#NaNoWriMo 2017 Short Story #2 of 10: The Farmer’s Void

It was a familiar sound that wrestled Clarence from his slumber.

“Caw. Caw. Caw’

The feathered guests had a habit of always waking him up at the same time every morning. It was a comfort to the solitary lifestyle Clarence lived. Without another soul around, it helped to know he wasn’t completely alone. Even though the birds were never seen, they provided a necessary utility to him.

Groggily, Clarence threw off the tattered blanket that gave him some sense of warmth. Although not as thick as it used to be, it was all he had to prevent the cold from taking him as the temperatures plummeted nightly. He shifted his weight, swinging his aching legs off the side of the bed. After a few final seconds of contemplating a return trip to sleep, he pushed down on the floor and rose to greet the day.

Sunlight was still an hour away from poking through the small slits that passed as windows, but there was work to do before that. With the heat of the day hitting unbearable levels with full sunlight, he couldn’t afford to wait very long to complete the day’s tasks. Getting water itself was arduous, even in the most tame conditions. If he desperately needed it in the 130 degree heat, he would surely meet his own end.

The morning routine was the same. He would walk over to the machine on the other end of this small, one room place he called home. Then, he would push a button, and a small, rectangular shaped item would drop out. This was breakfast. Clarence had been farming by himself for so long he hardly remembers where this machine came from. It always felt like magic to him.

After dealing with his other morning needs, he had thirty minutes before the sun’s rays would begin to punish his plot of land. Now was the time to get started. Although he hadn’t seen a soul for longer than his memory could retrace, the front door had a peculiar amount of locks and fail-safes on it. It didn’t seem completely necessary at this point, but he had neither the time nor talent to think of replacing it. The crows he heard might get inside if he tried to remove it, and he kept his space very clean. Clarence didn’t like the thought of birds messing his space up, so he made the decision every day to just ignore that reality.

Once the monotonous task of leaving his house was completed, the real work had to begin. He had a basic analog wrist watch on that he could use to tell the time. As far as he knew, the instructions were the same. In order to make sure the crops all get the water they needed, he must engage all of the irrigation systems before noon. After noon, reliably, the temperature would rise to unbearable levels and, not only would Clarence quickly become incapacitated at his age, but the crops wouldn’t last long either baking without water.

After exiting his home, he followed a short path to where the crops were growing. Rows of different plants, either trees, corn, and potatoes, among others, radiated out as far as he could see. All of the non-harvested vegetation headed in a direction that Clarence thought was north, and the harvestable food grew to the south. In the middle of both rows were the control knobs to turn the water on. As he made his way down this center clearing, he would lean to his left and to his right to spin the dials. In that moment, mist slowly expanded out of the ground, creating a fog that would envelope the plants.

To turn on the irrigation for all of the rows of plants took several hours of strenuous work. Over and up. Over and up. Each effort causing him pain in new places after each passing day. Clarence wasn’t quite sure how old he was at this point, as he didn’t make an effort to track the passing days. All he knew was his body was beginning to fail him. Still, this was his life and as long as he could move and breathe, he was going to do his job.

As the temperature approached peak levels, Clarence arrived at the final spigots at least two miles from his house. Today, more so than any day in the past, Clarence couldn’t quite remember how he could get back safely. Walking back two miles in the heat of the afternoon would surely kill him. He needed food, water, and the comfort of his home. After standing for a moment, the sun beating down on his mane of frazzled white hair, the next step popped into his head.

He needed to take the stairs down to the tunnel.

Walking straight ahead, he finally found the barely visible marking that identified the cellar-type door he could open to go down into the tunnel. Bending over for the final time of the day, he opened the hatch, revealing a few stories of stairs that continued downward. Dimly lit, but enough light to see, this path provided the relief he needed to make it back.

