I stood in front of my grandpa's cabin, the keys to the front door and hand, and the

engine of my truck rumbling gently behind me. The sun raced towards the ground, throwing

his final rays of light over the forest. I came here to escape the madness of everyday

life, to one wind and let my mind cool off for a month. Working as a game dev during

the pandemic did a number on my mental health, and I needed to recharge my batteries before

plunging back in. Too many impossible deadlines, too much crunch to finish a terrible product,

too much isolation. They eroded my sanity until I couldn't take it anymore. I reached

the front door and tried the keys one by one. Turned out, it was the last I tried, because

of course it would be that one. The door swung aside with the creeks of its rusty hinges,

reading up the cabin's insights to the world for the first time in over two years.

I stepped in, slow and careful, shining the lights of my phone around the sea. A thick

layer of dust covered everything, denoting the properties descent into disuse since my

grandpa's passing. None of his sons or grandkids cared enough to come and check on it, so

it fell into disrepair. No one had even wanted it when the wheel was read out, so it was

passed around until it ended up with me. And, truth be told, I didn't care much for

it either. We were all city dwellers living in New York, so no one was keen to inherit

a dintry cabin out in the wilderness of Ohio. Still, with the arrival of this blasted

pandemic, I was happy to have signed those papers. I spent a few minutes familiarising

myself with the cabin again. It had been more than a decade since the last time I came

out here with my grandpa. He had expanded the structure since then, adding a guestroom

and an actual kitchen. First things first, I went up into the attic to turn on the generator.

Since it hadn't been used in so long, it needed a bit of maintenance before it started

...