I was born to a single mother. It was a shame, really. I never got to see her. She was far too busy foraging and gathering fire wood. As soon as she was able, she abandoned me with my uncle who lived on the north western side of the village. It was there, at his berry farm where I grew up. Uncle Marius was a bright and energetic man. You'd never catch him off his farm. Day in and day out he cared for his precious berries. In my younger years i'd sit around and watch him, eating the delicious berries that he so carefully planted and cared for. The craft of berry farming was intriguing to me. So when I became old enough, I had him teach me how to farm them myself. All through my youth, and teenage years, he taught me the secrets to berry farming. It was enjoyable to me to be out there, working along side my uncle. I remember at one point, when some of our berry crops were dying, uncle had this sort of face. I had never seen this face on his visage before. It was a type of sadness that a mother might carry after losing a child. He told me "Never let your berries become this sad." And like that, his sadness was swept away with determination, and he taught me right then and there, how to save those precious berries.

Life continued. Our village began to grow, and the children from the southern side of town continued to come up north to eat our berries. It was no issue for a time. But soon the population began to grow far too rapidly, and our berries were being demolished far quicker than we could farm them. It was also around this time Uncle began to grow sickly. His old age had started to over take his body. I worked tirelessly along side uncle to try and feed our fellow villagers, but it wasn't enough. My cousins, my younger brothers, sisters, they started to die. There just wasn't enough food to go around. Our village was plagued with death. I remember one day, as I was out watering the berries, my uncle stood there in the sea of purple goodness, completely still. I called out "Uncle! Don't stand around too long, you'll plant yourself!" There was no response. My joke was bad, but certainly not bad enough to warrant no response? I approached my uncle, placing a hand on his shoulder. Within an instant, my uncle collapsed. My eyes widened, and I scremed for help, but no one was around...

My uncle died, as the food shortage came towards an end, so did his life. I'll never forget the cold response I got from my mother as I told her the news. Figures. She had abandoned me from the start, she didn't care for anything that happened to me. To her, i'd be better off dead. When her time came, I did not bat an eye.

I continued to care for the precious berry farm my uncle spent his whole life expanding and improving. I not only doubled, but trippled the size that he left it. I think he'd be proud... However, the joy is gone. I no longer work on that berry farm with a smile, or with a happy, warm feeling. It feels empty, monotonous. I'm feeding children I have never seen before, who even are these people? My cousins, my aunts, my uncles, my sisters, my brothers, where were they? Who were these people they left behind? As time went on, more and more of my family died, leaving behind these hell spawns who cared nothing for my precious berry farm. They only saw it as a quick bite. None of them asked me how to maintain that farm, none of them cared to help it's prolonged survival.

I knew it was my time. I was reaching my late 50's, there was not much time left on my clock, and I had no one to carry on the berry farm legacy, so I left. I only checked back on my village once before now, and there were not many survivors. That berry farm was integral.

As I write this last paragraph, I lay on my death bed, deep in a cold, dark, cave. My life was a simple life, and for a while, it was a happy one. I don't regret spending all that time on the farm, when I could have been hunting, or fishing, or what have you. I learned valuable skills, and I along side my uncle provided our village with food to live for generations. I never had a kid, much less a wife, but that doesn't matter. I am just glad that I got to impact my humble little village in a meaningful way. I think that's what it's all about. Leaving your mark on society. They'll tell the story of our village famon for generations to come.

I am cold now, and I see the light is fading. I believe it is my time.

I look forward to the next advenure.