After making it down the final set of stairs, a small bench was waiting for him. Exhausted, with sweat dripping down his long, wispy beard, he collapsed on the cool stone surface. It was so nice to feel the relief on his aching back and to remove the pressure from his sore feet. Taking longer each day, he needed a few extra minutes to catch his breath. But a las, he had finished the day’s work. He was always amazed that he could finish at the same time every day, just before the noon hour. Now, he could take shelter and wait for the next day. After he finally was able to calm and rest his body, he decided to let unconsciousness wash over him.

“CAW CAW CAW”

Clarence awoke with a shutter. It was the sound of the birds again alerting him to begin his day. Slowly opening his eyes, he looked around. He was back in his bed, tattered blanket and all. Still a little sore from the previous day, he slowly rolled himself out of his place of rest and onto the floor.

Time to start the routine all over again.

And this was Clarence’s life. Every day he turned on the misting system. Every day, even though he occasionally forgot, he would find the tunnel and fall asleep on the bench, only to wake up back in bed. Sometimes he would question this, but figured he was just so tired he didn’t remember the walk back.

On a particularly cool day, a day where the sun seemed to beat less intently and the heat less oppressive, Clarence felt his memory clear. He quickly located the stairs, but felt like he had more strength than ever before. Walking past the cellar door, he continue off into the distance. A foggy appearance made it difficult to see very far, but he felt the need to explore, and with this exploration, ask questions in his head. Why did the plants stop where they stopped? Where are all the other people? Was he ever married? He knew the answers were in his brain somewhere, but he just couldn’t retrieve them, like an apple on a limb just a bit out of reach.

BAM! Clarence was knocked backwards by the collision. His head ached and his entire body tingled with pain from the impact on the ground. After getting his bearings, he realized he ran right into a wall. A giant, glass wall. He stood up and examined it more closely. It appeared to be slowly angling toward him. He followed it up as far as he could until he realized exactly what it was.

Clarence was living in a dome.

He started breathing heavily. Even though he must have seen this before, or so he thought, he was startled by this realization. Could it be possible he was trapped here? Was he being punished? Tapping his head aggressively with his index finger, he tried his best to coax out his earliest memories of this place. However, is if inside of their own glass dome, he felt they were blocked, just out of reach.

Before heading back to the stairwell to call it a day, he decided he would stare through the glass into the distance as much as possible. His eyes were certainly not in the best shape, but they were surprisingly good considering the condition of the rest of him. Scanning the landscape outside of the dome, he couldn’t make out anything distinguishable. The only word that came to mind was desert. Giving one last glance out into the void, he felt like he could barely see some kind of structure through the haze into the distance. But, he was beginning to feel the still significant heat affecting him, and he made his way into the stairwell.

Determined to investigate the tunnel, he walked down the stairs fully intended to keep walking. His body had other plans, however, and by the time he descended the entirety of the stairs, he wanted to fall over. Taking the refuge of the one lonely bench, he laid his one lonely body on it, and closed his eyes.

“CAW! CAW! CAW!”

Like sonic gunshots to his head, the bird calls forced Clarence awake in a painful manner. It took him a while to recognize where he was. His mind was fuzzy, but he felt something was off about the day before. He wasn’t sure, but it occurred to him that he may have performed some out of the ordinary tasks. With his memory becoming more scattered by the day, he just didn’t have the mental strength to unearth to the level he wanted to before simply giving up and getting on with the day.

Once again, the heat soared as the sun climbed above the horizon. It seemed smaller than he remembered, but then again, nothing was familiar to him but the task. It fulfilled him in the oddest way. The comfort of waking up every morning knowing exactly how every single day would play out had its benefits. He knew he would eventually have food. He felt like he was completely in his element. He never wondered if he was meant for something else in life. In short — Clarence was at peace.

