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MidReal Story
The Whiskey Maker's Son
Scenario:2050, a near-future world where technology has reshaped society, but certain areas, like rural Kentucky, remain rooted in tradition. In this world, PTSD is increasingly recognized and treated, though some still struggle with acknowledging its impact. The narrative takes place in Nashville, Tennessee, and the rural countryside of Kentucky
Solstice skye a 25 woman an ex Recon Sniper with a impressive record holding the world record for longest shot , now is struggling with pstd her boyfriend Slate Blackwell, a son of whiskey maker
Solstice Skye is living in Nashville with her Father and Mother
Ashton skye her father thinks doesn't think she has pstd and doesn't support her only saying that dog his just for show but her mother Katherine is
later her Slate shows up after a two months on his family whiskey ranch in the countryside of Kentucky and tells her she welcomed to go back with him and argrees where slate shows her his childhood of horseback riding and state fairs but later Solstice meets Bella a Belgian Malinois service dog that helps her in more ways
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Solstice Skye
female. She is a former Recon Sniper with PTSD,living in Nashville. She is resilient,introspective,and determined. Solstice holds the world record for the longest shot and struggles with PTSD after leaving the military. Her father,Ashton,dismisses her condition,while her mother,Katherine,supports her. Solstice's relationship with Slate Blackwell offers hope and comfort as she navigates her challenges.
Ashton Skye
male. He is Solstice's father and a military veteran. He is skeptical,traditional,and dismissive. Ashton believes Solstice's PTSD diagnosis is exaggerated and thinks she should overcome it easily like he did after his own service. His lack of understanding strains his relationship with Solstice but he remains protective of his family.
Katherine Skye
female. She is Solstice's mother and a supportive figure in her life. She is caring,empathetic,and nurturing. Katherine acknowledges Solstice's PTSD struggles and encourages her to seek help without judgment. Her presence provides comfort to Solstice during difficult times at home.
Solstice Skye
Nashville, 2050
I’m sitting on the back deck of my parents’ house with my service dog, Axel.
He’s lying on the sun-drenched deck with his head on my feet as I tap away on my laptop.
I’ve been living with my mom and dad in Nashville since I left the military six months ago.
I’m trying to recover from PTSD, but it’s proving to be harder than I thought.
My name is Solstice Skye, and I was a Recon Sniper.
In fact, I hold the world record for the longest shot, and my marksmanship skills are unmatched.
But since returning to civilian life, I’ve struggled to sleep at night.
I wake up multiple times with nightmares, and I’m unable to go out in public without having an anxiety attack.
My therapist told me it’s normal, and I’m making good progress for only being six months in.
My father, Ashton, doesn’t believe I have PTSD, or at the very least, he thinks it’s exaggerated.
He thinks I should be able to snap out of it.
That it’s not a big deal because he did it when he came home from his tours.
However, my mother Katherine is a different story.
She believes me and doesn’t make me feel like a malinger.
My therapist also believes me, which is why he prescribed me sleep aids and anxiety meds.
But today has been a good day.
I stare at my phone, trying to decide whether or not to send a message.
This morning’s panic attack in the grocery store still has my hands trembling.
Axel nudges my arm with his snout, sensing I’m upset.
I look out through the sliding glass door and hear Dad’s voice coming from the kitchen.
He’s yelling at Mom about coddling me and how I need to be stronger.
Dad’s always been hard on me, but now that I’m back, he’s worse than ever.
Mom’s voice is softer, but she fires back that I’m her daughter and she’ll support me no matter what Dad says.
I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and type out a text to my therapist requesting an emergency session for this afternoon.
My thumb hovers over the send button as Axel whines and presses his weight against my leg.
The pressure of his body against mine helps ground me.
"Why can't you just understand that she's not like you, Ashton?" Katherine's voice carried through the open door, firm yet pleading.
"Because I know what it's like, Katherine! I went through hell and back, and I didn't need anyone holding my hand," Ashton retorted, frustration lacing his words.
"That's exactly the problem, Ashton. You never let anyone help you, and look where it got us," she replied, her voice cracking slightly.
I can hear the sadness in her voice, but I'm too scared to go inside and intervene.
My hands are shaking, and I'm not sure if I can handle Dad's anger right now.
I delete the message on my phone and start again.
This time, it's a short message asking for an emergency session today.
