Note: This is a Christmas present for my friend Sophie. We have an inside joke about weed farms, so don't be alarmed by the content of this story being used as a gift.
She stalked around the perimeter of the farm, eyes filled with delight as she gazed at the harvest her crop had yielded. It had taken ever so long to build her empire, her land of greenhouses stretching farm and wide. Everybody in town knew her name, for she had conquered the realm of success. Her farm was a miracle.
Yet it was also a burden. She was always surrounded by her eight-foot wall. The law required the entire farm to be enclosed in such a thing. It trapped her and broadcast to the whole world what kind of a person she was. "You really think that this is a helpful investment?" her mother had asked her. "Look at yourself! You're making money for the devil! By God, I wouldn't be surprised if I watched you go to hell!" That had been the last time that her mother had spoken to her.
It was also difficult for relationships. She was young, only twenty-five as she opened her industry. Coming from a well-to-do family, she'd taken out a loan from her parents without their knowledge of the business she was starting. It prospered, of course, but no man wanted to get close to her when they found out the behavior of this business. Her sister stopped dropping in. "I don't want my children near this establishment," she's said. Her father only frowned at her, and when she offered to pay for their meals in town, he refused. "I don't take this kind of money."
She frowned at them. She wanted to protest, "Jesus! It's not like I'm a drug dealer!" But then she looked at the ferny green leaves of her crop and saw the world through their eyes. She might as well have been dishing the plant out to teenagers for the way that people looked at her.
So instead, she spent her money. Her hundreds of thousands. The ladder of management extended downwards. She hired more and more employees, built more and more greenhouses. She upgraded. She bought solar panels and pesticides. She watched it flourish. And the money she didn't spend on the farm, she used to buy mansions. Yachts. Pastries and fine dining. A large window with a chandelier clinging to the ceiling. Lavish. A lonely, lavish life.
After all, that's what you get when you own a weed farm.
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2018 Writing Scrapbook
Short StoryI have already filled my previous writing scrapbook consisting of poetry and short stories from past years. This is a collection of all of my short stories and poetry written over the course of 2018. Contents: 1. Lanterns in the Sky (Sci-Fi) 2. The...