After completing the watering process for the day, Clarence once again paused and decided not to descend the stairwell immediately. Something was competing for his attention, and eventually it dawned on him that a hundred or so yards down the south side of the farm, which was a row of Maple trees, it appeared that the misting system wasn’t working. Not surprisingly, Clarence couldn’t remember this happening before. However, he couldn’t just let the poor plants die in the heat (which, he thought, wasn’t quite as intense as it had been). Conjuring up just a little more strength, Clarence made his way down the row.

Eventually, after a long-slow plod, he arrived at the troubled section. Bending over to inspect the apparatus that controlled the misting, he scanned for any obvious sign of why it wasn’t working. Nothing stuck out to him. The pipes looked intact. No bulges or cracks had formed. The only sign of something wrong was the fact that the mist over the few plants just before the stoppage wasn’t enveloping the trees as much as the beginning parts of the row. It dawned on Clarence that the whatever system pumps the water and creates the mist is beginning to fail.

He yawned deeply, and realized that he was utterly drained of energy. The stairwell felt miles away. Still, it was his routine, and he put one foot carefully in front of the other. Drenched, and barely standing, Clarence eventually made it back to the stairwell. This was one of the longest days he had spent in the heat, and he was feeling every second of it. Using every ounce of strength he had, he tried to lift the cellar door. But, just as he had it at the apex of opening, he lost control, and it went crashing down with a loud clang. Clarence fell to the ground. This could be it, he thought. He was going to bake right then and there. Panting and soaked, he took one last look around. And that was when he saw it.

Just to the left of the cellar doors was a barely visible button, rising just above the ground. He reached his hand out and slapped it, resulting in a cracking noise, with the entrance to the stairs flying open. Energized with the hope of survival, he crawled his way into the stairwell, and slowly slid himself down the steps.

As to be expected, he approached the bench, climbed up on it, and before he knew it, the crows were back and he was in his bed.

After getting his morning nourishment, Clarence began the day again. However, he noticed something after he left the house that morning. To the left of the structure was a large machine with what looked like big teeth on the front that rotated. His brain connected with this, and he knew it was for harvesting the vegetables. Briefly, he wondered how it got there. Or, had it been there all along? Either way, it didn’t matter. It was there and based on his recollection from the previous day, the vegetables were ready to be taken off the plants.

He walked over to the giant vehicle and soon spotted a ladder leading up the right side. Once he reached it, he took a deep breath, and began a slow climb, eventually pulling himself up and into the driver’s seat. A noticeable red button sat in the middle of the steering wheel, Pushing it caused the metal monster to wake up. It ran somewhat quietly for how large it was, and Clarence was surprised there was no smoke. For reasons that escaped him, he assumed that it should have that.

It didn’t take long for Clarence to remember what he was doing, and in no time, he was scooping up the potatoes and corn. Each row took about 15 minutes to harvest, and by the time he completed the last row, the heat of the day was nearing unbearable levels again. He drove the truck back to the house, and decided he had no choice but to get the misting systems turned on again.

A thought flashed through his brain as he began this process again. It almost escaped, but he scrunched his face as hard as he could, and captured it.

How was the water turning off every night? He did not recall ever coming out to turn the misting system off, yet every single day he had to turn it back on. It didn’t make sense. As he turned the next knob, he lingered for a moment, and then realized the answer to his question. Squinting and watching the knob closely, he could see it ever so slowly began turning in reverse. The fog was on a timer. Clarence let out a sigh, clearly relieved at this realization.

When he made it to the end, he now discovered the that misting systems for the last two rows were now non-functional. The plants from the previous day were already displaying significant wilting. Clarence scratched his head in his flustered state. What could be happening? It was almost like the water was running out, he thought. If he knew where the water was coming from, he might be able to solve it. If he had the right tools, he could always try and dig a new well. Both seemed like sensible solutions to him, but he was worn out and would try his hardest to retain those thoughts to the next day. As he approached the stairs, it also occurred to him that he would have to do something with the incredible amount of food he had harvested. He wasn’t sure where to store it all, or why he grew so much. It was just him after all.