I explain what happened at the grocery store this morning in short, clinical sentences.
I try not to let my emotions show in the message, but it's hard when Dad's voice is growing louder and more aggressive.
"She needs to be stronger," he growled.
"I'm trying to help her, Ashton," Mom said, her voice strained with worry.
"You're babying her, Katherine. She needs to toughen up."
My finger hovered over the send button again as I heard a loud crash from inside the house.
It sounded like one of the kitchen cabinets had been slammed shut.
I hit send and stand up from my deck chair, Axel rising with me.
Through the sliding glass door, I can see Dad's back turned to me as he continues arguing with Mom in the kitchen.
My hands clench into fists as I step toward the door, combat boots silent on the wooden deck.
The familiar weight of Axel pressing against my leg steadies me as I reach for the handle.
Mom notices me first, her eyes widening as I enter.
The kitchen falls silent except for the hum of the refrigerator.
Dad turns slowly, his jaw set in that stubborn way I recognize from my own reflection.
"Is this how you think strength looks, Dad?" I ask, my voice steady despite the storm inside me.
His eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn't respond immediately.
Mom steps forward, her hand reaching for mine, "We all need help sometimes, Ashton. Even you."
My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I ignore it as I stare at my dad.
Mom still holds my hand, her touch a reminder of the fragile peace between us.
Axel leans against my leg, his body a physical anchor to reality.
I see Dad's eyes flicker to Axel and then back to me.
"Solstice, you need to stop hiding behind that dog," he says, his voice gruff and disapproving.
"It's not just for show, Dad," I reply, my voice firm yet trembling slightly.
"It helps me."
He scoffs.
"That dog is nothing but a tool. It doesn't make you strong."
Mom clears her throat, breaking the tension between us.
"Solstice has a point, Ashton. Maybe we should listen to her more."
Dad looks at Mom, his face unreadable.
Then he turns back to me and says, "I'll be in the garage."
He walks out of the kitchen without another word, leaving Mom and me in an uncomfortable silence.
The phone buzzes again, and this time I pull it out of my pocket and glance at the screen.
It's Slate, my boyfriend who lives two hours away in rural Kentucky.
I step back outside onto the deck before answering the call.
"Slate?"
I say into the phone as I walk over to the railing overlooking the backyard. "Hey baby girl," he replies in that deep drawl I love so much.
"What's going on?"
"Not much," I say with a sigh as I watch a cardinal hop from branch to branch in the backyard tree.
"How about you? How's work at the distillery?"
He chuckles.
"It's going. Just trying to get everything ready for bottling next week. Dad wants to start selling our new bourbon at the state fair next month."
"That sounds like a lot of work," I say absently as I watch another bird land on the railing next to me.
"Yeah. We're always busy around here. But we're getting there."
His voice is calm and soothing over the phone, a stark contrast to the tension still lingering in my body from Dad's yelling this morning.
"Slate, can I ask you something?" he pauses for a moment before answering.
"Anything you want, baby girl."
"How do you make bourbon?"
I ask, genuinely curious about the process.
He laughs again on the other end of the line.
"Well, it's a bit of an art and science," he chuckles softly.
"First, we start with the mash—corn, rye, and barley—and let it ferment."
"Then we distill it and age it in charred oak barrels for that smooth flavor."
I grip the phone a little tighter as I listen to Slate's words.
I can hear the creek behind my parents' house burbling in the background, and Axel settles down at my feet.
"Before we can make the mash, we have to test the corn for quality. We grind it into meal so we can mix it with limestone-filtered Kentucky water in these massive steel tanks."
He pauses for a second, and I can hear the sound of machinery humming in the background.
"Then we heat it up to 180 degrees Fahrenheit to get the enzymes going. After that, we let it sit for a few days to ferment."
I close my eyes as I picture the mash sitting in a warm room, slowly turning into something sweet and delicious.
"We have to stir it every day to make sure everything is fermenting evenly," Slate continues.
"It smells amazing in here when it's fermenting. It's like sugar and fruit all mixed together."
The tension in my shoulders starts to ease slightly as Slate walks me through each careful step of the bourbon-making process.
It's obvious he loves his job, and that love is infectious. "After fermentation, we distill it. Then we age it in charred oak barrels. That's where it gets its color and flavor. The longer it ages, the smoother it gets."
