…
…
Are you sure this is the right place? It’s so EMPTY.
//That’s the point, isn’t it? For you to fill it up. To build something rather than destroy it. Atone for…//
Yeah, yeah, I get it. Make up for my misspent youth. Build a park.
//Is that a problem?//
…. No …
//Good, then. Good luck… Aaron.//
Not quite empty. Just this ratty old suit of armor that stood as a not-so subtle reminder of another park, in another city, in another life. Aaron didn’t have to look too hard at to see hints of the spray paint on the sword. Even still.
He hated that sword. Hated the statue. He’d hated it back then, too. Only now he hated it for another reason entirely. Not for the same reasons he’d had as a teenager living on the streets of Bridgeport, when it had represented the excesses and oppression of the Establishment… the Man.
He hated it because he had no choice now. According to the rules, the ‘deal’ he’d agreed to in order to leave prison with an expunged record, he had to live here, in Newcrest, which was essentially nowhere, and build a park. He had to spend his entire life working towards this goal. And the damned statue had to stay there, too. Because it had survived the destruction of that other park so long ago.
There were other Rules.
- He couldn’t leave Newcrest, except to shop in nearby Magnolia Promenade or to look for rare plants in the Granite Falls Nature Preserve.
- He couldn’t contact people from his old life in Bridge.
- He couldn’t tell people he met here who he really was. Because who was ‘Aaron York’ really?
He also had to get a job, so he could afford to build the park and community. That was a must. And his ‘benefactor’ had also suggested he ‘settle down and raise a family. It’s what people do, after all, Aaron.’
“My name’s not Aaron,” he said, except there wasn’t anyone nearby to hear it just the Suit of Armor. Old Sir Rustbucket said nothing. He scowled and looked around at the very empty lot. He needed a few things to get started. He couldn’t just sleep on the grass, even if that would be a step up from what he had been sleeping on before.
“Well, at least it’s not empty anymore, eh Sir Rusty?”
Sir Rusty didn’t say anything, not that Aaron expected any different. Still, he now had a tent, fireplace, picnic table, and rudimentary ‘kitchen’ and an outhouse. Also, someone had mailed him a couple of gardening manuals, which were going to come in handy because this little project of his wasn’t a theme park, it was a community park. Plants, vegetables, growing things.
He still had a little seed money left over… you know, for actual seeds. Not at all for himself or any luxuries he might need. Just… seeds. Anything else he needed, he had to buy with money he earned on his own.
Because as the Benefactor says, that’s what normal people do, Aaron.
Would it be even worth it to argue that none of this was normal? People don’t live like this in the real world?
“No? No, Sir Rusty?” Aaron sighed. “No, I didn’t think so. I’ll just go back to reading Gardens for Dummies now. I need to build those garden plots soon.” The sooner it’s done, the sooner this whole thing is over with. Maybe.
And thus begins the new life of Aaron York in Newcrest. It’s a journey of hard work and self-discovery. And for right now, penniless poverty. And Sir Rusty. Not on a note of excitement, or enthusiasm or even hope. But disappointment and resignation.
Good luck, Aaron. Good luck, Sir Rusty. You have your work cut out of you.