At the foot of the stairs, he fought the lethargy overtaking him and took time to examine the bench he passed out on at the end of every day. From a distance, it seemed like just a simple, stone bench, but when Clarence looked at it up close he realized it wasn’t a bench.

It was on tracks, leading deep into the dimly lit tunnel that led back to the place he woke up in the morning. Somehow, he thought, it must sense his body and take off back home. That much made sense. What didn’t make sense was how he ended back up in bed every night. He didn’t recall seeing anything remotely similar to a trap door or tracks leading up to his bed. His house was basic, with nothing but a bed, a machine that gave him food and water, and not a lot else. It didn’t quite add up and Clarence desperately wanted to investigate further, the dissonance in his mind causing somersaults in his stomach.

He sat down on the bench, fighting the urge to lay back and fall asleep. Body aching and head pounding, he forced his eyes to stay open and moved his aching arms all around the areas of the bench he could reach. Was there a button that worked like the one that opened the cellar? Searching carefully with his fingers, he came up empty. Whether it was because he was simply too tired, or that there really wasn’t a button, it was time to give up and fall asleep. He kept mumbling to himself to search in the morning.

Clarence awoke the next morning feeling well rested and relaxed. His body ached a little less than usual and his eyes gently opened. Normally pounding, his head was clear. However, he didn’t recall hearing any birds, and light was clearly streaming in from the outside. As bad as his memory was, he didn’t remember getting any off days. He just woke up and did the job every day. Even though his living area was temperature controlled, he felt the heat of the day slowly raising the temperature inside his small house. He at his food, drank the liquid that was dispensed, and stopped to think.

It was scorching outside, as far as he could tell, and he had no way of knowing what time it was. It must have been later in the day, and the plants had been taking a pounding from the heat for hours at this point. He decided to open the door to the outside and make his decision about how to spend his day then.

Upon viewing the sky, he could tell it was much later in the day than he thought. There were only a couple of hours of sunlight left, and the plants were beginning to wilt. He could go through and turn the water on, but at this point the damage would have already been done. If the vegetation was capable of surviving the day in the heat, they could survive the night in the cold. Once again, as hot as it was, Clarence could tell it was slightly cooler than in the past. Part of his brain remembered something about seasons, and he quietly wondered if they were changing.

As he stood outside, a memory popped in his head. The food. Of course. He needed to deal with the harvest from the previous day. Clarence turned the corner to the place where the left the vehicle the day before.

It was nowhere to be found.

Baffled, he kept going around to the back of the small building he lived in, to see if he just placed it in a different spot than he remembered. As he made his way around the house, he still couldn’t find the machine. He shook his head, wondering why he couldn’t find something that he was sure he placed right where he stood. Clarence looked around, trying to catch of glimpse of anything. Staring straight away from the back of the house he swore he say shapes in the distance. Already having decided to skip watering for the day, with the added bonus of the heat starting to cool off, he made his in the direction of the objects he saw.

It was a long stretch, likely close to a mile. As he completed the journey, tired and sweaty, he couldn’t believe his eyes. Rows and sections of houses just like his populated the area he arrived in. Trying his best, he counted over one thousand different buildings. Maybe he wasn’t alone here after all, just on the outskirts of a small town.

He walked up to the front door of one of the houses and knocked. No answer. He tried the door handle as well, but the result was another unsuccessful attempt to enter the house. Curiously, they were made without windows, so he couldn’t look inside. Granted, it wasn’t unusual to Clarence, as his own house did not have windows either, just a few small observation ports that allowed a tiny amount of light in.

The streets were deserted, exhibiting an oddly familiar but still very different feeling. Something didn’t seem to make sense about this place. It represented something that must have belonged in the deepest reaches of Clarence’s mind. At some point in his life, he had been to a place like this. He continued walking, exploring the empty walk ways. He was surprised to see trees here, but on closer examination, he discovered that they were actually fake.

