Finally! The lovey-dovey couple is gone!
I swear, Yue was glaring at me like I was some sort of annoying cockroach clinging to her husband. Honestly, I'm starting to think she wouldn't have even minded if I evaporated on the spot. But no matter. They're gone now, and I'm left alone in this quaint little apartment to ponder my fate.
I flop dramatically onto the tiny couch.
"Now what?"
Of course, I could sit here and lament my tragic descent, but that won't feed me. Horace and Yue already spent their precious mortal money to keep me from starving. It would be disgraceful to rely on them forever. I am Shiwei, Warden of Time! Surely, I can... contribute to society.
Or maybe?
The thought alone makes me want to laugh and cry.
My gaze shifts to the cursed device Horace gave me before leaving sitting on the table. The glowing rectangle. The 'smartphone,' as Horace called it.
"A phone that is smart," I mutter, narrowing my eyes at it. "Such blasphemy."
Despite its treacherous nature, I must admit it's useful. Horace had the unfortunate duty of explaining the "basics" to me. By basics, I mean he repeatedly told me to 'stop pressing all the buttons at once' and 'no, Shiwei, this is not a magical artifact.'
"Alright, you modern sorcery, show me what you've got," I grumble, poking at the glowing screen. My fingers tap clumsily, and the device flickers with images and words I don't understand. I accidentally open something called 'Maps' and suddenly I'm staring at a blue dot. Am I the dot? Is this dot... spying on me?
"Curse this wretched contraption!" I growl, resisting the urge to hurl it across the room. But no. I must endure. I have descended for a reason.
Still, I persevere. With the phone trembling slightly in my grasp probably fearing my wrath, I press the glowing icon labeled 'Browser.'
Search: How to earn money fast without committing crimes.
Simple enough.
A list pops up. Some suggestions make sense—delivery jobs, dog walking, freelance work. But then there's the other side of the internet.
"Sell an organ for quick cash!"
I blink.
"Huh. Well... that sounds dangerously tempting. But I'm pretty sure I'll die. For sure..."
I swipe away the cursed thought and continue my search. The phone, likely sensing its own impending doom, freezes for a moment.
"Oh, you vile rectangle! Work, or face the consequences!"
Just as I contemplate throwing it against the wall, a knock on the door saves its wretched existence. I fling the door open with a bit too much force, only to find a familiar sight. A paper taped to the neighboring door—big, bold letters spelling out a single word.
WANTED: GARDENER
A gardener.
I squint. Gardener? What in the name of time is that?
Curious, I raise the smartphone to my face and command it like a mighty sorcerer. "Hey, rectangular thing, what in the name of time does a Gardener mean?"
After a brief pause, the phone responds with a list of tasks. Planting, pruning, watering — all things related to caring for greenery.
"That sounds manageable. I fix the very fabric of time itself! Simple plants are nothing to me!" I declare triumphantly.
After all, how hard can it be? Plants grow. I observe. Surely, this requires minimal effort. With newfound purpose, I ring the neighbor's doorbell. The chime echoes, and within moments, an elderly woman answers. Her warm, wrinkled face reminds me of a gentle breeze at sunset—calm and knowing.
"Ah, good afternoon, dear!"
I bow slightly, exuding what little remaining dignity I have.
"Good afternoon, wise elder."
She blinks. I might have overdone it.
"What can I do for you?" she asks with a kind smile.
"I... uh... noticed your sign. I am interested in the gardener position."
"Wonderful!" She beams. "But first, young man, what is your name?"
Young man? This woman is amusing. I am literally eons older than her. But I must not let that slip.
"I am Shiwei," I declare proudly.
She tilts her head.
"Shiwei?"
"Yes, Shiwei." I confirm.
A beat of silence.
She sighs. "No, no. I'm asking for your last name, young man. Not confirming your first."
Oh.
OH.
A last name. What in the name of time is a last name? A name after a name? Can you eat that? Is it some sort of mystical title? Why did no one warn me about these bizarre customs?
I panic, eyes darting wildly. Must... find... inspiration.
There! A small park visible through the street corner. Grass, trees, humans leisurely wasting time—the usual.
"Uh... Park."
The woman raises a brow. "So, Shiwei Park?"
I pause.
Well, what's done is done.
"Yes. Shiwei Park."
