The sun always rose golden in the countryside, like butter melting on toast. I lived there—well, sort of. The folks on the farm called me the farmer’s daughter, even though I wasn’t one by blood. But I belonged there in spirit, especially alongside him—Chainsaw.
Yes, that Chainsaw. The lovable, kinda chaotic guy from “Hailey’s On It.” He had a flannel shirt, dirt-smudged jeans, and a smile that could charm a grumpy goat into behaving. Together, we cleaned the pigpens, brushed the horses, pulled weeds from the stubborn garden, and sometimes just laid in the hay and made cloud animals. He called me "Farm Girl" like it was a badge of honor, and I wore it proudly.
But one summer day, when the sun was too bright and the air too still, Chainsaw’s parents sat me down. “You know,” his mom said gently, “you’ve been such a help, almost like one of the family. We were thinking… maybe you should marry our boy.”
Marry Chainsaw?
I stared at them, completely blindsided, holding a carrot I was supposed to be chopping for the rabbits. “Uh…”
Chainsaw overheard. He didn’t say a word—just grabbed my hand and dragged me to the hayloft, the highest corner of the old barn. We hid up there, under scratchy hay and stars peeking through wooden slats. We ate apples and giggled, whispering like kids in a pillow fort.
We stayed for days.
Eventually, we ran out of food. And patience. And comfort.
So we fled.
Out of the countryside, across hills and dusty roads, until we landed somewhere absurdly normal: a supermarket. And somehow, we got jobs at the deli counter. Chainsaw was oddly good at slicing ham. I wrapped sandwiches and cracked sarcastic jokes about turkey being the poor man’s roast beef.
At night, after closing, we’d sit by the big fridge door and eat ham slices with our fingers, staring at the ceiling lights like they were stars.
But everything changed the day she showed up.
Becker Denoga.
She didn’t knock. She just arrived at the stables back at Chainsaw’s family farm, all confident and sparkly. I was brushing a horse when she grabbed Chainsaw’s hand and said, “I love you, Chainsaw. I always have. And I want to be with you.”
Chainsaw stammered.
Then he proposed back.
Right there, in front of the horse. In front of me.
I didn’t say a word. I just walked to his house, shut myself in the bathroom, and cried. Quietly, so nobody would hear. I looked at myself in the mirror—eyes red, face puffy—and that’s when she appeared.
Me. From a future I never wanted.
A Southern Belle version of me. Curled hair, pearl necklace, and a lace dress too tight to breathe in. She smiled sadly and whispered, “You’re gonna marry a broke country man someday. Not for love, but because you have nowhere else to go.”
I screamed and threw the hairbrush at the wall. “No. No, I won’t!”
But future-me just faded, leaving behind the scent of magnolias and regret.
The truth was, I didn’t want Chainsaw because his parents thought I should. I didn’t want him because I had to. I wanted him—because we were us.
But it was too late now.
Becker had him.
I had deli ham.
And a bathroom full of tears.
Still, the countryside wasn’t done with me yet. Not really. Not ever...
But That Nightmare Was Screwed Up... And Also Stop Raining Bad Dreams!
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