a multiplayer game of parenting and civilization building
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Dad, I did not not make it to 60, nor did I make it past your age.
I starved.
Yes, I starved.
When my mother ditched me, you became my sun. You fed me berries and sang gifts into my ears.
You told me " When you're older, I'll spoil you rotten." Despite my hidden excitement, I was already spoiled. You fed me until my belly grew plump as other abandoned children and elders died in the slums of our small town.
When I was four, my mother was found. She cuddled her newborn son and gifted him a name as she tickled and talked to her other children. "Why me?" I thought. I was sad. I ran over to you woe begone and told you the event of the day. "You are Edgar." You told me, and that's when I realized. We were both nameless, forgotten, trash. Yet, we proved to everyone we're not. I made friends with the pie man and cooked alongside him until his timely death. It was quite a scene but me and his other apprentice continued to make pies.
When I was 8 maybe 10, another forgotten child laid in the troughs of the farm. I had merrily brung you a pie when I had saw him. I quickly fed him your pie and told you about the boy. "Yay, a grandson!" You said triumphantly.
I fed my son Nico with berries, baked and fried gooses and geese, stuffed him with pies, cactus fruit and stew. "Why?" a reader might ask. "Why do you feed your child trash?" Well, I wanted him to be better. I couldn't bring myself to tell you father, but now you may know.
When I was feeding Nico, His mother bragged around her other children. Covering them in fine wools and booties, hats and skins. Filling their bellies with milk and berries, while my son stood starving and forgotten before we had saved him. I couldn't pick him up, being so young, yet he knew what I knew. We we're the nameless.
The day you nearly died pa, I had almost died too. I had walked by to give you a gift when you stood standing in cold blood, a hog seared your stomach father, coughing blood as you explained what happened hoarsely. I was screaming and crying, blinded by rage and fright. I was still a child who was spoiled rotten. Then the doctor came and saved your life. I owed my life to him. I repayed him in pies, and gifted you one as a healing pie. I wanted to give one to Nico but it had seem he disappeared from the face of our town.
So as I close this, thank you father, pa, dad,
For spoiling me rotten.
Lambs, mushrooms, and pies.......sometimes stew......sometimes.
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