Chapter 6: The Perfect Life (Part 1)

Pete's boots scuffed against the dirt road as he made his way toward the village, his gait slow and uneven from the lingering ache in his back. The sun hung high in the sky, casting long shadows that danced across the uneven path.

As he walked, his eyes wandered, tracing the familiar scenery around him—fields of green, the distant hum of cicadas, and the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze. But something caught his attention, pulling his gaze toward the vineyard path.

He stopped, his brow furrowing as he looked up at the trellises that lined the hill leading to the vineyard. The grapevines were thriving, their verdant leaves glistening in the sunlight, and clusters of flowers with promise of grapes hanging from the stems like jewels.

Pete blinked, "That's… odd," he muttered under his breath.

Just yesterday, those vines had been withered and lifeless, brown leaves clinging weakly to brittle stems. He'd passed the vineyard countless times in recent days and had overheard Gotz himself lamenting their condition. There had been no rain, no fertilizer strong enough to undo the damage, and certainly no time to bring the vineyard back to life. Yet here it was—lush, healthy, and full of promise.

"How the hell did they fix it so fast?" he murmured, his voice tinged with skepticism.

He glanced around, half-expecting Kai to be nearby tending the vines, but the hillside was eerily empty. The vineyard was quiet, save for the occasional chirp of a bird flitting between the rows of grapes.

Pete shifted uneasily, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. There was something off about all of this, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. He debated walking up the hill to investigate but thought better of it. He didn't need another run-in with Gotz or Karen arguing over nonsense.

With a shake of his head, Pete turned back toward the village, trying to dismiss the oddity. "Not my problem," he muttered to himself. But the image of those vines, so impossibly alive, lingered in his mind as he trudged onward.

As Pete stepped into the village, he immediately sensed that something was off—not in a bad way, but in a way that unsettled him all the same. The air buzzed with a kind of energy he hadn't felt since he was a kid. The streets, usually quiet and somber, were alive with chatter and laughter. Villagers passed each other, offering warm greetings, their smiles genuine and infectious.

Pete slowed his steps, his eyes darting from one face to another. "What's going on here?" he thought, his brow furrowing in confusion.

A trio of children—May, Stu, and Kent—darted past him, their joyous shouts ringing through the air as they played some imaginary game. Pete stepped aside just in time to avoid being knocked over, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips despite his confusion.

Further down the street, a small group of villagers stood outside the bakery, chatting like old friends. Pete recognized them immediately—Cliff, who rarely came into town; Harris the mailman, and even Duke, the gruff owner of the bar. It struck him as odd to see them all talking so casually, their voices laced with laughter as though the weight of the past had been lifted overnight.

Pete kept walking, his eyes scanning the scene. "Did I miss something? A festival? Some kind of announcement?" He couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something wasn't right.

Just as he was about to chalk it up to coincidence, Maria appeared, walking briskly down the cobblestone path toward him. She was clutching a stack of books against her chest, her expression serene and cheerful.

Pete tensed. Maria wasn't someone who had ever gone out of her way to talk to him. In fact, in the five years since he'd taken over his grandfather's farm, she'd barely said more than a polite hello. He had come to accept her silence, even expect it. So when she slowed her pace and greeted him with a warm smile and a cheerful, "Good afternoon, Pete! Lovely day, isn't it?" he felt as though he'd stepped into an entirely different world.

"Uh… yeah," he replied awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. He stared after her as she continued on her way, humming a tune under her breath.

Pete stood there for a long moment, the sounds of the cheerful village swirling around him. Something had changed—something profound. It wasn't just the vineyard, it was the people. The very fabric of Flowerbud Village seemed to have shifted, like a broken puzzle pieced back together.

"But why? And why now?" he asked himself.

A knot formed in Pete's stomach as he started toward the flower shop, a strange unease gnawing at the edges of his mind. Whatever was happening, it felt far bigger than him. And for the first time in years, he wasn't sure if that was a comfort or a curse.

As Pete stepped into the flower shop, the soft chime of the bell above the door announced his arrival. The familiar scent of fresh blooms filled the air, but it wasn't the flowers that caught him off guard—it was Lillia's radiant smile as she turned to greet him.

"Oh, Pete! It's so wonderful to see you!" she said warmly.

