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This is an original piece of fiction. It has no plot, it's not a story really of any kind. Just me being me and writing down something that I was 'urged' to write down.

I think it was the crickets chirping outside and the memories I have of sitting on my sister's porch in the country, before everything happened and she no longer owned that place.

Anyway...here it is...

This is entirely mine, both setting and character. *blinks* Wow, it feels really weird saying that...


There was no such thing as silence, Cindy decided, as she rested from the day’s hard labor on a plastic lawn chair placed strategically so that the cool spring breeze would hit her just right. While the normal sounds of a busy city (even one that supposedly ‘shut down’ for the night) were conspicuously absent, it wasn’t quiet on the small, hundred-acre farm at all. Insects chirped their nightly serenade; cows lowed deeply from neighboring pastures; and sometimes, if you listened hard, you could hear the call of coyotes as they spoke back and forth with each other.

When she had been contacted by her grandfather’s lawyers and told she had inherited the place and all the old man’s money, she had wanted to scoff, to laugh in their faces. So much had been going wrong in her life that it had seemed a cosmic joke that something like this would come just in time to rescue her from despair and depression. She hadn’t laughed though, hadn’t said much of anything. She had just nodded, accepted what the two men in identical charcoal suits were telling her, packed her bags and moved out to the place.

As she had suspected, things weren’t exactly what they seemed. The house was in complete disrepair, leaking roof, creaking floorboards, the works. And the farm itself was a shambles, with the grass up to her waist in some places. However, the old man had hoarded quite a bit of money, having been a miserly sort of person, and Cindy had been filled with a sense of purpose; a mission.

She had worked hard, hiring out contractors where needed, done research into modern farming methods and after a year, her hard work had paid off. Cindy was now the owner of a working farm, though it would never be large enough to compete with any of the other locals. However, she could—and did—grow her own vegetables, pasteurize her own milk, get her own eggs, and other lovely convenient things that would have taken a lot more effort to drive to town for.

Smiling brightly at the starlit sky, she raised the glass of soda in a toast.

”Here’s to living ‘quietly,” she murmured, and as if to underscore the sarcasm in her voice, the crickets and other insects worked their hardest to become the loudest voice.


Yeah, I definitely need to get out more...