《Tales of a Rural Villager》


 Introduction: The Chicken Slaying Villager

    This won¡¯t be a fancy story about a hero¡¯s journey, nor will it be the tragic story of a revenge stricken youth that¡¯s out against the world, nor will it be a story about a technologically advanced future where people sink their minds into the web. (I¡¯m not very creative if you still haven¡¯t gotten the gist of it.)


    I¡¯ve always had this urge to write something, anything. I¡¯ve had numerous ideas for stories as I wanted to dabble in from mystery to science fiction, but what I¡¯ve noticed is that I cannot find the power in me to write build up as I found myself rushing for the climax. As a young man in his growing period, I dislike my main character to be weak and yet having him be the most powerful man in the universe from the get-go doesn¡¯t really amount to much if I set out to write a story filled with fighting spirit. <sup>[1]</sup>


    So the natural conclusion I came up with is this: I¡¯ll simply write about myself.


    I can loudly hear some of you asking, ¡°In a site about fiction stories?!¡±.


    ...Well, if I were to be honest with myself, I¡¯m the only one who cares about this aren¡¯t I? But I like explaining myself, and I have this awesome joke about the whole ¡®fiction¡¯ thing so hear me out!


    Because I don¡¯t want this to come out and bite me in the ass, I¡¯ll be forced to change all the names. Except for the people I don¡¯t like. Those people don¡¯t deserve to have their names changed.<sup>[2]</sup>


    So that deducts around 0.1% of the realness of the stories. I guess another point to be taken out is the fact that I¡¯m recalling most of these by memory and have only been committed by word of mouth, so there might be slight alterations here and there (I¡¯m sorry for being so ancient). So that¡¯s another 0.3% taken out. As for why it¡¯s 0.3% and not any other arbitrary number, well, I¡¯ve got a very logical reason. It¡¯s because I¡¯m pulling these numbers out of my arse.


    ~~Interception from the future~~


    Greetings! Future-Author here, I had to cut down on the whole reasoning as to why this book belongs in a site for fiction. Several pages filled with my most prided jokes, *poof*, gone. As it turns out, there¡¯s a genre for ¡®Non-Fiction¡¯ in the site, so the whole section was made redundant from the start.


    This is why one must do research before starting anything. By no means was I simply too lazy to rewrite the above, nor the fact that it pained me to delete something I¡¯m proud of. And most importantly, it¡¯s not like I noticed it mid-writing just to fact-check the whole thing and then felt like I ate a nasty bug, and that I shouldn¡¯t further embarrass myself, okay? Are we clear? Great.


    ~~Interception from the future over~~


    Now to explain what this whole ¡®book¡¯ is about. As you¡¯ve read moments earlier, it¡¯ll be mostly about myself. I¡¯m that narcissistic. Pretty much the whole thing would be about me talking about fun little anecdotes like the numerous times I¡¯ve been bullied, or the day I had my haircut while people I was acquainted with were fighting with the riot police right outside of the barber¡¯s shop. Just fun little stuff like that.


    And now then, to knock this out of the park, I¡¯ll be giving out a taste of the kind of stories I¡¯ll be talking about. I initially planned for this to be a chapter on its own, but I¡¯m an attention whore. I want to have people read this book of mine, so I¡¯ll be shameless and plug this in with the introduction.


    <hr>


    Footnotes:


    [1]This is not me calling anyone out, it¡¯s purely just my own taste. In case you didn¡¯t know, I¡¯m a scrawny male in his late-teens, a couple of years before he becomes twenty. I can¡¯t strangle a chicken even if I wanted to (Although I believe that 80% of human-kind can¡¯t do that either). I¡¯m not into fist fights, verbal fights or any kind of fights at all. Anyways, if an upcoming author takes offense at my statement, just know that I¡¯m deeply sorry.


    [2] I¡¯m changing all the names regardless of anything. This was just me purely trying to be funny and failing at it due to the joke being overused. It¡¯s times like these I wish I had an editor to help me out with the jokes and telling me which ones work and which ones don¡¯t. But then again, I keep being told that I¡¯m not funny so maybe all of my jokes are bad...


    <hr>


    Of course, what¡¯s the best way to have someone shower you with attention? Hm? You don¡¯t know? Well, I¡¯ve already hinted at it. I¡¯ll give you three spaces to think about it.


