An arranged marriage goes wrong...
This is just a collab between me and Shenka-the-strange
It all started when I was in the kitchen, attempting to reach the coffee pot that was perched on the edge of the work surface. I couldn’t reach it though. I was hardly tall enough to see over the edge. Mum was in the living room with a woman from the village parish. I heard but did not listen, and looking back now, I wish I did, it might of given me a small idea of what they’d force me into. They were talking about a boy named “Michael”. I didn’t know him, but I’d seen him around the small village I call, “home”. His father was shoemaker, we always bought our shoes from there, and I sometimes caught glimpses of him through the door beyond the counter.
Let me tell you more about my village. It’s located southwest off Wales and is a small village. I know everybody and everybody knows me. I’ve always been an adventurer. Unfortunately for me, my village has strict rules and traditions I have to follow.
Rule number 1 - Never leave the Village
Rule number 2 – Never talk to anybody outside of the Village
And lastly, rule number 3 – Get married. Stay married. Have offspring.
It’s not like there’s anywhere to go outside of the Village. We’re on a small-secluded island, and the island is filled with three things. Trees, sheep and grass. Country life sucks.