Meadowbrooke Farms
My name was Sarah. I was a freelance journalist in a city that was actively trying to chew me up and spit me out. My savings were gone, my landlord was a vulture, and my last article had been rejected with a curt, soul-crushing email. Desperation tasted like cheap coffee and stale ramen. It was in that state of quiet, grinding despair that I saw the ad on a forgotten corner of the internet. "AGRICULTURAL WORK. MEADOWBROOKE FARMS. Room, board, and generous stipend provided. No experience necessary. Seeking dedicated individuals for a unique, holistic farming experience." It was vague, probably a scam, maybe even a cult. But "generous stipend" were the two most beautiful words in the English language. I filled out the application, my cynicism warring with a gnawing hope. To my shock, I got a response within an hour. A bus ticket was attached. The bus left tomorrow. The farm was aggressively wholesome. Rolling green hills, a bright red barn, the smell of fresh-cut ha...