    Still can¡¯t come up with an answer?


    It¡¯s sob stories! Stories about bullying! Y¡¯know, ¡®grab ¡®em by their sympathy¡¯ as they say! And y¡¯know, this isn¡¯t one of those stories where I was beaten and my lunch money taken away from me. Oh no, this is more than that. This is...deeper? This has been illuded countless times in video games, be it from Zelda up to Gears of War. It¡¯s chickens. I messed with a chicken--well, a rooster to be more accurate (I¡¯d rather not offend anyone by categorizing another species)--and it all started because I¡¯ve trusted the wrong person.


    So, let¡¯s start with the setting. I live in a small village, so everyone pretty much know each others. Especially with the fact that there¡¯s only one school in the area, so there weren¡¯t many unfamiliar faces when it came to either kids or adults. So with that, as far as I knew, kids bullying other kids was pretty much nonexistent. Even if someone were to bully another, it¡¯ll eventually end with just a simple fist fight, This was especially the case because most people knew each other, and as long as it wasn¡¯t too serious, parents would even encourage their children to settle things for themselves be it verbally or with old-fashioned violence. You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    At the time I was in fourth grade, which is probably eight or nine years old? I had a fifth grader as a friend of mine, so I was pretty much above the squabbles of little children at the time. No one would mess with me, and I wouldn¡¯t mess with anyone. It was like an unwritten rule in our class--nay, school---because if you messed with someone that had a connection with an upperclassman, you¡¯re pretty much would be in a world of pain.


    Why would anyone go out of their way to try and fight a battle they¡¯ll undoubtedly lose? Especially when it came to someone who did nothing towards you. So even little kids had a sense for the art of war, and I pretty much ascended to higher realms compared to the peasants I took to be my classmates who fought or made up on a daily basis, who burnt with fighting spirit and brotherly love.


    James--the fifth-grader friend of mine--had a family that was into raising chickens. Rumor had it (Well, can you even call it a rumor if I heard it from the person himself?) that most of the chicken they raised were trained for routine chicken fights. As a child, all I felt was awe from how he literally could¡¯ve commanded dozens of chickens to any battle with him. At the time, I couldn¡¯t think of any better supporter than him.


    So of course, as anyone would, I kept bugging him about showing me his seasoned veterans.  At first he would dodge the question or brush me off, and because I didn¡¯t even know where he lived, I started to grow suspicious.


    ¡®Could it be that you don¡¯t actually raise chickens?¡¯


    When I asked that, he would adamantly deny it, and swore to everything under the sky that they were raising chickens. He would even vividly describe their living conditions, how they were being raised in an emptied out pool in their house, and how he likes to eat their eggs for breakfast and other boasts.


    So the second logical conclusion I came up with, one that I probably feared the most at the time, was: ¡®Can it be that they¡¯re normal chickens?¡¯


    As the old sages used to say, even water can dig through stone given enough time, and James finally had gave concession and agreed to bring me with him to his place after school. Oh how I regretted that decision.


    The first ominous sign was that James lived right next to a cemetery. Like you could literally take a couple of steps and move from just outside his front gate and right over some random person¡¯s grave. Because this was a small village, our cemetery wasn¡¯t even graced with a simple wall. The only thing that distinguished it from normal barren land were the humps on the ground, the few tombstones that were scattered about (There weren¡¯t many fans of tombstones for some reason) and a shed that was used to clean the corpses before burying them.


    After seeing me spooked, James simply shrugged and invited me inside. As soon as I went through the front gates, the first thing I noticed were small cages where small, cute rabbits were residing. After closing the gate and making sure that there were no openings leading to the outside world, he walked to a random rabbit cage and opened it.


    The rabbit seemed unfazed as it took its time coming out of the cage. It slowly walked--or hopped--gracefully as it bewitched my young mind. At that moment, I firmed my mind and steeled my will to beg my mother to get me a rabbit. But that¡¯s a story for another time.


    Anyways, after messing around a bit he asked me if I wanted to see the chickens. Remembering my main goal, I reluctantly removed myself from paradise and unknowingly jumped straight into hell. He gestured that to the empty pool that housed hen houses that the chickens were there, and that we should go down and greet the chickens.


