The quiet blue light of dawn was just beginning to peek through the thin, faded curtains of the wide cabin window.
On the plush brown couch, B shifted softly under her warm blanket. She let out a long, quiet yawn, her small pale arms reaching straight above her head in a slow, lazy stretch. Her floor-length white hair spilled over the cushions, catching the dim morning light.
She rubbed her eyes with her fists, her large, void-black pupils blinking slowly as she looked toward the window.
The sky outside was still dark purple, with only the faintest sliver of gold showing over the distant hills. It was very early in the morning.
"Mmm..." B murmured in her soft, bell-like voice.
She sat up on the edge of the couch, placing her pale feet onto the cool wooden floorboards. As she swung her short legs back and forth, a sudden realization hit her mind.
She felt... amazingly, impossibly rested.
It wasn't just the normal feeling of having a decent night's sleep. Her body felt so completely light, so full of energy, and so deeply refreshed that it felt as if her soul had been completely washed clean in its sleep. She didn't feel a single trace of heavy tiredness anywhere in her limbs.
"Whoa," B whispered, looking down at her small pale hands. "I must have slept straight through the entire night without waking up even once. That couch really is magical."
She stood up, carefully carrying her long white hair in her arm so she wouldn't step on it, and shuffled over to the wooden table by the window to check on her leftover food.
She reached out her hand to unwrap the plastic cover over the old grandmother's apple pie—only to freeze completely solid.
The plastic tray was totally, completely empty.
There wasn't a single chunk of apple, a flake of baked crust, or a drop of sweet cinnamon syrup left inside the plastic container. It looked as if it had been licked entirely clean.
B blinked her void-black eyes, staring at the empty plastic tray for three long seconds.
"Huh?" B scratched her cheek, looking around the quiet, empty room. "Did I get up in the middle of the night and eat the whole rest of the pie?"
She tried to remember. She remembered taking a warm shower, hanging her white dress on the porch railing, scooping out a few handfuls of pie with her bare hands, and then crawling into bed. After that, her memory was a total blank.
"I must have been way hungrier than I thought," B muttered to herself with a small, unbothered shrug. "Guess my brain was so tired I ate the whole pie in my sleep and forgot about it."
Since the pie was gone and her belly was starting to give a tiny, quiet rumble, B turned her sleepy eyes toward the tall wooden shelf stocked with food.
She walked over and scanned the neat rows of canned goods. Sitting on the second shelf, right beside the canned beans and chicken soups, was a small metal can with a bright yellow picture of a fruit stamped on the front.
A can of sliced pineapples in sweet syrup.
"Perfect," B said, picking up the can.
She used the built-in metal ring pull on top to peel back the lid. POP-SSSST.
She carried the opened can over to the wooden table by the window and sat down on a wooden chair. Since her mysterious boss had forgotten to pack forks or spoons inside the cabin, B didn't bother looking for utensils. She simply reached two pale fingers straight into the can, pulled out a thick, juicy ring of yellow pineapple, and popped it into her mouth.
Nom.
The sweet, tangy juice burst over her tongue, cold and delicious.
She devoured the entire can in less than three minutes, eating every single ring with her bare fingers and drinking the sweet syrup straight from the rim until the metal can was completely empty.
When she finally set the empty can down on the table, she looked at her hands.
Her palms, fingers, and even a tiny bit of her chin were sticky with sweet, sugary pineapple juice.
B stared at her sticky fingers, her pale face forming a tiny, disappointed pout.
"Sticky..." B grumbled softly.
She might be an incredibly lazy girl who loved nothing more than sleeping on a couch all day, but she had strict personal standards. She was a lazy bum, but she refused to be a stinky or sticky lazy bum. Feeling sticky sugar on her skin was completely unacceptable.
"Shower time," B declared, standing up from the wooden chair.
She shuffled over to her bundle of clothes, picking out a simple dark black dress and a pair of small matching shorts. She carried them into the plastic-doored bathroom, turned on the warm tap, and stepped under the shower stream.
She washed her small hands carefully, rinsed the sticky syrup off her face, and let the warm water cascade over her long white hair and pale shoulders, enjoying the cozy warmth of the spray.
Once she was completely clean, dry, and smelling fresh, she put on her new black shorts and slid her arms through the soft black dress. The dark color created a striking contrast against her translucent pale skin and snow-white hair, making her look like a cute, delicate dark spirit.
Stepping out of the bathroom, B pulled on her dark leather boots, tying the laces tight.
"Alright," B said, checking the cabin window. The sun was fully up now, filling the graveyard with bright, warm morning light. "Time to do some work."
Her plan for the morning was simple: grab her stiff brush and wooden bucket, go out into the cemetery, and finish scrubbing the moss off the remaining stone graves she hadn't cleaned yesterday.
She walked over to the heavy metal front door, unlocked the latch, and pushed it open.
CREAK.
As she took her very first step out onto the wooden porch, the toe of her dark leather boot kicked against something hard resting right on the floorboards.
THUMP.
B stopped, looking down at her feet.
Sitting right on the porch floor, leaning against the wooden doorframe, was a thick, heavy paper envelope made of crisp brown paper. Written on the front in bold, dark black ink were three simple letters, B.
B's large, void-black pupils widened slightly.
"The paycheck..." B whispered, her child-like voice full of sudden, quiet excitement.
Her mysterious employer had kept their word! The weekly pay envelope had been delivered right to her doorstep while she was asleep!
She quickly crouched down in her black dress, picked up the heavy brown envelope, and tore open the top flap.
She reached inside, pulling out a thick, crisp stack of blue paper bills. She counted them carefully with her pale fingers.
There were ten blue paper notes in total, each one stamped with the bold silver number 50.
"Fifty... one hundred... two hundred... three hundred... four hundred... five hundred!" B counted out loud, her soft voice rising with every number.
A whole 500 Vicks!
B stared at the thick stack of money in her hands, a bright, genuine smile spreading across her pale face.
She remembered her calculations from two days ago. A delicious, hot candied banana cost only 1 Vick. A fresh cream bun from the bakery cost around 3 Vicks. A heavy metal pan cost 8 Vicks.
With 500 Vicks sitting in her hands, plus the 17 Vicks she still had left over from earlier, she was practically rich! She had more than enough money to buy endless sweet pastries, delicious hot meals, fresh fruit juice, and anything else her heart desired!
Her mind instantly flashed to a vivid memory of the bakery down the street in Oakhaven Village—specifically, the soft, golden vanilla-cream buns that burst with sweet, cold cream the moment you bit into them.
Her mouth watered instantly.
B looked back inside her cabin toward her stiff brush and wooden bucket sitting by the door.
Then she looked at the 500 Vicks in her hands.
Then she looked down the long dirt path leading toward the village.
Her scrubbing and sweeping duties vanished from her mind in less than half a second.
"Scrubbing the graves can wait until tomorrow," B declared with total, unwavering conviction. "Cream buns cannot."
She stuffed the thick stack of 500 Vicks safely into the small pocket of her black shorts underneath her dress, making sure it was tucked deep so it wouldn't fall out.
Without even bothering to pick up her broom, the tiny white-haired grave keeper stepped off the cabin porch, turned her back on her work, and marched happily down the dirt trail toward the open iron gates of Blackwood Cemetery.
With 517 Vicks secured in her pocket and a deep craving for sweet vanilla cream bread driving her forward, B set off for Oakhaven Village, ready to enjoy a glorious payday shopping spree.
Author's Note
EliteToeCollector
Thanks for reading!