Some say that we was chosen, our ancestors, and what they mean is, we're special cuz supposedly, there weren't no one on this world before we got here – no humans, hardly even any animals larger than a tortoise. This world, it was given to us. To our people. No one else. Our folks were from other worlds at one point. And when I say other worlds, I don't mean we got here in no spaceship.

Hundreds of years ago, our pioneers came from alternate realities, if you can believe it. On those worlds, they had all kinds of things – flying cars and tall buildings made of metal. But our folks, we didn't want sich things. The story goes that some fancy scientists called Vitalists took it upon themselves to find a universe that we could call our own. We'd live in peace close to the land in a way that sounds nice on paper, at least.

  A better world it was meant to be, though there are others that dispute sich claims, say all that talk of chosen folks and utopian dreams ain't nothin' more than a pack of lies. This ain't no better world – it's a sickly cousin to them other parallel realities at best, and we ain't special cuz we're here.

 We're cursed.

 I don't praise the gods cuz I'm a supposed chosen one. I don't believe in sich nonsense. But I also don't deny that there's a reason our great-great-however-many-greats-you-wanna-throw-in-there grandparents was brought here to this shriveled up world. It's like they was bein' punished, only they was too dumb to realize it. In fact, from what I've always been told, they thought they was bein' rewarded. A lot of folks still do. Sure, this world has one continent instead of the seven or so most of the known worlds have, but that was all right with them. It's a big continent and what did it matter—one continent or twelve, as long as it was home.

That our pioneers was plunked down on this planet determined to swear off the sophisticated science that made getting' here possible in the first place always strikes me as ironic. As does the fact that them Vitalist scientists fergot to include in our deluxe package most useful animals sich as, oh I don't know, a gods damn horse fer instance. I mean, if they was givin' us this world all special fer the chosen few, cuz we're so great, why would they refuse us the means of makin' a decent go of it here?

Sure, the rich and powerful pioneers got set up with the best pieces of land out in the Regions, them fertile areas that border the coasts. Everyone else? We been hard scramblin' since the day we arrived here, even 'fore the desert started spreadin'. They gone and put a bunch of technology-dependent folks back on the land, and them folks said that was exactly what they wanted, sure. To live simple. But I gotta wonder if they changed their tune after the first season gone by without a lot to show fer it. And without so much as a horse with which to attempt their escape.

Not that there was somewheres to escape to by then....

We got plunked down in this plane, this sorry excuse for a reality, but it seems purdy likely the ones doin' the plunkin' returned to their cushy world and fergot about us. We ain't heard of no off-worlders visitin', at least. They just left and said good riddance on their way out. And what did we know about openin' a way from this world back to theirs? Nothin' it seems, cuz here we sit in the swelterin' sun, turnin' from plum to prune by the bushel.

Chosen ones my ass.

I'm ruminatin' over all this as I put Ro's dinner together—a potato, a couple wilted carrots and a precious square of cheese. Ro accepts my humble offerings, sich as they are, lickin' his plate clean like it's the best thing he ever tasted. I take his plate back up to the house, and eat my own dinner with no one but Frank and a sunset fer companionship. They're quiet, but loyal. I've grown accustomed to the silence since the trip Granddad took to town when supplies ran low. The trip he ain't come back from.

I bring my visitor an old crocheted blanket, cuz it gits mighty cold in the desert after the sun dips away. But he's already asleep, Nessie and Reba curled up next to him, snorin' goat snores and dreamin' goat dreams. Them goats probably give him all the warmth he needs, but I lay the blanket on him anyway 'fore headin' up to bed.

 By the time I get down there in the mornin', Ro is already up, makin' ready with the stuff in his pack. A bunch of thin books are shoved into a side pocket. All of 'em look the same, but I cain't tell fer sure cuz he closes it up 'fore I cain give 'em a proper look. My blanket's neatly folded, restin' on the fence.

"What you doin'?" Poor boy, he nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound of my voice. "I thought I told you to stay off that leg."

 Ro slings his pack onto his shoulder and flashes me with that cocky smile of his. "I thought I'd taken enough of the goat's hospitality. And your own, of course, May."

 "You got somewheres you need to be 'fore the next full moon?" One hand on my hip, the other holdin' onto the milkin' pail, and this glare of mine means business. "Cuz yer not likely to get there on that ankle. You got some healin' to do first."

 Ro's smile falls away but his eyes hold steady. They've been lookin' at me, straight and true since I surprised him by my presence in his hay bale hotel. "Injury or not, May, I think I better keep going."

"And I'm sayin' you cain't, even if you wanna." I scoot a stool out of the corner of the shed and coax Reba over with a bit of grain. "Ain't nothin' but desert fer hundreds of miles south of here, and if I'm not mistaken, that's the direction yer headin'."

 Ro drops his bag onto the ground, his expression turned right serious. "How do you know in what direction I'm heading?"