    My senses at the time were simply too dull to notice the (probably) wicked smile plastered on his face, as he told me to go down to the pool first using a wooden ladder. I innocently nodded and did as he said, and went down first as he made sure to steady the ladder to make sure it doesn¡¯t slip.


    As I finally made my way down and detached myself from the ladder, I looked up to tell me that he can come down now. But before I could do that, he started laughing like a little villain (He totally did, I¡¯m not making this up). With an Umph he pulled the ladder up as I froze in place.


    At this point, I remembered that various thoughts ran through my mind. They all centered around how this was an ambush by the leader of the chicken troops. (I swear, to me at the time, this name I came up with sounded badass.)


    After a minute of nothing happening and no chickens visible, I sighed in relief. It would have seemed that my imagination was simply too active. At that moment, I decided to finally shout that the joke went too far and he should lower down the ladder for me. That there was nothing here to see, and that the chickens were probably scared of me and that was why they refused to come out.


    And it seems that my loud shouting probably startled the chickens, as a rooster strutted out and started eyeing me down. After a few seconds of locking eyes with it, I faltered and took a step back and averted my gaze. Sensing my weakness (and the fact that its owner was laughing in the background), the rooster took a step forward and decided to have a sparring match to get to know me better. The only issue is, I didn¡¯t know that because I could not understand chicken speech.


    He jumped, spread his wings and decided to show me how a chicken flying kick would look like as he scratched my arm. After that, he unbelievably followed up with a peck towards my legs as he strategically made me lose my footing. As I fell down, he sensed the danger I would hold if I were to ever regain my composure as he went into a flurry of weak but fast attacks that included wing swipe, gatling pecking and finally finishing it off by stepping on his defeated enemy(me).


    After getting used to its attacks, and realizing the fact that the rooster¡¯s comrades are probably just watching from inside the hen houses, I finally understood that this was nothing but a one-on-one sparring match.


    Holding nothing back, I brushed the rooster off me and stood up. However, that simple motion took a lot of pain and energy, so in response I inadvertently looked at my legs. (I was wearing shorts at the time). I noticed blood was coming out, and with that realization I grimaced as I did my best to hold in my cries of defeat and looked at the sky.


    Noticing me taking a moment, the rooster as the gentleman he was, decided to give me as much time as I needed. The sky was simply too hot as it forced my face to break out in a sweat, and as to not embarrass me, the rooster decided to call it a draw as he backed away and went back into his dwelling.


    At this point, James finally grew a shred of humanity as he lowered down the ladder for me to climb.


    Later that day, James'' parents decided to sell us a rabbit for cheap, so the fluff healed both my soul and body. Until a couple of weeks later when while they(My mother) were cleaning the rabbit¡¯s cage, he decided to say adieu and walked into the sunset.

 1. The Villagers Best Friend

    Since the introduction was about animals, I thought I¡¯d continue with it and write a trilogy.


    I have this love-and-hate relationship with animals. I love ¡®em, but they scare the shit out of me. Cats, dogs, chickens or even bears, they¡¯re great. They look harmless, act cuddly, and they¡¯re overall lovable. However, that¡¯s the exterior they show in order to entrap and put you through a world of pain. They¡¯re a vicious, two-faced bunch that you can¡¯t help but love and that¡¯s what¡¯s dangerous about them.


    Don¡¯t get me wrong, they¡¯re great a distance. It¡¯s like tattoos, they¡¯re great on other people but it¡¯s not like you¡¯ll get one yourself. Unless you start by raising them from their infancy, removing their fangs and claws before they even grow them, then anything they do is an act meant to trick you into falling for them. Having that voice in the back of your mind go, ¡°Don¡¯t get too close¡± when coming into contact with a bear is like that, humanity¡¯s survival instinct kicking in and telling you to nope the hell out of there.


    So due to my fear of ¡®normal¡¯ pets, my taste tends to lean toward the harmless. From rabbits to fish, the kind where you know that the worst they can do is take a piss on you. Especially once I¡¯ve tasted what having a pet felt like before it ran away, oh how great it was to have a friend at home.


