Chapter Text
“Careful tonight,” Fit said as Phil stepped out of his truck. “There’s been some bear sightings ‘round here.”
Phil chuckled, closing the truck’s door. “Don’t worry, mate. I’ll be fine. I don’t have any other plans except dinner and a hot shower.” He leaned against the open window sill of the truck.
“Sounds good. Casualonas, this weekend?”
“Same as always. See you tomorrow.” Phil stepped away from the window and watched Fit drive off, quickly swallowed by the forest trees.
It would be accurate to say that Phil lived alone in the woods. However, it would be inaccurate to think he was the only one living alone in the woods.
In fact, a great many people lived in woods quite near to Phil. The entire island on which Phil lived was covered in forests and mountains with people interspersed in between it all. For the most, they valued each other’s privacy (at least in land, gossip spread faster than wildfire).
The residents of Quesadilla Island had built up a close-knit community within the small logging island. Phil knew they would help him through whatever, and he would do the same for them.
Fit was a perfect example.
Phil hadn’t had a working car since he was seventeen, yet every day for the past three years Fit would drive him back and forth to work and occasionally to the general store whenever Phil needed. Fit may have teased and complained about it to no end, but Phil knew that he never really minded.
Phil spared a glance towards the old, broken car, a Chevy Chayenne, sitting in the clearing that made up his yard, and briefly entertained the idea of working on it. It was a useless thought though because he couldn’t afford the right parts to fix it.
The car used to belong to his father. Phil's father had loved working on cars.
Phil turned towards his house, an old rundown home that was probably built about thirty years ago and hadn’t had much upkeep since. In fact, it hadn’t had any upkeep at all since Phil's father left him. He had tried his best to maintain the house since he was fifteen, but there was only so much that could be done.
It seemed out of place amongst the mountainside forest, almost as if it was better suited to the suburbs than the mountains, but Phil paid no mind to it as he walked in. He had long since gotten used to things being out of place.
As he walked in, he ducked his head under the door frame and set his hat on the coat hook, where it would be waiting for him in the morning.
It was as dark, empty, and quiet as always. To fill the silence, he turned on the radio and set about making himself dinner.
Phil opened the freezer and pulled out a large, frozen portion of venison and vegetable stew. He took a big pot and filled it up with water and placed it on the stove. Then taking a match, he lit the stove to boil the water. After he chopped up the meat and vegetables and put them in the pot, Phil went to take a shower.
The water was cold and faintly smelled of things Phil didn't want to think about, but Phil didn’t care. He was filthy from his job as a logger, covered in dirt, sweat, and sawdust. The shower got him clean enough to feel decent enough to go back to work and get dirty again. After his shower, Phil ate dinner, finishing the entire pot. The dishes would have to wait for another day.
He stopped in the bathroom to brush his teeth. As he did, Phil allowed himself to take in his reflection.
Standing at over eight feet tall, Phil was considered a giant by most standards. Thankfully the people of the island didn’t care, aside from the occasional joke. For the longest time, Phil had a comrade in his height, Spreen.
He used to be Fit’s roommate and would sometimes take care of Ramón before he ran off one night under the pretense of grabbing a pack of cigarettes. Spreen had been about as tall as Phil, if not taller. Although they hadn’t talked much, they had seen each other often. Phil was close friends with Missa, Spreen’s brother, and for as much as Queasadilla Island had to offer, it was sparse on entertainment and places to hang out so Phil would often run into Spreen.
As he spit out his toothpaste, he looked at his teeth and sighed. They were large and brutish, protruding in weird ways and resembling more shark or dinosaur teeth than anything human. He wished that he that he could fix them but he couldn’t afford it. Fit had dental covered in his job as a janitor, maybe Phil should ask if there were any openings?
Nah.
Then Phil went to bed to get up in the morning and do it all again.
More often than not, this was the routine of Philza Minecraft, only occasionally interrupted by weekends and nights with friends.
But tonight, someone watched as Phil turned out his lights. It was a figure off in the distance, a silhouette against the night sky, a figure almost as tall as the trees. A figure with bear ears.