5/24/3727 - Time Has Been Stopped For: 3 Days - Hi, my name is Claire Chamount from Fieldburr, Georgia. I don't know how much time I have, but I'll write what I can here. I'm only fourteen years old and people are saying that I'm the most dangerous...
And that's how I found out oranges didn't make good perfume.
Claire closed her diary with a satisfied sigh, the entire day's events neatly recorded in several sheets of thin paper. Despite being a hectic Monday—it always was busy in the peach orchards on the first day of the week, she had a great time. That boy from a few farms over, Evan, visited, and they went exploring for hours before he had to go. But not before he gave her a small orange, plucked right from his own tree. She giggled merrily at the thought and pushed back on her wooden work chair, skidding it across the floorboards. Her father even relented from her constant pleadings and gave her allowance a week early. 55 credits!
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Just enough to pay for a creamsicle and maybe even a new necklace from the jewelry store, White Pine Merchandise. However, before she could head off into the marketplace, there were a few chores to attend to. And speaking of which...
"CLAIREEE-" Her father's voice boomed across the orchard, piercing her ears and signaling the start of a laborious work session. Claire jumped to her feet and scrambled for a basket and some heavy leather gloves. Once the main rush of buyers left, she was tasked with picking up leftover pits and trash to ensure the quality of their trees. Finding the equipment strewn beside her bed, she gathered them and bolted out of her room. The dull thud of footsteps followed quickly behind, hurrying to catch up. Her father, quite a busy man, had little patience for tardiness.
Weaving through cramped and cluttered hallways, Claire narrowly avoided knocking over the furniture. Making it to the kitchen relatively unscathed, she briefly greeted her mother and headed for the front door. Then suddenly, her head jerked aside.
Dang, it.
Not long after, a shuddering and involuntary whoop emanated from her mouth. She rolled her eyes and huffed. Then promptly yelped. All the excitements must've set her off again, ruining the peaceful quiet that occupied their house before. Mother noticed and took a curious glance at her daughter; they were in for a noisy afternoon. Setting down her spoon, she smiled softly and brushed her hands off on an apron with a quiet swish of fabric.
"You alright there, Honey?" She asked, knowing full well Claire's mood would sour with another round of tics. They couldn't afford any medicine this year around. The pharmaceutical companies bumped up prices, and none of them were eligible for insurance. It nearly broke the girl's heart when there wasn't a bottle of medication in her birthday presents. Nevertheless, it didn't hurt to ask.
Claire stood, her head staring sullenly at the floor as she cleared her throat far too many times more than necessary. She inched away slowly away towards the front door, her stomach tying itself into tiny knots.
"Of course -Hey!- I'm fine." The basket in her hand swung wildly, almost taking out a bowl of peaches. "Hope, hope- shoot me a rabbit- hope...fully." Taking a deep breath, Claire looked up and gave an Oscar-winning smile.