Pete froze in his tracks, nearly stumbling backward. Lillia had always been polite to other people but him. But this level of warmth was… unusual, even towards other customers. "Uh, hi, Lillia," he managed, his voice edged with uncertainty.

Lillia didn't seem to notice his hesitation. Instead, she reached behind the counter and produced a neatly packed bag of grass seeds, placing it gently on the table. "I've got just what you need," she said, her tone cheerful.

Pete stared at the bag, his brows furrowing. "How… how did you know I needed these?" he asked, his voice laced with suspicion.

Lillia laughed lightly, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. "Oh, Pete, it's not hard to guess. I know how Bessie likes to tear up your pasture. She's a mischievous one, isn't she? So I always keep a bag ready for you."

Pete blinked. The words didn't quite register. "Bessie?" he asked slowly.

Lillia tilted her head, clearly puzzled by his confusion. "Yes, your cow. The brown one? Unless it was Abigail this time. Or Bailey? Hmm, maybe it was Barbara… oh wait, that one's one of your sheep!"

Panic began to rise in Pete's chest. His hands tightened into fists at his sides as his mind raced. He didn't name his animals—he never had. They were just cows and sheep, nothing more. And yet, here was Lillia, rattling off names as if she'd known them personally, like if she had spent her life on his farm.

"Uh… right," Pete muttered, his voice strained. He forced a tight-lipped smile and reached for the bag of seeds. "Thanks, Lillia. I, uh… appreciate it."

"Don't worry about it," she replied with a wave of her hand. "They're on the house. Consider it a little thank-you for all your hard work around here."

Pete barely heard her. His mind was spinning as he clutched the bag tightly and turned to leave. He didn't dare look back as he pushed the door open and stepped outside, the cool air hitting his face like a slap.

Lillia watched him leave with a puzzled expression, her brows knitting together. Something about Pete's behavior felt off—his urgency, his almost panicked expression. She tilted her head slightly, murmuring to herself, "What's gotten into him?" With a small shrug, she dismissed the thought. "Maybe I'll ask Popuri about it later."

Meanwhile, he pressed his back against the door of the flower shop, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession as he tried to steady himself. Everything was different. Not just subtle differences—everything felt off, like the entire world had shifted beneath his feet while he wasn't looking.

His gaze darted across the village, searching for familiarity, but instead, he found unsettling changes in the people he once knew. Their faces, their voices, even their interactions—it was as if they were the same yet entirely different. A creeping sense of dread wrapped around him like a vice. He didn't understand what was happening, but the weight of it pressed down on him, suffocating.

Before he could begin to process it, his body moved on instinct. He bolted, the village blurring past him as he rushed toward the only place that felt remotely stable—his farm. The bag of grass seeds in his grip crinkled under the pressure of his clenched fist. His steps were uneven, his breath ragged, his mind spiraling as he struggled to make sense of the surreal reality he had been thrown into.

The vineyard's lush vines, the villagers' uncharacteristic cheer, Lillia's inexplicable joy and knowledge of names of his animals, who are nameless no less—all of it weighed heavily on him. His thoughts inevitably drifted to the strange dream he'd had while he was unconscious during Rick's experiment, where he saved Popuri's life.

He stopped for a moment to catch his breath. "It doesn't make any sense," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "It was just a dream. A weird, vivid dream, but still just a dream."

Yet, the timing gnawed at him. The dream had felt so real—her weight in his arms, the pain when he hit the ground, the look on her face when she clung to him. And now, everything around him seemed… altered.

"No," Pete said firmly, his voice cutting through the quiet. "Dreams don't change reality. That's impossible."

But even as he tried to convince himself, doubt lingered at the edges of his mind. He wonders what if it wasn't just a dream? What if something truly had happened? Rick's malfunctioning machine came to mind, and Pete scowled. "Great. Now I'm blaming that hunk of junk for messing with my head."

He let out a heavy sigh, kicking at a loose pebble on the road. Maybe he was overthinking it. Maybe it was all just a series of strange coincidences.

But deep down, as he left the now-bustling village behind and neared the familiar fields of his farm, Pete couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something fundamental had shifted—and that it all somehow circled back to that single moment on the mountain.