 "Cuz it's obvious, fool," I give Reba a pat and get to yankin'. A thin stream of warm milky heaven graces the bottom of my bucket. "You came up through the gulch. Now that's to the west, and it's the only thing to the west fer a long ways— A mighty inhospitable place fer travelers since the creek done dried up way back when. So there ain't a good reason to show up here from that direction 'cept if you was forced to go through there cuz you was tryin' to circumvent something. Something you wanted to avoid. Say, a town with people in it. Nearest town's directly north of here, so you ain't goin' there. You could be headed east, I suppose, but there's an officer's camp in that direction and something tells me that's the last place you wanna find yerself anywheres near. That leaves south. Ain't nothin' south, which I'm thinkin' suits you just fine. No people, no nothin'. Perfect place to get lost in. Course, it's a perfect place to die in too."

 "I don't intend to die." He walks 'round to my side of Reba, watchin' me work breakfast out of a scruffy underfed goat, all the while shufflin' weight back and forth 'tween his legs, but mainly onto the one that actually works. There's uncertainty 'tween us again, only this time, it's all on his side. He didn't think I'd figure him out so easy. Makes him rightly nervous.

 "Most people don't intend to die, but they still end up doin' it, don't they?" I keep at my work till Reba's gone run dry. "Next up." I vacate my seat and lead Nessie over fer her turn.

 Ro stands in the one place the eastern light cain't reach. The far corner of the shed hides his face. It's like he don't wanna be seen all of a sudden.

 "I said, 'next up.'" I gesture toward the stool. "You do want breakfast 'fore you go traipsin' off to your certain demise in the great southern wasteland, don't you?"

 "You want me to do that?" He takes a step out of the gloom and his face gets back all its fine features. But he don't sit. Nessie bleats, tosses her head from side to side like, git it over already, why don't you.

 "It's just a gods damn goat, Rordan," I make sure to pronounce his name all proper-like, with both the R's in their places and the O all nice and long. "Come on, don't be shy."

 Nessie's actually a lot cagier than Reba, and I saved her fer him on purpose, cuz ain't nothin' more fulfillin' than watchin' someone who's never done milkin' before have an ornery goat put him in his place. Naturally, Nessie has to go and disappoint me in my petty endeavors. Ro talks real sweet to her, pets her gentle, then sets to milkin'. He must have been studyin' me real hard cuz he's awkward at first, but only at first. It takes him a little long, but he does it. He milks Nessie and she don't try to nip at him not once.

 "Well, well, looks like you made a friend."

 "I hope you're referring to yourself." He's all quiet, bashful even, as he wipes his hands on the front of his trousers.

 I snort. "Hope you don't think you cain win favors with me that easy." Swishin' the bucket 'round, I take account of how much we got. "Not bad."

 Actually, it is bad. The girls don't give much these days. I keep turnin' my mind from the thought that someday, they won't give at all. And then, like Janie and Selma and Beryl, and all the chickens too, I'll have to see them on their way to their final restin' spot—the bottom of Grandma Stebbin's copper soup kettle.

 I pour Ro's share into a jar brought down from the house fer just this occasion, and then I deliver my own lot, straight back into my throat. Ro looks at his breakfast dubiously.

 "Is this all that you—I mean, is this your usual..." He twists the jar in his hands as if the motion's gonna magically fill it up. I cain tell what he's tryin' to avoid askin'. He don't wanna be rude, but the fact that he said anything at all makes him too late fer that particular want.

 "I'm glad to have this." My jaw's set firm all of a sudden. "Folks 'round here appreciate what they got."

 "Sorry." If I'm to judge by the flush of his cheeks, I'd say he really is. He drinks his milk and then his eyes turn back to me. This time, I have to wrestle with myself, not to feel uncomfortable under his stare. What's he see anyway? A girl with wild black curls flyin' out of her head in any direction they please, dressed in her ma's baggy old coveralls, which, try as they might, still cain't hid her scraggly arms and beanpole body. No one eats proper here. That's just the way of it and has been fer a long while. We all look like the wind might tip us over, a fact I never gave much thought to, until this Ro guy comes through and gives me the once over.

 Well it don't matter. He sees what he sees. And from the amount of lookin' he's been doin', he cain't be too repulsed by me.

 "I know I'm quite the desert beauty, but if you don't stop yer gawkin', I'm goin' to have to start chargin' you." I grab Ro's emptied cup back from him and put it in my bucket so I cain take it to the pump fer washin'. "And I ain't sure you've got the kind of payment I'm interested in."

 His smile comes back just enough for his eyes to alight. "Don't be so sure."

A/N: A little backstory, a lot of goat milking. That's life on a parallel reality desert farm for you.  What do you think about the history of May's world?  Why do you believe they were really placed on that world?  Were they really forgotten about?

Thank you for your support!  If you enjoyed this chapter, click on that star and a half pound of grain will be donated to Reba and Nessie in your name. 

Today's chapter is dedicated to Wattpad great, JessicaBFry who also has a new story launching. OF BLOOD AND TEETH AND MAGIC has vampires, genies and magic, oh my! Check it out!