Lili sat quietly at the edge of the cottage doorway, looking out at the garden and the woods beyond, trying not to glance behind her at the bed where Mama lay unmoving, wrapped in blankets that no longer provided comfort or warmth. The silence inside had grown unbearable, and the air had become heavy and foul, a constant, painful reminder that she was alone.
Days had turned to weeks since Mama had stopped breathing. At first, she'd cried until no tears were left, curled into a small, trembling ball surrounded by gentle hens and watched over by the ever-protective Terminator. Eventually, her tears dried, replaced by stubborn determination. She was still here. Still alive.
And so, Lili waited. She waited for Father.
She didn't truly understand who Father was, or even if he would actually come. But her mother's last whispered words in that strange Norse language—so urgent, so important—lingered in her mind like a powerful spell. Lili didn't understand those words, but she knew they meant something. Mama had always said Father was strong. Surely, he would come looking for her. He had to. And when he did, he would take her far away from this silent, lonely place.
Until then, Lili resolved to stay close. She was afraid that if she wandered away again, Father would arrive and find her gone. That would be too tragic, too painful. She refused to risk it. So, she would wait and survive—no matter how hard it became.
But surviving was not simple.
At first, Lili had no idea what she could eat. Hunger gnawed constantly at her tiny belly, and desperation forced her to experiment. She tried berries, leaves, grasses—anything she could fit into her tiny mouth. Most tasted bitter or sour, making her violently ill. She vomited and shivered, often spending whole days curled weakly on the cottage floor, convinced each time that she was dying. Yet, miraculously, she always recovered, her mysterious inner strength slowly healing her body, leaving her skin clear, her stomach stronger, and even her small teeth healthier than ever.
Gradually, she learned through pain and trial, understanding which mushrooms and berries to avoid, and which tasted good and filled her belly. She learned how to carefully chew on leaves that eased her stomach pains. She drank fresh water from the lake, cupping her tiny hands awkwardly to her lips, spilling most of it but drinking enough to survive.
As time passed, she even found strength to gather stones from the lakeshore, arranging them carefully in a shallow funnel pattern she remembered vaguely from old TV shows. She imagined fish swimming inside, waiting patiently for her to block their escape with a larger stone. It never quite worked—her tiny hands struggled with heavier rocks, and fish darted away whenever she moved clumsily through the water. But she kept trying, driven by stubborn hope.
She thought constantly about tools, about making something—anything—that would help her survive. Sharp stones became her knives, tiny sticks her digging tools, and woven grass became rough ropes. None were perfect, but each was better than nothing.
She even tried making clothes from leaves and grasses, wrapping her small body to protect herself from the increasingly cold air. Her creations fell apart quickly, but she stubbornly tried again and again.
One thing, however, she couldn't do was hurt the chickens. No matter how painful her hunger became, she refused to kill them. They were her friends, her family now. Terminator protected her, always vigilant, and the hens brought her comfort. She'd rather starve than harm them.
Yet nature was cruel. One grey morning, a flash of fur burst from the bushes—a fox, swift and desperate, snatched a hen right before her eyes. Lili cried helplessly as it disappeared, feeling her heart break at losing one of her precious friends. But soon, sorrow turned to empathy. Perhaps the fox had babies, she thought sadly. Perhaps it had no choice, just like her.
Still, she resolved to protect the remaining chickens. Carefully, with tiny shaking hands, she placed sticks and small sharpened twigs around the garden, trying to make it harder for the fox. It wasn't much, but it was something. She whispered softly to the chickens, promising she'd protect them next time.
Loneliness forced her imagination to bloom. She remembered Aragorn from The Lord of the Rings and tried to emulate his quiet strength. She recited lines she barely understood to the chickens, hoping maybe someday they'd talk back. She whispered Rocky's motivational speeches to Terminator, quoting movies like Troy and lines about Spartans from 300, her tiny voice shaking but determined.
Yet, as autumn's golden leaves gave way to the chill of winter, the cottage became unbearable. Her mother's body, once gentle and warm, was now beyond recognition—too painful even to glance at. The air grew unbearable, and she knew she couldn't stay.
So she gathered all the strength she had left, tiny arms trembling as she began carrying sticks, stones, and leaves to the other side of the garden. Piece by piece, she built a small shelter, little more than a pile of sticks and leaves, but enough to shield her tiny body from the cruel winter wind.
And as she sat in her little shelter, huddled with chickens pressed around her for warmth, Lili thought once more about Mama's whispered words. She watched the trees carefully, imagining Father emerging at last, calling her name, carrying her away from all this cold and hunger and loneliness.
She would survive.
She would be strong.
She would wait for Father, no matter how long it took—even if, deep down, some part of her began to suspect that Father might never come at all.
As winter tightened its grip, Lili's tiny shelter felt smaller each night. The cold wind whispered harshly between the sticks and leaves she'd carefully arranged, making her small body tremble as she curled tightly beside Terminator and his softly clucking hens. Her breath formed misty clouds in the chill air, and hunger gnawed painfully at her stomach. Yet her stubborn will refused to surrender.