Light was fading now, and he decided it was time to head back to his house. He made a mental note to try and remember to explore this more in the future. This, of course, would depend on his energy levels and how long it would take to prepare the vegetation for the next day. Taking a deep breath, Clarence began the long, mile walk back to his house.

Arriving at the time the sun went down, Clarence wasn’t quite sure what to do. He knew he always woke up in his bed, but he could remember that he never typically made his way back to the house in a normal way. Not having a typical routine was a bit disorienting, but the entire day had been anway. Making sense of any of his experiences today would be tough for someone in complete control, but for Clarence, his poor memory and damaged body took his mind away from focusing on the peculiarities for too long.

Once he was back inside the house, sleep seemed like the best option. It was a short day, but included a lot of walking. What had started as a day he felt great ended the same as the others. He was sore and completely devoid of energy. Stumbling over to the bed, he flopped on top and gave himself to the night once more.

With his eyes slowly opening, Clarence was comforted by the fact it was still dark. But, as he could barely recall happened the previous day, the birds were no longer making a sound. What could have happened to them?

Breakfast nourishment was quickly ingested, and he was intent on getting his day started as soon as possible. As he made his way out to the first row of vegetation, he was greeted with a shocking reality. The plants were all beginning to wilt. Desperately hoping to revive them with a fresh coat of water, he bent over and turned the knob.

Nothing.

This couldn’t be happening, Clarence thought. There was always water. There must have been. But now, in the midst of other strange events, the water that had kept the plants alive for so long was no longer coming. The sun was about to rise and the plants would be punished by the heat again. Frantically, he fell to the ground and started digging around the first knob. He uncovered a series of connected that pipes that took the water down the row as well as up the middle column.

Going deeper, he was able to identify one pipe that led straight down. As he dug further and further, the soil became redder and before long, he had reached the limits of what he could do with his own two hands. Looking around, Clarence decided that his best shot for a helpful tool was to check the northern side of the house, since he didn’t specifically remember checking there before.

Slowly limping over to that area, he noticed something was dangling on the outside of the upper corner of his house. It was a small box with a mesh type cover over the front. Wires were coming out of it, giving the appearance that it was once connected to the house, but wasn’t any

longer. Unfortunately, the news didn’t get any better for Clarence as no shovel or other tool could be found.

Clarence sat down and leaned back against the side of the house. What was he to do? The water was gone. If there wasn’t water for the plants, there probably wouldn’t be any liquid for him to drink either. The math was obvious: he wouldn’t last much longer. However, he wasn’t overly concerned by this. He knew he was old and that it was only a matter of time before he met his end anyway. It would just be a bit sooner than expected.

As he pondered his existence, he couldn’t help but wonder about his life. Something just didn’t feel right. At a time when he should be recalling happy memories as a child or other significant life events, he couldn’t remember much but fuzzy bits and pieces of the past few days. Farming was all he knew, but it just didn’t make sense to him that he has only done this. What about parents? Where did he come from? Sensing that he would never know the answer to these questions, Clarence let himself experience the moment emotionally. Tears joined the lines of sweat dripping down his face. Whether or not he lived a good life he would never know.

Thankfully, the spot he sat was comfortable in the shade, but the sun was beginning to move overhead. “What to do with the rest of my day?” Clarence thought. He gave up hope of fixing the water, and without water he didn’t have much of a job. Therefore, he decided that, even in the hot conditions, to enjoy a quiet walk amongst the trees. Wilting in the heat and unlikely to live much longer than he would, it would be a great way to cherish the value of the plants that had been in his care for so long.

He got to his feet, bones creaking from overuse, and made his way to a row of trees about two times taller than him. They were thick with leaves that branched out several feet from the trunk. Breathing deeply as he sauntered about, he could taste the fresh oxygen being produced in droves. It was a shame to lose these plants. If only he had the knowledge and the strength to find and fix the problem. He perished the thought quickly, though, and let himself be at peace with the fate of himself and his plants.

