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penny-for-her-thoughtsdv · 13 days ago

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Penny For Her Thoughts

A Kinder Place

Words: 2200

TW: animal abuse, animal death, alcohol mention, vomit, heavy emotions

When outsiders thought of Pelican Town and its history, they often fixated on its rich (and frequently tragic) mining past. But long before miners from ZuZu City and beyond migrated to the then-village, the valley had a legacy of seafaring folk who frequented the area to sell their fresh catches and enjoy the temperate weather. Even in Mr. Mullner��s youth, while he worked in the mines, he would snack on fish products sold by these fishers.

As the town expanded—thirteen buildings erected on the land, plumbing installed under the soil, a singular public parking spot added, and twenty-six permanent residents calling Pelican Town home—the fishing culture remained an integral part of the valley’s identity. Willy wasn’t the only enthusiast sailing the clean waters in search of the season’s bounty. Commercial fishers contracted by Joja occasionally visited, though not as often as trawlers from Ginger Island, drawn by rumors of relics hidden beneath Stardew Valley's depths.

The early mornings in Pelican Town were busier than most people realized, thanks to the frequent fishers. Each ship docking at Willy’s shop carried about twelve crew members, though only three typically disembarked to refuel or sell their catch. By those numbers, Pelican Town arguably saw more foot traffic than any other area in Stardew Valley—except, perhaps, the Calico Desert during festival season.

Not that Penny kept track. She had no interest in statistics as she sat on a washed-up log overlooking the beach every morning. The salty air, the lull of the waves, and the cries of gulls were a welcome reprieve from the stale smell of alcohol and the strained gurgles of hungover vomiting back home.

Still, her mind wandered. If her calculations were correct, Pelican Town gained nine visitors with each docking, three times a day—eighteen additional people setting foot on its shores daily. That surely outnumbered the participants at desert festivals. Penny chewed on the inside of her cheek, trying to picture the numbers in her head but giving up when the variety of festival-goers muddled her train of thought.

Her emerald eyes shifted to the distant blue horizon, idly noting a boat unloading in the distance. Her gaze lingered on the fishers, though she barely registered how quickly they worked that morning.

“Hm.” She hummed softly in thought, lowering her eyes back to the grayscale pages of The Solarion Chronicles: The Caves of Glass. Though she had read the book countless times since she was eight, its evolving lore and characters never failed to captivate her. Detective Daniel Stryfe’s discovery that his companion was secretly an intergalactic Leko always struck her as humorous. How had Stryfe not noticed? The signs were so obvious.

Sam had once told her the Leko species were the best to play in the board game adaptation of the series because their glassy bark-like skin made them nearly impervious to mortal weapons. Penny scoffed at the thought as her finger marked her place in the book. Closing it to give her eyes a rest, she looked up to find the boat now idling offshore, its lines plunging into the sea.

Curious but thankful that none of the fishers had interrupted her reading, Penny stood and brushed sand from her skirt. She decided to visit Mr. Willy. Leaving her book safely on the dock railing, she trudged across the beach, the coarse sand shifting beneath her flats and forcing her to exert more effort than she would have liked.

Reaching the wooden dock, she hesitated at the shop’s door. Just as her fingers brushed the handle, a sharp rustling sound from a trashcan beside the building drew her attention.

The noise was frantic, irregular, and louder than the usual clamor of seagulls scavenging scraps. Penny froze. It didn’t sound like a bird. The rustling stopped abruptly, as if whatever was inside had sensed her presence.

Her heart quickened. Clutching her skirt, she approached the trashcan cautiously, the early morning stillness amplifying every sound. Taking a deep breath, she lifted the lid.

Inside, atop rotting fish and decayed food, lay a small, twitching rat. Its tiny eyes darted around frantically. Penny gasped and, without hesitation, scooped it up into her hands. Her mind raced. She couldn’t leave it there to die. That would be cruel.

Emerald eyes darted to the fishing boat in the distance, her thoughts teetering between accusing the fishers and desperately hoping they weren’t responsible. She swallowed her rising sadness. The rat deserved better.

Cradling the trembling creature, she pushed open the shop door. “Mr. Bateman!” she called, her voice tinged with urgency.

Behind the counter, Willy looked up from weighing a herring. His salt-and-pepper eyebrows rose in surprise. “Aye—”

“Can you help it?” Penny interrupted, holding out the rat.

Willy frowned. “I’m not sure there’s much I can do, lass,” he said gently. Still, he signaled for her to wait as he disappeared into the back. Moments later, he returned with a dusty old box, likely once used for storing photos.

Carefully, Penny placed the rat inside. Willy sighed and scratched his beard. “Sometimes, even the smallest critters just need a bit o’ care. Maybe Marnie’ll know what to do. She’s got a knack for these things.”

Eyes watering, Penny nodded and thanked him before rushing out the door. She passed the log where she had been sitting earlier, the Harper sisters’ home, and Ms. Jodi’s house before reaching Marnie’s farmhouse.

Her focus had engulfed her to the point that she nearly ran face first into Shane, Marnie's nephew, as he turned the corner between his home and Ms. Jodi's.

"Yob-- fuck!" A very tired, very messy and very unsatisfied Shane shouted as the pair nearly collided.

"Oh! I'm sorry--" Penny replied. Then, she was gone.

Although Shane had been quite hungover and a tad late for work he stopped in his path and watched Penny rush to his home. Whenever they crossed paths she would always ask how he was or where he was going. Not this time though. With the lingering thought of her behavior, Shane continued his morning walk to Hell...or rather Joja Mart.

Marnie had no intention of starting her day as early as her nephew, she relished her morning ritual: several cups of coffee brewed slowly while she stood in front of the machine, watching each cup fill with steaming liquid. She sighed, savoring the calm before the inevitable busyness of the day.

