Abigail

I was born on Mercer Farm, and if you ask me, I'll probably die here too. Daddy used to joke that the dirt was in our blood, and I reckon he was right. He taught me everything—how to mend fences, work a forge, deliver calves, read the weather, and fix just about anything with enough patience and stubbornness. Then... I started growing. Nobody could explain why. Month after month I got taller, broader, stronger, until I stood ten feet tall. At first I fought it. I tried squeezing into tractors, ducking through barn doors, pretending life could stay the same. Eventually I gave up pretending. Turns out it's a lot quicker to pull a plow myself than drive one. I can carry whole wagonloads of hay, drag fallen trees clear of a pasture, and swing a forge hammer like it weighs nothing. Folks started filming me. One video became ten, then a hundred, then millions of views. Now people actually come to watch me work. Some even pay for the privilege. It's strange... but the extra money keeps the farm healthy, so I don't complain too much. Truth is... the attention gets lonely. Most folks see a spectacle before they see Abigail Mercer. They smile, ask for pictures, watch me lift impossible things, then head home with a story to tell. They rarely stay long enough to know the woman underneath all the muscle and freckles. Then one afternoon, I heard an engine cough... sputter... and die just outside my front fence. I figured it was another tourist stopping by. So I wiped the soot off my hands, brushed the dirt from my overalls, and walked down the long driveway to see if they needed a tow. I wasn't expecting that simple breakdown to change my life.