The Piglin

1

Michael had a simple life. He lived in a house, in a snowy place. His dad's would visit him, Dad the most. Papa visited less, but he was ways so happy to see Michael.

Papa was funny. He was tall, and had two different eyes just like Michael. Papa would laugh, and give him gifts, and talk to him even if Michael didn't understand the words. Michael liked his Papa.

Dad was different. He was short and laughed a lot. Dad had hooves like Michael. Dad lived in the downstairs house where Michael wasn't allowed, but was always really protective of Michael. Michael liked his Dad.

Time moved slowly. Michael didn't realize it at first. But eventually his bed was a little bit too small. His dad's hadn't visited in a little too long. His chicken was a little too ripped without repairs. That's when he realized.

He was alone.

That's what lead him here. Staring down at the trapdoor that his dad's would normally come up. Wondering what was down there. Would Dad be there? Or Papa? Or maybe the funny fox man and the man with the wings? Carefully, slowly, Michael lifted the door.

"Dad?" He called down in a soft voice, "Papa?"

Michaels only response was silence. The little piglin gripped his chicken tighter. Where were his dad's? Michael needed to find out. So he reached one little hoof down into the first rung of the ladder and froze.

Nothing happened. Michael took another shaking step. He wasn't supposed to be down here. His dad's would be mad. But Michael was scared. He wanted his Dad to hug him, and his Papa to let him play with his tail, and he wanted to be a family again.

Before Michael knew it, his hooves hit another trapdoor. The little piglin looked up to find himself in the first floor of the house. It was dark. The windows shuddered in the wind outside. The door locked shut. Dust settled on long forgotten cobwebs in corners of the room.

But no Dad. He just wanted his Dad. Michael sat down next to the ladder, tears welling in his eyes. He hugged his knees. What should he do? Should he go outside? Outside is dangerous, but he didn't want to be alone.

The choices twisted in Michaels stomach. The want to find his dad's wrestling with his need to stay safe. But if his dad's could survive out there, could he? Maybe he could find his dad's out there. Hidden in the snow and ice of the little town. What else was out there?

Michael slowly stood up, chicken held close to his chest, and approached the door. It was colder down here, and colder by the door. Michael shivered. Whether from the temperature or his own fear, he would never know. As his hoof hovered over the icy lock, Michael deltas though he was entering something big. Something more. A new adventure.

The door creaked open. Light shone through, an odd mix of warm and cold on Michaels face. And how bright it was! The snow so white, the sky so blue! The smell of the sea drifted in, clean and fresh. Michael wanted to see all of it!

He stepped out onto the wood patio. There was a chest next to the door, right in front of some stairs. Michael opened the chest. Inside were three books and a very dead, dried pink tulip.

He picked up a book and opened it to. Almost immediately, Michael started tearing up. His Papa's looping handwriting was neatly written down the pages. He didn't recognize any words except one. Tubbo. His Dad. Papa wrote about Dad.

Michael gathered up the books, tucking them safely away in his chicken. Chicken would keep them safe. Gingerly, he picked up the flower. Dad said it was his favorite. Michael carefully put it in his pocket. He'd give it to Dad when he found him. But he'd have to brave the snow first.