The tranquility was interrupted by a knock at the front door. Rolling her eyes, Marnie moved toward it, assuming Shane had forgotten something again. The house was comfortably warm for a late autumn morning, and she didn’t rush. If it was Shane, he could wait.

The second knock was softer, almost timid. That difference prompted her to open the door, revealing Penny standing on the porch, her face tight with unshed tears and a shoebox clutched in her hands.

Without needing an explanation, Marnie stepped aside to let Penny in. “What happened?” she asked in a raspy voice, the result of years of smoking. Guiding Penny to a small workbench behind the counter, she placed a comforting hand on her back.

“I think…” Penny hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “I think it got into something it shouldn’t have.” She placed the box on the table and opened the lid, revealing the still body of the rat.

Years of scavenging scraps on ships had made it larger than the rodents Marnie usually saw scurrying for food around her farm. Its pale body bore a brown blaze running from its small head down its back.

“It was alive when I found it,” Penny whispered, her voice trembling as her gaze remained fixed on the lifeless creature.

“Oh, honey,” Marnie said softly, wrapping her arms around herself. She placed the lid back on the box, then sat beside Penny. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“I really thought I could help it. It couldn’t have been there for long.” Penny’s voice cracked.

Marnie nodded, knowing the truth: rat poison worked over days, not hours. The rat had likely spent its last three days in ignorant bliss, feasting on discarded fish and resting under the warmth of ship decks. There was nothing Penny could have done.

“I know you tried, honey,” Marnie said gently. “And I think the little one knows, too.”

Penny’s face twisted with grief, and Marnie could see how deeply the death of this small creature had affected her. Perhaps it wasn’t just the rat Penny mourned.

“What would you like to do with it?” Marnie asked after a moment of silence.

“I’d like to bury it under the big tree in the meadow,” Penny said. “It’s so beautiful—it deserves that.”

Marnie nodded. “The soil’s still hard from the cold night, but we can wait until the afternoon when it warms up.”

Penny hesitated, then said, “I can leave so you can start your day. I’ll come back later for Jas.”

Marnie shook her head, tying back her thick hair with a band from the counter. “Have some coffee with me, Penny. We can talk about the celebration of life. Jas would probably love to help, too.”

Penny pressed her lips together, emotion welling up in her eyes. The simple kindness in Marnie’s offer felt foreign to her—her mother never interrupted her routine for anything, and Penny couldn’t remember the last time someone made time for her.

The two women moved to the kitchen, leaving the box on the counter. Dust swirled in the golden sunlight streaming through the window. The rat, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant, was finally at peace.

When Jas woke up and heard why Penny was there so early, she simply sat beside her and said, “Flowers are nice."

“They are,” Penny agreed with a faint smile. “Maybe a poppy would suit.”

The hours passed as the three of them collected flowers in the crisp autumn air. Marnie and Penny took turns carrying the small box as they walked toward the big tree in the meadow. The soil had softened by the time they reached their destination.

Penny knelt and began digging a tiny grave while Marnie and Jas helped shape it with sticks. They lined the hole with berry leaves and petals, creating a resting place that felt almost sacred.

“Mom and Dad had pillows,” Jas remarked matter-of-factly. “But I think this will do just fine.”

Penny watched her with quiet fascination. Everyone in town knew about Jas’s tragic loss, but the girl spoke about her parents with an unsettling casualness. Marnie, her expression tinged with sadness, said, “Maybe I’ll get a few feathers from the chickens to make a pillow.”

“Yes, please,” Penny replied with a small smile, watching Marnie head back toward the farmhouse.

In the background, near Marnie's farmhouse, Shane rounded the corner. It was early but not odd for him to be returning home.

Then came Sam Maddox, his brother Vincent trailing behind.

Penny stood from her spot on the ground and quickly wiped the dirt off her skirt.

“Is everything okay?” Penny asked, her concern genuine.

“Mom burned the pie!” Vincent shouted with a laugh.

Sam grinned. “A little bird told us you were in a rush today, so we ditched work.”

Penny’s throat tightened. She glanced at Shane, who had appeared nearby and was avoiding her gaze, a knowing look on his face. “Thank you,” she managed to say.

Word spread quickly. Soon, more townsfolk arrived, bundled against the chill but drawn by curiosity and camaraderie. Emily and Haley brought warmth with their contrasting personalities, Clint followed Emily dutifully, and Gus came toting his hearty laugh.

Jas spoke first. “We should say something.” Her quiet comment broke the silence, prompting Willy to step forward.

“Aye, it was a good rat,” he began. “Ate the bad fruits and kept the flies away.”

“It got to see the world,” Haley added, surprising Penny with her contribution.

“And eat so many rare foods,” Gus said, his voice thick with emotion.

A long quiet fell over the group, each person finding their own to bury. Emotion hung heavy and eyes set downcast on the ground.

"To a kinder place." Maru said, her voice low. She too buried something and sent it to a kinder place; a place it could be set free and forgotten.

The group shared stories, each person reflecting on small, seemingly insignificant losses in their own lives. The burial became more than a goodbye for the rat—it was a farewell to unspoken griefs and forgotten dreams.

Once the crowd dispersed, Penny stayed behind. Alone beneath the tree, she wept—not just for the rat, but for her own innocence, for all she had lost and couldn’t regain.

Yet her tears were not entirely of sorrow. She cried for the kindness of those who had gathered, for the small but meaningful gestures that gave her hope. They hadn’t come out of obligation; they had come because they cared.

As she sat cross-legged before the tiny grave, looking up at the bronzing leaves, Penny thought to herself, “To a kinder place.”

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