Stamina was draining for Clarence after an hour, and he decided to make his way directly back to the house instead of walking to the end of the row. He turned around and looked back at the vast fields that had been under his care. If this was the last day they would be living, he wanted to take the view in as long as he could stand. These were the only things he knew. After fighting back tears, he turned away and opened the door to the house.

Once inside, he crept over towards the bed. Before laying down, he observed it more closely, removing the blanket and throwing it on the floor. Underneath, he found a familiar looking indented shape. He wasn’t sure why, but he was sure he had seen this before. Pushing and prodding didn’t budge it. After a few minutes, he decided to look at the bottom of the bed. Sure enough, there was a button. He pressed it.

A light whirring sound filled the room, and the shape sunk beneath the bed. Something compelled Clarence to follow it, so he jumped on board and let himself join it on its adventure downward.

Descending slow but steady, Clarence was burning with curiosity, replacing the drowsiness he had just been experiencing. Where could this lead? Eventually, the bench tracked to the bottom of a long hallway and stopped. He wasn’t sure where, but he had been here before. Stepping off the bench, Clarence looked around the hallway. He began walking away from the bench along the tracks in the floor. It wasn’t brightly lit by any means, just enough to get by. With no obvious objects lying around, he wasn’t likely to run into anything.

Continuing to move forward, he ran his fingers along the wall to his left. To his surprised, eventually they caught a groove. This stopped him, and he examined the wall. He had reached a door. Some figures were affixed to the outside, but Clarence had long since forgotten how to read. Grasping the groove and pulling, the door gave way and Clarence went inside.

It was pitch black inside the room, except for the tiny amount of light scattering in from the hallway. Clarence used a similar method he had used before, letting his fingers do the exploring along the right wall this time. This room definitely had a vibe that was making him feel queasy. He wanted to turn around, but he had to know where he was. When he just about to give up searching, he felt the tiniest knob. He turned it, gradually bringing up light until his eyes hurt. With the room completely illuminated, it took a minute for his sight to return. When it did, his heart sank and he fell on his knees to the floor.

Surrounding him were three glass cases. Inside each case was a skeleton. Clarence couldn’t believe this. Somebody else had once lived here. Had they lived with him? How did they die? It was obvious to Clarence that he was meant to be the last of whomever did live here — the third glass case was empty. His head pounded — why would someone do this? Who could possibly be doing this to them?

Clarence got to his feet and fought his way out of the room through the stiffness and the pain and the limbs and the exhaustion. He was now fighting his lungs to gather breath. His vision was beginning to blur. Through the doorway and to his right he saw the bench in the distance. Step by step, he didn’t want to stop. He wanted to escape this place. Wheezing and coughing, his body was beginning to fail. Ten more feet. Sharp shoots through his legs. Five more feet. Clarence collapses to the ground. He is crawling now, grasping for the bench. One more foot. Everything’s turning black. He reaches out and feels the cool stone surface, and then nothing.

__________

As the spaceship descended through the opening in the top of the dome, the first crew of one hundred Earth colonists had arrived at Mars. Three generations of farmers, the most experienced and talented ones the world had ever know, sacrificed their lives to live alone to grow food for the first mission of people who they would never meet. They also played a crucial role in helping to terraform the Red Planet, generating a thicker atmosphere and filling the air with the right percentage of Oxygen. After 300 years, with the Earth on it’s last gasp, Mars could finally be a viable home for the next generation of humans.

At an official ceremony back on Earth, the president of the World Space Association commemorated the final hero, Clarence Wilmington, on his bold sacrifice and his commitment to making Mars a liveable place. Early efforts to terraform sent Mars’ temperature skyrocketing, but Clarence’s contributions and longevity put it back on the path to stability and survivability.

He was remotely retired by the WSA at the age of 100.