Entry 1 - Pastel Hell
Day 1
Well. This isn’t the worst thing that could have happened to me.
One moment, I’m rushing back from my lunch break to finish a report. Next, I find myself partially submerged in a floating ocean of dense memory-foam clouds.
Definitely odd, but I’ve had worse Tuesdays.
So far, I believe I’ve had what medical professionals would describe as a “complete psychological collapse.” Given my situation, it’s understandable.
And speaking of the situation, I’m still trying to figure out how time works here. This place is a barren cloud wasteland, so there aren’t exactly many ways to tell the time.
It was winter.
Now, it’s a sunny pastel nightmare here on this cloud world.
I cried for around three hours. Maybe four.
Used one of the clouds as a tissue. Not my proudest moment, but it’s dense enough to use as fabric.
I also tried walking in one direction until I accepted that:
1 - This place is very real.
2 - Panicking is a waste of energy. I will likely require it to survive.
Got my priorities straight.
However, I did encounter the second worst thing to happen to me besides winding up here in the first place. I understand if that might be hard to imagine, but it’s true.
The Farming System.
A glowing blue screen that materialized while I was sitting on the cloud. Or, a dune? A cloud dune? Mountain? I don’t know. It was some kind of big lump of white. I just wanted a vantage point, as if that would change anything.
I was debating whether or not I should jump off the edge just to see what would happen, asking myself things like ‘Is there fall damage?’, ‘Will I ever be able to finish binge watching all seasons of The Boys?’.
Instead, I hear a high pitched robot voice.
“Welcome, New Orchard Keeper!”
────────────────────────
[New Assignment]
Primary Quest
Tend to the Cloud Banana Orchard!
Current Objective:
□ Water the Cloud Banana Trees (0/6)
Reward
• 50 EXP
────────────────────────
Lovely. I’m hallucinating.
I tried to ignore it, assuring myself that as long as I convince myself it’s not real, it can’t hurt me. Which clearly didn’t work since it followed me, all while blasting Samsung-like ringtone alerts every thirty seconds like a desperate manager sending me slack reminders.
So, now I have a job. Again.
I guess you can be employed by worse people.
I’m starting this journal because I don’t trust the magical task screen following me around everywhere at any given moment. For all I know—which is admittedly next to nothing—it could disappear tomorrow and leave me stranded.
I, for one, don’t wish to be left in the dark on Planet Cloud Banana with no instructions and with trees that possess some form of emotions.
It’s a shame, though, as the journal was originally supposed to be a gift for my niece. It was just something I saw in passing. A cute pink cover with stickers all over it. Clouds, flowers, rainbows, gems, etc.
I bought it because my sister said Alina spent too much time staring at TikTok.
Meanwhile, I spent twelve hours a day staring at spreadsheets and pretending that counted as a fulfilling adulthood.
If I ever make it back home, I might as well record everything that happens. For now, I’ll settle for figuring out what is even happening anymore.
So far, this “orchard” I’m tasked with caring for consists of six shimmering, iridescent trees growing out of a thick cloudbank near a floating stream. The trees themselves are shaped vaguely normal if you ignore the fact their trunks pulse and ripple slightly when touched.
I am trying very hard to ignore that.
The system was also kind enough to inform me that the trees require “aerial hydration.”
I won’t even try to understand what that means.
And additionally, it noted that everything was being translated to English for my convenience. Which is very thoughtful of it. I duly expressed my gratitude in earnest by asking it ‘What is this? Why am I here?’ In the loudest voice I could manage.
I believe the system only appreciates calm, rational, indoor voices.
But as it turns out, the water that we all know and love doesn’t exist here. Instead, there’s something called ‘condensed atmospheric flow’. Otherwise known as ‘air water’ by the system. That definitely makes me understand things a lot better.
It doesn’t.
This is either bizarre alien science or somebody threw fantasy terminology into a blender and called it a day.
I had no choice but to accept the quest.
The alternative was listening to obnoxious ringtone notifications until I died of thirst, assuming I didn’t jump off the clouds first.
So, I scooped up some of this ‘air water’ into a little silver bucket provided by the system. It shimmered with rainbow colors and felt as heavy as lead.
I already hate it here.
Anyway, I poured the weird air-liquid around the roots just as instructed and the trees reacted immediately. Their branches… moved and they made a long, creaking sigh type of noise. My mind went back to the last time I watched the Wizard of Oz. I fully expected the trees to grow a face and start yelling at me.
Thankfully, I was wrong.
And I would like the record to show I handled this extremely well by backing away and calling it “fucking weird” under my breath.
A few minutes later, something that I could only assume was fruit, began to grow at inhuman speeds.
Cloud bananas are hard to describe. They look as if you tore a handful of fluff out of a pillow and shaped it into a banana. They’re white like milk, with faint pastel pink streaks running between all the fluffy crevices.
Some have faces.
I stared at one for approximately ten seconds, hoping I’d imagined it. I did not. They have little eyes, noses and mouths like cartoon characters.
If I ever leave here, I definitely need to book an appointment for a mental evaluation.
However, the water seemed to appease them judging by the peaceful smile on some of their faces. Initially, I didn’t quite enjoy seeing a fruit with a face, so the one I had been inspecting was slam dunk’d into the nearby cloud river.
The fish ate it immediately.
Which brings me to my next concern.
Aquatic life here is also not normal and abides by different laws of physics.
They swim by flying.
I wish I could make that make sense.
I cannot.