One morning, as frost sparkled on the garden's brittle leaves, Lili found herself staring longingly at the cottage, her mother's belongings faintly visible inside. She hesitated, guilt pressing against her chest—but survival demanded practicality. She crawled slowly toward the cottage, slipping quietly through the doorway and moving quickly past her mother's covered form.
"I—I'm s-s-sorry, Mama…" she whispered softly, her voice shaking with guilt. "B-but I'm gonna b-borrow these… j-just for now. I'll g-g-give them back when summer comes… I p-promise."
Carefully, she pulled her mother's old woolen dress and cloak toward her, wrapping them tightly around her small body. The heavy cloth felt comforting, filled with memories and warmth. She closed her eyes briefly, breathing deeply, letting herself feel safe for a single fleeting moment before turning back to survival.
As days grew shorter, hunger drove her back toward the lake, determined to finally catch one of those slippery fish. Each day she'd adjusted the stone fish-trap, trying to copy methods she vaguely remembered from her past life's survival shows.
On a particularly chilly morning, something finally changed. Lili sat patiently by the trap, shivering in the early frost, when she saw movement—a large, sluggish fish had entered her makeshift enclosure, confidently swimming circles, oblivious to her small presence.
Excitement surged within her tiny chest. She rushed forward, tiny fingers grasping desperately at the slippery creature—but she failed, splashing into icy water, soaking herself through as the fish slipped easily from her grip.
"D-damn it," she whispered, teeth chattering from the freezing water, frustration stinging tears in her eyes.
But just as hope dimmed, a fierce shriek filled the air. Terminator rushed forward, wings flapping heroically, followed swiftly by his eager hens. With stunning precision, they surrounded the panicked fish, pecking and snapping until it thrashed weakly in the shallow water.
Laughing in astonishment and joy, Lili quickly grabbed the stunned fish with trembling hands, heart swelling with gratitude for her feathered guardians. "Th-thank you, T-Terminator! Th-thank you, l-ladies!"
Back at her shelter, with painstaking effort, Lili carefully built a tiny fire. Rubbing sticks together with tiny, raw hands, she whispered encouragement to herself, quoting Rocky's voice: "It ain't about how hard ya hit—it's about how hard ya can get hit and keep moving forward…"
The words comforted her, driving her hands despite the ache. Finally, a spark caught. Her heart soared as tiny flames crackled to life, warmth spreading gently across her chilled body.
She cleaned the fish awkwardly with a sharp stone, roasting it clumsily over the flame. The scent drew the hens close, and together, girl and chickens shared their precious bounty, savoring each bite.
"You earned it," she told Terminator, feeding him tender pieces. "Y-you're a hero."
With each passing day, Lili observed the forest more closely, watching animals carefully, desperate to learn their secrets. Deer sometimes wandered near, quietly stripping bark from trees. She watched them intently, then tried to mimic them—chewing on bark herself. It tasted bitter and harsh, leaving her mouth dry and her stomach churning, but she forced herself to swallow anyway.
She refused to give up. If deer could survive on bark, so could she—at least sometimes.
She also noticed small rabbits, squirrels, and even foxes moving carefully around the clearing. Lili approached them with childish hope, trying clumsily to speak friendly words she'd once heard politicians use in her old life. She waved tiny arms, smiling nervously and calling out with a high-pitched stutter:
"H-hello! I-I'm your f-friend! Vote L-Lili! I p-promise good life f-for all creatures!"
But the animals fled in confusion or fear, leaving her standing awkwardly alone. Still, she didn't get discouraged. She whispered Rocky's words again, more determined than ever.
Winter grew colder, harsher, but Lili grew stronger in spirit, stubborn like Naruto, unwilling to yield. Each morning, she recited lines from movies to inspire herself, reminding herself she was strong, brave, a survivor.
She watched Terminator and his hens closely, fascinated by their patterns of gathering food, hiding from predators, and working together. She adopted their cautious habits, gathering sticks and small edible plants while keeping constant watch for danger.
One afternoon, smiling gently, she began naming the remaining hens, finding comfort in their companionship:
"Y-you'll be Athena," she told one strong, brave hen. "A-and you're Eowyn, because you're b-brave, too." She paused thoughtfully. "You're Hermione, b-because you're so smart."
The hens clucked softly, seemingly approving their new names.
But as winter deepened, the cottage behind her became unbearable—the air within thick and foul as her mother's body continued to decay. She could no longer return there, not even briefly. Instead, she carefully expanded her tiny shelter, building it stronger each day, piling leaves, branches, and grasses until it offered some relief from the biting cold.
Still, each night, lying curled beside her feathered friends, she gazed hopefully toward the distant forest, waiting patiently for her father's arrival—whoever he was, whatever his name, wherever he might be.
"He's coming," she whispered to Terminator, shivering but determined. "He'll come. H-he'll find me soon…"
She clung fiercely to this hope, even as part of her slowly began to realize, with painful clarity, that no one might ever come looking for her at all.
