Chapter Text
Quiet.
Tumble Town was just…
Quiet.
Hush like the whispers of the wind in the night, but holding the bite of a cold breeze.
Jimmy didn’t know when his once thriving town became muted. It was pitiful to think that the eerie lack of ambiance was all he could think of when the thought of his town came to mind. Though that’s perhaps due to the way the population dwindled over time, making the hushness become something that was merely a lowering of volume instead of immediate deafness.
He’s surprised in himself that it took the last citizens leaving to finally realize his town was desolate. The couple weren’t remarkable nor contributed much to the town, because they lived in the back corner of the inner bowl, but they provided him some indirect comfort. Maybe it was subconscious, but hearing their giggles and hush whispers to each other—their presence alone was enough for him to believe there was still a good reason to stay around.
Though seeing their dried tears and sad expressions, hearing their apologies and best wishes, feeling their warmth as they gave a hug and expressed their love—then watching them leave off in a wagon, off to who knows where. He succumbed to his own lingering thoughts, when their silhouette left his field of vision and the deafening silence finally fell upon him.
He should have known this would happen.
His mind was reeling in a limbo state of not wanting to break down, to keep some dignity for the final members of his community—but the pair leaving was the final cut he truly needed for the structure of his state of mind to break.
Was he truly that poor of a Sheriff for no one to have the decency to rid him of worrying over a missing person? Rarely anyone ever told him they were leaving.
Was he actually just unkind to not have anyone want to stick around? No one really spoke to him or checked up on him as time went on.
Was he really that pitiful of a person for them not to take him seriously? The poorly hidden whispers about the effects of the shrinking potion always met his ears.
He really did try.
He said “hello!” and “good morning!” to everyone to make sure they all felt included. He made small talk with business owners most mornings and checked up on how they were. He played with the children and made sure they were doing well. He checked up on the small medical center to ensure the patients were being visited by at least someone each day. He made sure those without homes were housed somewhere at night, and even planned and started to build homes for them.
He worked countless hours to connect the inner and outer parts of his town. It wasn’t necessarily the longest walk to and from, but he wanted to provide accessibility to all—and he spent days without sunlight simply mining to even get part of the resources needed to complete the railroad.
He gave up so many nights of sleep scrambling around the land, even far outside of it, to ensure the growing lack of supplies became replenished to ensure the citizens didn’t starve. He made sure the vacant jobs were filled to the best of his abilities, by imposing himself under another layer of work to give the citizens what they needed. It wasn’t the best, nothing would be better than having true specialized people in those fields, but he couldn’t leave those slots empty.
He tried—regardless of the curse of his newfound height—to give it his best. He did well. The citizens didn’t openly disrespect him, but he could hear their pitiful whispers, never mocking, but never faithful.
His annoyance was primarily what came with the lack of height, but it never posed issues to his day to day tasks besides that—Though, of course, there were times his lack of strength was an entirely dire issue. He couldn’t forgive himself with each preventable citizen death. He knew he could have stopped the bandits, but it was near impossible with the size difference. He wished he could have provided more to the families besides condolences. He wished he could have offered them more before he noticed they had left—
He would find himself like this on many nights, it wasn’t entirely uncommon anymore with the passage of time. Though the nights, where a citizen died, and he knew he could have saved them, especially those times—he would find himself, in the dark of the night, drunk out of his mind, woozy from losing blood by his own hands—telling himself he would make sure he gets this stupid curse resolved, but then he would be too gone (from the abundance of alcohol? from the lack of blood?) to truly remember to resolve the issue of his height the next time he woke up.
So he did try.
He tried to be an amazing Sheriff to fill in the shoes of the previous and to ensure the citizens thrived in the little town he deemed home. Gave his whole days—his whole life to make sure of it.
Maybe he didn’t know it was futile.
Maybe he was so delusional to think he could run Tumble Town.
Maybe deep down…
…he did know.
He could pretend he really didn’t know. He could pretend he was oblivious but he’s smarter than most give him credit for. He just didn’t want to believe it.
He knew it was useless, fruitless, so, so stupid to bother trying anymore. Useless to continue trying to revive a broken town. Fruitless to give it his all and get nothing back. Stupid to think he could ever make something worthwhile.
And to be quite frank about it—he didn’t really want to try anymore.