    I decisively decided to get another rabbit, and came to the conclusion that since my mother was incompetent with cleaning their cages, I¡¯ll be the one to do it. I mean who cleans your pet¡¯s cage while the front door is open, leading to their escape? The degree of incompetence made no sense whatsoever.


    The rabbit I got was named ¡®Blacky¡¯ (My first language is not English, yet at the time I still named him ¡®Blacky¡¯ in English because I thought it was a cool name) because he had black spots on his fur. As some of you might be wondering, no, I was not pointing out his flaws or discriminating against him. I called him that out of love, not hate, and shame on you if you thought otherwise.


    Blacky and I immediately hit it off and became the best of friends. We¡¯d play together, eat together and sleep together. I remember how once, our garden was suffering from a bee invasion. And Blacky was in the middle of the bee swarm, shivering and trembling in fear as he was rooting in place, doing his best to eat a leaf of lettuce as to take his mind away from the current despairing state of events. You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    I tried to brave my way through the bees in an effort to rescue Blacky, but their suicide unit were simply too powerful as they kamikazed through my defenses and took me out. At the nick of time, as if God didn¡¯t want to abandon a man with a noble cause--or more accurately due to my screams of misery--my sister came out as the sun shone behind her blinding me.


    Her calm voice asking me what¡¯s wrong, and I pointed at the rabbit. She nodded in acknowledgment and walked through the swarm. The bees, probably sensing the disparity in power between them, cowered and refused to engage. My sister calmly took Blacky into her arms, as a mother would carry her child, shielding him from both rain and wind, and brought him back to safety.


    Handing him to me, I felt the injuries I sustained while trying to save him ease. With his fur brushing between my fingers, I lifted blacky to eye-level and said, ¡°Thank god you¡¯re safe¡±. Or at least that¡¯s what I planned, if not as soon as I opened my mouth, Blacky who finally felt a sense of security eased and let out all of the fluids he¡¯s been holding inside of him due to fear. (For transparency¡¯s sake, I don¡¯t actually remember what I was about to say, I just remember him peeing into my mouth.)


    But, well, I got him while prepared for such an occasion to happen eventually. Anyways, after that, because we went through life and death together we ended up growing as close as blood siblings. And because of that, what happened a couple of days later hurt even more.


    It was a sunny afternoon when I returned back home from school, and as per usual, I went to greet Blacky in his cage. However, this same cage disappointed me for the second time. Blacky was nowhere to be found. Of course, I didn¡¯t think much of it.


    ¡°He must be playing in my mum¡¯s garden¡±


    I probably thought at the time. Despite the traumatic experience he went through, he still loved that place. And of course, after that day my dad repelled the invasion so it felt safe having him adventure through it.


    So I went inside, changed my clothes, and headed to the garden. To my surprise, Blacky was not there at all. I then decided to go to the second most probable place, then the third, then the fourth, until I gave up and called for reinforcements. I went to ask my mother where Blacky was, and the answer still haunts me to this day. I felt more betrayed here than the with the time James tricked me into fighting his rooster.


    ¡°After going to work, I heard this weird noises coming from under the car. When I went to investigate, it looked like the rabbit (She refused to acknowledge his name. It wasn¡¯t cool at all. But I still love you mum!) had latched on. Seeing that, my heart ached and I handed him to a co-worker to take care of him. He loved the rabbit, so I decided to not take it back¡±


    From that day onwards, I¡¯ve had trust issues.

 2. The Villagers Song of Sky and Water

    Alright, we¡¯ve gone through the initial set up, and we¡¯ve finished with the build-up, so it¡¯s about time we get to the climax. Because I¡¯ve spent the previous two entries discussing my experience with land animals, I¡¯ll be dedicated this entry towards non-land animals. I¡¯ve decided to combine the two together because they¡¯re pretty short, and it¡¯ll feel like I¡¯ll be milking it a bit too much if I left each one in its own post.


    So before we take a look at the water, we should first look at the skies. My uncle used to deal with birds, and on Daniel¡¯s--my older brother¡¯s--birthday, he gifted us a pair of Cockatiels. He wasn¡¯t very happy, to be honest. Daniel is more of the athletic type, so he spent most of his time outside either biking, on a motorcycle, playing sports or renting out a boat to go fishing.


