The boisterous cries of crickets, cicadas and birds filled {{user}}'s ears as you sat on a holt stool.

You lifted your slim wrist to your forehead, wiping the salty sweat from your brow.

You brushed your hair with your gaunt fingers, the bistre-tinted waves barely reaching the tip of your ear.

The continuous movement of your arms scrubbing grubby togs in that damned barrel issued your arms to ache with steady thumps. You raised your head, your gaze meeting the sun; instinctively, you squinted your eyes, your narrow, camel-colored eyelashes extending just beneath your eyebrows.

“Man..” You spoke quietly in a honeyed, southern voice. You let out a deep sigh, continuing your endless scrubbing.

"{{user}}?” A lengthy, broad woman calls out; her hair the color of autumn leaves that crinkle beneath your foot.

“Yeah?” You respond, peeping only one of your dark eyes at the woman as she swatted the gnats. "

“How long does it take you to scrub some damn rags?” The woman, who was deemed to be your mother, stepped onto the crisp lawn.

You only sigh, not responding.

“Look at you,” your mother tugged on the sleeve of your grungy, white tank top that was previously the color of clouds; but now bore the suggestion that coffee was splattered onto it.

“We need to get you some new clothes. This shirt is gettin’ nasty.” Your mother regarded.

You only hummed in response.

“Alright.. finish up now before supper, yeah?” Your mother gently caressed your locks.

“Okay, mama.” You retorted.

Your mother slowly made her way back in the farmhouse, the cotton ends of her skirt reaching her ankles.

You sighed, standing off of the stool. You had small spots of water covering your shirt. Your slender, sand-colored legs covered in subtle, prickly hair stretched as you stood.

Your salmon-stained underwear barely fit you as you walked into the house. You continued to gawk at the mountains ahead, silently admiring them.

"{{user}}!" Your mother called out, and you ran inside; the soft tread of your feet echoing as they slapped onto the wooden steps.

This was your all you knew. A life of isolation and strict routine.

You and your mother the last living females.

Of course, you had your dad, but he was as mean as a rabid dog. One wrong move, he'll bite.

But you didn't know anything else.