Tutt… Tutt… Tutt…
The hellish sound blared through the room like a drill to the skull, splitting through the silence long before even the roosters dared to stir. But the one who set it—who should've been shaken awake by now—remained tangled in dreams, dead to the world.
The alarm kept screaming.
BangBang
A second sound joined the torment. Fists pounded the door like war drums, louder and more urgent than the alarm. A full-blown symphony of rage and electronics shook the walls.
"IANNNNNNN!"
A shrill voice sliced through the chaos. Feminine. Furious. It punched the air harder than her fists hit the door.
There was no universe where anyone—living or otherwise—could keep sleeping through that.
Ian snapped awake, disoriented, his limbs stiff and cold. Without shutting off the alarm, he shuffled toward the door like a drunk ghost.
"Yes, yes, I woke up," he mumbled, pulling the door open.
A fist met his cheek.
Bam.
Not heavy, but enough. Caught off guard and still half-asleep, Ian toppled backward and landed on his ass with a thud.
"Turn it off before I punch you in your face," the girl snapped, standing over him with fury carved into every line of her expression. Her eyes were dark pits of exhaustion, rimmed red from sleep stolen night after night.
Still sitting on the floor, Ian cradled his cheek, stunned.
But you already punched me in the face, Ian thought, but kept it to himself as he looked up at her—beautiful, middle-aged, still wearing her black nightgown that showed a little too much skin for first thing in the morning. He didn't flinch. This was routine by now.
"Lucy, I'm—I'm sorry," he muttered, voice hoarse, not from the punch but from the guilt that sat heavier than her knuckles.
Lucy didn't respond right away. Her arms crossed, and she exhaled hard through her nose.
"You keep doing this," she said. "Why set the alarm if you're not gonna get up? What's the point, huh?"
Ian looked up at her and nodded, slow. "You're right."
"Not just me," she went on. "The girl in 2A thought the building was on fire."
"I know."
"Then stop acting like you live alone in a cave."
He nodded again, not flinching, not offended. "I will. I promise."
She didn't answer. Just sighed and walked back down the hall, mumbling something under her breath about sleep being sacred.
He didn't blame Lucy. She had been kind from the start, offering him the small spare room at a price far below market rate when no one else would. After her divorce, she'd been living alone in the large house, a place she'd won in court after her husband's infidelity. With the space now too big for just her, she decided to rent out three rooms, and Ian became one of her tenants.
She also helping him find the right buses routes. Showing him which supermarkets didn't rob you blind. She teach Ian how to live in Australia since she know there no one he know in the country even She didn't owe him anything, but she still helped.
And that meant a lot for someone like him.
Back home—well, what used to be home—there weren't people like Lucy who willing to help him anymore.
He'd come to Australia on a working holiday visa, stuffing everything he could fit into one battered suitcase and leaving the rest behind—photos, the house, even his name, in a way. He was an orphan before he turned nineteen. One car crash on a rainy afternoon stripped away his whole family, and the inheritance left behind had just been enough to get him out.
Ian want to start over from the scratch in the new country.
But starting over was harder than people said in self-help books.
He walked back into the room, finally silencing the alarm that still buzzed on the nightstand like it was mocking him.
Ian yawned as he pulled on his jeans, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. The bruised tinge on his cheek pulsed faintly in the bathroom mirror, a nice souvenir from Lucy's wake-up call. He grabbed a hoodie from the chair, sniffed it—passable—and threw it on.
The kettle wheezed on the counter, but he didn't wait for it to boil. No time. He shoved two pieces of toast into his mouth and grabbed the keys hanging from the hook by the door. The old keychain, a chipped blue kangaroo, clinked as it swung.
Outside, the sky was still the color of wet ash. Dawn hadn't even bothered clocking in yet.
Ian's car sat faithfully in the driveway—a dented, mud-splattered Mazda that groaned every time it turned over but somehow still got him where he needed to be. He tossed his bag into the passenger seat, turned the ignition, and the engine rattled awake like an old man clearing his throat.
He rolled down the window slightly, letting in the morning chill, and pulled out onto the empty road. His eyes flicked left and right as he drove slowly through the dark.
It wasn't drunk drivers he was worried about. No, those he could at least predict. It was kangaroos. Big, bouncy bastards with no sense of timing or physics. They launched themselves into the road like suicidal gymnasts.
"Deadlier than drunk uncles and Asian aunties with P-platers combined," Ian muttered under his breath, gripping the wheel a little tighter.
But luck was on his side—or the kangaroos were busy plotting elsewhere—because he made it to the farm gate without incident.
The sun had started to yawn above the hills as he pulled into the lot. He parked next to a beat-up shed, cut the engine, and stepped out. Gravel crunched under his boots as he made his way to the employee lounge.
Inside, the heaters were humming weakly. Ella, a lean girl with tattoos crawling up her neck like ivy, sat perched on the edge of the couch, scrolling her phone. Next to her was Jay, all buzzcut and biceps, sipping a Red Bull like it was spiritual fuel.
"Mornin', zombie," Ella greeted without looking up.
Jay nodded. "That cheek looks worse. Lucy clock you again?"
Jay knew Lucy well enough—he often dropped by Ian's room on weekends to hang out.
Ian dropped into a sagging armchair. "Deserved it."
They chuckled. Some of the tension melted off Ian's shoulders.
Like him, they'd come from other countries, chasing luck in this new land.
A few minutes later, the door creaked open. Lucas, their supervisor, stepped in, tall and sunburned, always smelling faintly of soil and tobacco. His wide grin made the lines in his face fold like origami.
"There he is. Morning, Ian," Lucas said, patting his shoulder. "How's it hangin', mate?"
Ian gave a tired shrug. "Still hanging, I guess."
Lucas laughed. "That's the spirit."
He flipped open the clipboard tucked under his arm. "Alright, we've got something a little fresh today. Just opened up a new patch—we're planting the new blueberry varieties. You'll be working that section with the others."
Ian nodded. No protest. Not like he had a choice.