    Taking care of the birds, in the end, came into my older sister¡¯s and I¡¯s hands. And from the very start, as soon as I heard their name, I knew nothing good was going to come out of taking care of them. Anything that has ¡®Cock¡¯ in its name was just that to me, a dick. So while taking care of them, by either refilling their food or cleaning their cage, they¡¯d bite the hell out of me.


    To be fair, I was technically their jailer, and they were literally caged birds. So if they hated me for restricting their freedom, I¡¯d understand. However, for some reason, they treated my older sister with care and love. They won''t bite her, and whenever we set them free inside the house so that they¡¯ll stretch their wings, they¡¯ll go crowd around her.


    So after a week or so, I handed in the white towel. I couldn¡¯t take care of ungrateful children, so I decided to have my mother help out my sister. A day or two later, the pair ran away from home. I vividly remember that the day they went missing, we¡¯ve had chicken for dinner. (Full disclosure: I¡¯m not sure of what we had that night. This would¡¯ve been funny if footnotes worked properly.)


    Now some small background information. In the busiest section of our village, where most of the stores are, there¡¯s a pretty large patch of empty, unpaved land giving it a surreal feeling in the middle of ¡®civilization¡¯. On normal days, this patch of land would be used as a parking space for the frequenters of said stores. However, there¡¯s this unwritten rule on Saturdays where it¡¯s not allowed to use that patch of land for anything at all. And that¡¯s because of what we called, ¡®Saturday Night Flea Market¡¯ or Saturday Market for short.


    Sure, people sold old stuff or clothes in the Saturday Market like any other flea market. However, its main appeal is that it¡¯s by the people for the parent¡¯s[to empty out their wallets]. Of course, whatever is in that bracket is usually omitted. Anyways, the biggest stalls were those that sold candies and children¡¯s toys. I remember opening a stall there for pirated DVDs as well, but that¡¯s a story for another time.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    One of those games were being operated by James¡¯ father, and it¡¯s a game where you¡¯d try to catch mechanical fish in a tub of water similar to this. If you managed to catch a fish, he¡¯d get you an actual goldfish. So of course, because of my connections to James, he gave me my first try for free!


    But unfortunately, that was not the case. Because if he gave me a try for free, he¡¯ll end up giving most of the other kids a free try as well, and that won¡¯t work since he¡¯s running a business now would it? I had to spend my hard earned allowance on it to get me that goldfish. In hindsight, I probably could¡¯ve gotten at least a dozen of goldfishes with the money I¡¯ve spent on that stupid game. It was to the point where James¡¯ father, out of pity, gave me two goldfishes to most likely ease his conscience.


    However, as a child that didn¡¯t matter at all. Pride? That word was literally not in my dictionary. Or is it vocabulary? Well, it was in neither. I was very excited when I got the goldfishes, and I quickly emptied out a flower vase for them to use as their new home. I also went out of my way to get them fish food. I was well prepared this time, because I knew for sure that these goldfishes would never be able to escape my grasps.


    At that point, a wicked smile probably crept on my face. No, without a doubt it did. My mother wasn¡¯t too thrilled for some reason though, even after I apologized for ditching her ¡®precious¡¯ flowers and using her ¡®expensive¡¯ vase for raising the fishes, but it¡¯s not like she could cry over spilled milk.


    I went to sleep that day very excited, thinking about the adventures I¡¯ll go with Jack and John. Yes, I called them Jack and John. Come bite me. I woke up the next day (and because it was still the weekend), I immediately went to greet my new friends. Brushing one¡¯s teeth? Hmph! No one has time for that!


    And just like that, what has happened multiple times before repeated itself. This time however, I couldn¡¯t hold myself back. I actually cried. I shouted ¡°Jack and John! Where are they?!¡± as I ran as fast as possible to my mother, who was having breakfast. Without a doubt, she was the one who got rid of them. Was it revenge for the vase and flowers? But I have already apologized for that, and it¡¯s immature of her to do something to my new friends over that.


    Then, it all connected. She actually doesn¡¯t want me to be taken over by other animals while in the house. She could stomach me being occupied with friends outside, but at home, she wanted to monopolize me!


    Jokes aside, looking back at how this ended I can¡¯t help but laugh. She, facing me who¡¯s bawling his eyes out, said with a straight face while enjoying a boiled egg on-top of a croissant, ¡°They ran away from home¡±.

