The Stewarts Family (and other shenanigans)
Sims player fourteen generation deep into a legacy. Here's their story! Also, art and builds.
I wake up and get to work right away, documenting the rest of what there is to see on last night’s dig site. And then I’m on my way again, towards the temple, trying really hard not to think of the suspicious-sounding roar I just heard.
The evening sets and I hear a scream. It’s a sim, in a battle to the death with a carnivorous plant. I manage to save him, and keep going, my bag heavier with the gifts he gave me as thanks.
By then it’s almost night. I decide to set camp, but not before digging around for potential treasure. Finally, unbothered by the swarm of bees around, I eat my cheese sandwich of a dinner, and crawl into my tent to sleep like a brick.
Another very safe day in the jungle.
I can never get enough of my omiscan adventures. Weird-looking gates, bridges above crevasses, old crashed planes, and dancing around an ancient pedestal so that no trap crushes me when I reach for its treasure.
And of course, some chests to rummage through to find a relic or two. Also, gathering all the avocados I see.
Not only does this allow me no time to let the sadness take over me, this is genuinely what I like doing best.
The weather in the jungle is impossibly steamy. Even for me, who truly enjoys the warmer possible weathers, it feels like I’m cooking. So I don’t linger in my bungalow and head straight to the bar in the town center. If I’m gonna burn, I’ll do it with a fresh drink in hand!
When I exit the jungle, I’m hit by how truly stunning the warm sunlight looks, casting its rays on this place, and I linger a little bit outside, playing chess against myself by the fountain.
Finally one day I wake up, and I feel ready. Ready to clean up the piles of clothes on the floor, ready to finish that honey cake with a smile on my face, ready to work on what I love again. It’s not easy, but I make it through that day, and I know I’ll make it through the next, too.
Before going to bed that night, on a whim, I take a plane ticket to Selvadorada.
Summer rolls around with its first holiday, Music Day. I’m in absolutely no mood to celebrate, but when my entire family rolls around with smiles and hugs, I feel that part of the immense weight lifts off of me. It’s been a little while since I laughed, and it feels good to toast in Gram’s memory. At the end of the day we all feel warmer, and it doesn’t have much to do with either the arrival of summer or the campfire we build.
I don’t sleep well, and my reclaimed bedroom is getting messier by the day. I haven’t even been picking up my laundry off the ground. Let it pile up.
Gram’s last floral arrangement still sits on the living room table, fresh and in bloom. I have no inclination for gardening, no knowledge of how to make another one. I know once this one has wilted, there will be no other one. And when I pull a slice of the honey cake Gram had baked, there’s no meowing at my feet requesting that I “accidentally” drop a bite.
I hate this.
Misery couldn’t strike just once.
Thank you for all these years, Lola. Thank you so much.
People trickle out of the temple, hugging each other and trying to offer the last of their kind words.
My ex-colleague, Evan, tries to go in for what he thinks is a comforting hug. But to me it feels like one in a long list of attempts to get closer to me, to bond, to create something where there is nothing. And this is the worst possible moment.
Mom and the two weird women hang around for a while, but I don’t pay attention to what they say.
And pretty soon, I’m all alone.
The Stewarts Family (and other shenanigans) 