She nods, apparently satisfied. "Alright, Mr. Park. Let's see if you have a green thumb!"
Green... thumb? I glance down at my hand. Still pale. Not green. Strange human sayings. But no matter. I have secured employment!
The path of a gardener awaits.
Whatever that entails.
The Time Warden's descent continues. And now, I have a surname. Now... Fear me, mortals! For Shiwei Park is here to... uhhh... water your plants, apparently...
***
Mrs. Henderson stands before me, her wrinkled face glowing with the joy of entrusting her beloved garden to someone responsible—or so she thinks.
"Now, young man," she says cheerfully, though I detect a hint of worry in her voice. "Just take good care of my flowers, alright? They mean the world to me."
I puff out my chest and nod, exuding misplaced confidence. "Fear not, Mrs. Henderson. For I, Shiwei Park—" I'm still not over the fact that I am now apparently a 'Park' "—shall tend to your garden with the utmost care. It will be as simple as turning back time!"
She chuckles. "That's the spirit! I'll be inside if you need anything."
As she disappears into her cozy home, I rub my hands together, surveying the humble garden like a warrior preparing for battle.
"Simple," I mutter under my breath. "I can fix the flow of time. Simple plants are nothing to me."
I start with the weeds. Pathetic creatures. I yank them from the earth with great satisfaction, their root systems no match for my might. Next, I grab the hose, aiming it like a divine instrument of hydration.
Unfortunately, I forget the part where hoses tend to be chaotic monstrosities. The water erupts like an unholy geyser, slapping me directly in the face.
"Blasted serpent!" I roar, struggling to regain control. "Is this how humans wage war against thirst? Barbaric!"
After a humiliating battle, I manage to water the flowers, though I suspect half the water went to drowning what's left of my dignity.
But the real horror comes when I start tending to the soil. As I dig, a demon emerges.
An earthworm.
It wriggles out of the soil like a twisted nightmare. I stumble back, barely restraining a scream that threatens to ruin what little dignity I have left. "By the hands of time, what foul creature—!"
The worm continues its malevolent slithering, innocent yet horrifying. My foot jerks back instinctively. Except... except that foot is now trampling directly onto Mrs. Henderson's prized lilies.
And it was at that moment I knew. I fucked up.
"No one saw," I mutter, scooping the mangled lilies into my trembling hands. "No one knows."
I dig a shallow grave, whispering a brief apology to the flowers. "You shall be remembered."
The rest of my morning is spent cautiously glaring at the ground, daring the worms to challenge me again. I even try to reason with the soil, but the earth offers no apologies.
Eventually, sweat-soaked and exhausted, I collapse onto the garden bench. I pull out the infernal glowing rectangle Horace called a 'smartphone' and glare at it. "You vile product of human sorcery," I growl. "You tricked me! 'Gardening is fun,' it said. 'Gardening is easy,' it said. Lies!"
But I persevere. For what reason? Simple.
"For the pastries," I say with determination. "For the glorious pastries at the cafe!"
Hours pass, and the garden stands in victorious silence. When Mrs. Henderson emerges to inspect my work, I brace myself.
"My, you've done a wonderful job!" she beams.
Foolish mortal. Little does she know of the battle I have endured. Still, I accept her praise with a modest nod.
After receiving my pay, I rush home, shed the evidence of my struggle, and don one of the new outfits Horace and Yue begrudgingly bought me. No longer a dirt-covered disaster, I now appear as a sophisticated man of refined taste. Perfect for indulging in sweet, human delicacies.
The cafe welcomes me like an old friend. The pastries call to me, and I answer. Cakes. Tarts. Juices. My table is a kingdom of sugar and delight. Every bite is divine. I moan dramatically with every forkful, much to the horror of the nearby customers.
"This," I declare with icing smeared across my face, "is the best thing humanity has ever created!"
And like a fool, I continue. I buy more. And more. My hard-earned wages vanish before my very eyes, consumed by the insatiable void of my stomach.
Hours later, I return home, patting my belly with contentment. I swing the door open dramatically, still basking in the lingering euphoria of dessert paradise.
But then it hits me.
I reach into my pocket. Nothing.
No money.
No money means no food.
No food means hunger.
In order to get money, I must work.
And working means more hours of... suffering.
I inhale sharply, the realization crashing down on me like a relentless wave.
"FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!"