 3. The Eye-Patch Wearing Villager

    average.average six or seven children, we were quite on the smaller side.average household since I had three .


    oldest one of us all was the household¡¯s biggest bully , my  sister Grace.Younger than her by a  is Daniel, followed by me with a four  gap.younger brother that¡¯s five   than me but he¡¯s not relevant.


    Well, there was a master bedroom as  that belonged to my parents that had its own bathroom and TV.


    your  someone would usually eat something bad and then we¡¯ll all suffer from the consequences.


    room was a mess to say the least.beds in our , a  for every boy.room couldn¡¯t actually fit three , we had to get rid of our  to make space for the third  or otherwise the  would be permanently closed and that would just be counterproductive.


    you would say ¡°Hey why didn¡¯t you get bunk ?


    came  is  rivalry.ceasefire, but those never lasted.


    He decided to have  compete to see who was the fastest between the two of , as  wanted  to go into their bedroom and grab his phone for a piece of gum.he gave the ¡°Go¡±, I ran as fast as possible.antique , and that   had sharp edges.


    I had a slight lead in the race, but my older brother wouldn¡¯t go down without a fight.table, and seeing the prize slowly vanishing from his grasps, he extended his hands and pushed.I stumbled as  faced the edge of the table.my life flashed through  eyes.I closed  eyes as tears threatened to escape, ducked down with the only this thought in mind.


    Me ducking down probably saved  an eye.


    a lot of possibilities.it stitched, so  of cleaning the wound on a daily basis until  healed up.


    that, all  had was to cover my eyebrow to not let  breathe the atmosphere--and  did  very magnificently.I transformed into a pirate.I was in first or second grade when  happened, and everyone would play along with .call  ¡°Captain¡± in roll , my fellow students would give  worshiping glances as  too wished  could rock an eyepatch.


    Arrr!crew and ¡¯We put our own twist to cops and criminals, ¡¯d ride sandstorms with our fleet of bicycles and just have general fun.


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    store to buy snacks on their own, and upon entering the  some would leave their bicycle .zealots, had the bright idea to steal another kid¡¯s .


    bicycle  stole belonged to one of our crew, so I just nodded to the idea.he lost his , won¡¯t  come to us to help  solve the problem?we¡¯d just give   his  and say ¡®We caught someone with , so  beat  up and got  ¡¯ and have  fall even more for us.It was simply flawless, and I couldn¡¯t help but be proud of Dave for thinking of ways to increase these people¡¯s loyalty towards .


    me on my  and Dave on a bicycle suspiciously similar to the one  was .he didn¡¯t seem to recognize us.


    down his window and asked us from afar to stay still.We knew something was wrong, so Dave and I immediately peddled into a tight alley that a car can¡¯t go through.down a real chase .We probably could¡¯ve dealt with it if  left the bicycle somewhere and walked away, but  didn¡¯t think of that at all.we thought of was how to lose the father.


    realizing that he lost us, decided to go down from his car and walk into the alley.you don¡¯t get here now I¡¯ll call the cops on  all!


    how ¡¯s going to die in jail.How ¡¯ll never eat candy anymore, and  much ¡¯ll miss his PlayStation.I started to tear up as well as  thought of what¡¯ll happen eventually.I thought of the countless times ¡¯ve been told that if  were to ever go to jail, to never  the , despite  knowing why  should   the .I just leave it be and grab a brand new ?


    thought of that made  eyes start to  up as well, and because  was wearing an eyepatch, the  pretty much blocked  vision.I ran over a big rock that  couldn¡¯t see and lost control of the , tumbling down and scraping  knee.


    thought of going to jail or the  pain that was running through  leg,  really started crying  eyes out.I was really a  huh.us, but was surprisingly kind.he first soothed  and asked  why  did what  did.He still didn¡¯t acknowledge  however, which probably either added to my relief or made me cry even more.


    We explained everything incoherently to him while still crying, and  just nodded.He then took  to his car, and the little kid  stole the bicycle from was sitting in the backseat.He then told  to apologize to him, and that  wouldn¡¯t do it again, and ¡¯ll let  off.We did just that.


    I told myself that if  were to grow up, ¡¯d be just like him.