text: “What are we going to do?” Hansel stared at Desderada with wide eyes as they lay on the straw-stuffed mattress. They lay in silence for some while, then she turned away and had one of her coughing fits. She wasn’t having them as often but could still barely manage to get to the outhouse, stopping many times to catch her breath as waves of dizziness overcame her. He had just badly hurt his ankle, and the doctor had told him on no uncertain terms that there would be permanent damage if he put any weight on it in the next three days. They had animals on their farm that depended on them, and they depended on the animals to provide them with food and a livelihood. They couldn’t go a single morning without working, much less three days, and there was no one who could help them. It was a miracle the doctor had even stopped by to check on Desderada when dawn broke and been able to assess Hansel’s injury. “I’ll have to work,” he said. “There’s just no other option. Maybe I’ll have a limp from now on, but we can’t neglect the animals.” Suddenly, a sullen teenage boy wearing what appeared to the 18th century couple to be pajamas appeared out of nowhere. “Who are you?!” Hansel demanded as he and Desderada sat bolt upright. “How did you get in here?” “I’m your descendant from the year 2245. My dad sent me back in time to make me help you with your farm as punishment for something I did at school. Time travel was invented when I was little, unfortunately.” Hansel recovered quickly from this sudden intrusion. “What the hell did you do?” “Well...I got a firework from my friend and did the equivalent of dropping it down an outhouse hole,” said the teenager, whose dad had made him endure the entire 6 hour government time travel orientation on rural 18th century surroundings. Hansel and Desderada discussed this development, considering the possibilities that the rye bread they’d eaten for dinner had been too old and they were hallucinating, that this had to do with witchcraft, or that they were being deceived in some way. Ultimately, they decided to see if he would feed and water the animals before making any judgement. The teenager, whose name was Chauency and probably deserved it, had stood impatiently by through this conversation, shifting from foot to foot. He was trying to think of ways he could activate the time travel machine’s safety mechanism and go home, knowing his dad would check the log and make him go back if he went home voluntarily. The safety mechanism would only send him to his time if he was in any kind of danger, in which case he’d instantly be sent home, or had some kind of medical problem, in which case he’d be sent to a hospital. He couldn’t get out of his punishment. For the next three days, he worked harder than he ever had in his life. The tools of 18th century farming were entirely alien to him - most food was created in sterile factory laboratories in his time - but he gave it his best try, and the farm scraped by with adequate care that required much more effort than the skilled maintenance his ancestors used. He returned home before dark each evening only to attend to his hygiene, pack food for the next day, and get well earned, much looked forward to sleep. At the end of the third day, Hansel slowly hobbled around the farm with a crutch he’d made for an inspection. Curiosity had been eating he and Desderada alive about how things were coming along, considering that they’d spent five minutes explaining to Chauency how to use a shovel on the first day. He was thoroughly impressed that someone who was so incredibly unskilled had managed to basically accomplish all the tasks necessary to keep the farm going. “I’m impressed.” He told Chauency. “Thank you.” Chauency said, with feeling. He felt good about having worked so hard to take care of the farm for his ailing ancestors... but was determined to never invoke the ire of his dad ever again. He had to go to a new school, where he made nice new friends and never broke any rules. He graduated, but instead of going to college, he pitched an idea for a nonprofit to some interested donors and started a sanctuary for rare farm animals such as goats, chickens, and cows. Schools did field trips to his sanctuary frequently, including the school that expelled him. His dad wished he’d picked a punishment that had involved math, but was proud of him nevertheless.