Time passed slowly in Lili's small forest world, each day feeling longer than the last. Winter now settled deeply, blanketing the cottage and the garden with frost and ice. Yet despite her best efforts, Lili had made little progress with the animals. Each hopeful attempt to befriend them ended in rejection, leaving her feeling lonely and deeply sad.
One cold afternoon, as she watched a small family of deer scatter at her approach yet again, Lili sat down heavily in the snow, sighing deeply. She wondered how Frank had always managed to make friends so easily. Frank had been popular in school—everyone liked him, even the mean kids who had called her names like "Hodor," from that show Game of Thrones. She still felt the sting of that memory.
"Frank was good with p-people," she murmured softly to herself. "H-he even got a w-wife somehow."
The word "wife" rolled gently around her tongue. It sounded nice—like something comforting and warm, even though Lili didn't truly understand what having a wife actually meant. Still, if Frank had a wife, perhaps she could have one too. Maybe a wife would help her make friends in the forest or even help her take care of the chickens. Yes, a wife definitely seemed like a good idea.
And babies. Lili's eyes softened as she remembered Frank's children, small and sweet and kind. They never called her stupid or laughed at her. They had hugged her and smiled, accepting her clumsiness without judgment.
But how exactly Frank had made those babies was something Lili never fully understood. Once, feeling brave, she had asked Frank directly.
"F-Frank," she'd stammered nervously one evening after dinner, "how exactly d-do you and your wife m-make babies?"
Frank had laughed so hard he nearly dropped his plate. "Come on, man. You can't be serious! Don't joke about things like that—it's weird."
Embarrassed, she'd never dared ask again. The memory left her feeling even more confused now. She remembered another time, walking in on Frank's wife breastfeeding their youngest child. The image still lingered vividly: the large, round breasts, gentle hands cradling the baby's tiny head. Why did women's breasts produce milk, but not men's? The whole thing seemed so mysterious and slightly frightening.
Thinking of her own mother's similar large, comforting breasts, she shivered slightly—both from confusion and something deeper she couldn't fully grasp. Breasts were nice, she decided finally, but intimidating in their mysterious power.
"Maybe one day I'll figure it out," she whispered softly, more to herself than anyone else.
As she glanced up at the empty sky above, a new thought crept into her mind, a vague unease she'd felt many times before. Why were there no planes flying overhead? Back in her old life, planes had been everywhere. This empty, silent sky felt wrong. Maybe she was trapped, like those people in The Hunger Games. She remembered that movie vividly—people isolated in an arena, forced to survive without modern comforts, constantly hungry.
Lili sighed dramatically. "I-I guess I'm in m-my own Hunger Games," she muttered. "Always hungry, n-no planes… just l-like the movie."
She remembered Katniss Everdeen and her clever traps, the way she hunted silently, always surviving. Maybe Lili could try something similar. Perhaps the small rabbits could be caught—not by her directly, but by traps she could set. It felt slightly less wrong to imagine the rabbits accidentally meeting their fate instead of her directly causing it.
"I'm n-not really killing them," she reassured herself nervously. "I'm just c-creating a scenario… a-accidents happen, right?"
Remembering another movie—Avatar, with those blue people who used animals they'd hunted to survive—Lili felt slightly better. She would honor any rabbits she caught, thank them sincerely, and never waste their sacrifice.
Determinedly, she stood up, brushing snow from her mother's oversized cloak. She began gathering sticks, carefully recalling vague memories from survival videos she'd watched long ago. She whispered instructions quietly, occasionally stuttering motivational lines from movies to reassure herself.
"It ain't a-about how hard ya hit, it's about h-how hard ya get hit and k-keep moving forward…"
With tiny fingers, trembling with cold and uncertainty, she constructed several crude stick traps. They were messy and fragile, but perhaps effective enough to catch a small, unsuspecting rabbit.
Once the traps were carefully set around the garden's edge, Lili stepped back, watching them proudly. Terminator and the hens gathered curiously, heads tilted.
"W-we'll eat soon, T-Terminator," she promised softly. "I hope. And one d-day I'll have friends, m-maybe even a wife… like Frank."
Terminator eyed her quietly, feathers puffed up protectively against the cold. Lili smiled fondly, imagining Terminator perhaps finding a wife as well. "Maybe you'll have a w-wife too, Terminator," she added encouragingly. "And b-babies. Lots of chicken babies."
The rooster clucked softly, and Lili took it as quiet agreement.
As evening fell, Lili retreated to her small shelter, curling close to her feathered companions. She whispered softly into the darkness, feeling strangely hopeful and determined:
"T-tomorrow… tomorrow we'll c-catch something. And one day, Father w-will come. I-I know he will."
She closed her eyes, imagining Frank's reassuring smile, his easy laughter, and his gentle kindness. Perhaps, someday soon, she'd make friends here too, using whatever mysterious methods Frank had employed. And perhaps she'd finally understand how babies and wives truly worked.
But for now, all she could do was wait and hope—and keep trying, no matter how often she failed.
Just like Rocky had said.