll add some encouragement to me personally to see others interested in my videos. 

I'll be willing to try suggested workouts from any comments left on the video posts. 

I'm going to tag this as #doomguychallenge.