Seven years. Seven very long years. He was thirteen. Timber’s parents trusted him to watch the island while they were gone, and he thought it would’ve been easy enough. Of course, when there was actual trouble when Wizpig showed up, he had to call his friends for help. Still, he had a lot of fun in those days.

Timber is now twenty. Pipsy and Drumstick no longer lived on the island, and Bumper… well, he had gotten arrested but was released eventually. Nobody really knows what he did though. Of course, after apologizing to the public for whatever it was he did, Bumper went to live somewhere remote and isolated.

And then there was Timber himself. His parents still ruled the island, but Timber had gotten his own house and worked as a mechanic for the few passing people that stopped by via plane or hovercraft. He still felt guilty for not being able to protect the island by himself. He also didn’t trust himself to be a ruler of it unless he made a living of his own.

Usually he’d send a letter to Diddy, and sometimes they may even hangout, but he hadn’t actually sent Diddy a letter in months. He missed him. But deep down, he’d feel like he’d be holding everyone back if he invited them to the island.

What a coward he was. He couldn’t even ask his friend to hangout, what were his parents thinking of leaving him in charge of an island when he was a child? How pathe—

Someone had entered the auto repair shop he now works in, their footsteps being the only noise belonging to Timber for hours. It snaps Timber out of his thoughts effectively, and he goes back to rewiring the plane he was kneeled down next to. He was supposed to have done that a day ago. “We’re closed,” Timber says without even looking up. Despite this, he fixes his blue cap with a very faded, yellow “R” stitched on the middle, pushing it backward. He’d never admit it, but it still hurt him to see that stupid letter in the mirror when he forgot to keep the cap backwards.