I nod even though I know he can't see me.
"Then we bottle it up and ship it out."
There's a loud backfire from a motorcycle somewhere nearby, and I jump slightly, almost dropping my phone.
Axel growls softly beside me, sensing my unease.
"Everything okay over there?" asks Slate, concern evident in his voice.
"Yeah, sorry about that," I say with a laugh.
"There must be some bikers driving by."
"No worries. So what else do you want to know about making bourbon?"
I smile at his enthusiasm.
"Well, what happens when you're not making bourbon? What do you do?"
"I help out on the farm," he says easily.
"We have a big ranch with horses, cattle, and crops. We grow most of what we need for the distillery right here on the ranch."
"That sounds amazing," I say wistfully.
"I've always wanted to live on a farm."
"You're welcome anytime," he says softly.
"Thanks, Slate," I reply, feeling a warmth spread through me as I hang up, knowing that change begins with a single step.
I sit back down in my deck chair, still shaken from the morning's events.
Axel curls up beside me, and I stroke his fur as I try to calm down.
After a few minutes of silence, I decide to take Slate up on his invitation.
I dial his number again, and he answers on the first ring.
"Hey baby girl," he says, his voice warm and comforting.
"Hey," I say softly.
"I wanted to talk to you about something."
"Anything," he replies, his voice full of concern.
"I had a fight with my dad this morning. He doesn't think I have P#D, and he doesn't want me to have A#l."
I take a deep breath and try to calm down.
Slate listens patiently as I tell him everything that happened at the grocery store this morning.
When I'm finished, he's s##t for a moment before s###g.
"I'm sorry, Solstice. That sounds awful."
"It was," I say quietly.
"But it made me realize that I need to make some changes. I want to c#e live with you in Kentucky."
There's a pause on the other end of the line, and for a moment, I wonder if Slate is going to turn me down.
But then he speaks up.
"Solstice, you're welcome anytime. But are you sure you want to leave your parents' house?"
"Yes," I say firmly.
"I can't keep living like this. It's not good for me."
"Okay," Slate says softly.
"I'll start making arrangements. When do you want to come?"
"As soon as possible," I reply, relief washing over me.
"Okay. We'll figure it out."
We spend the next few minutes talking about logistics: how I'll get to Kentucky, where I'll stay once I'm there, and what kind of help I'll need once I'm settled in. As we talk, Axel shifts beside me and nudges my hand with his snout.
I stroke his fur absentmindedly as Slate continues talking about the ranch and all the things we can do together once I'm there.
I feel a flicker of hope rising inside me, and for the first time in weeks, I feel like maybe things are going to be okay after all.
When we finally hang up, I stand up from my deck chair and walk back inside the house.
I pack a small bag with my essentials: clothes, toiletries, and my medication.
As soon as Slate picks me up tomorrow morning, we'll head back to his family's ranch in rural Kentucky.
I zip my suitcase closed and double-check the contents one last time.
Axel lies on the bed beside me, his head resting on my lap as I sit down to double-check my list.
Clothes: check.
Toiletries: check.
Laptop: check.
Medication: check.
Axel's food and toys: check.
Service dog vest: pause.
I stare at the vest for a moment, remembering Dad's h##h words earlier today.
But then I shake my head and tuck it into my bag.
I can hear Mom in the kitchen, talking to someone on the phone.
She's probably updating them about my decision to move to Kentucky with Slate.
I take a deep breath, fold up my list, and tuck it into my bag before zipping it closed.
I take a deep breath and pull out a piece of paper from my bag.
I'll leave a note for Mom and Dad, explaining my decision and thanking them for their support.
I glance over at Axel, who's watching me with big brown eyes.
My hand shakes slightly as I write, but I focus on the words instead of the fear that's still swirling inside me.
Dear Mom and Dad,
I'm sorry to do this in a note, but I don't want to fight again.
I've decided to move to Kentucky with Slate.
I think it's best for me right now.
I'll be in touch soon.
Love, Solstice
I fold the paper into an envelope and seal it before placing it on the kitchen table where they'll see it in the morning.
I grab Axel's leash and take a deep breath before walking out of my room.
I can hear Mom on the phone in the living room, but she doesn't notice me as I head toward the front door.
I pause with my hand on the doorknob, feeling the weight of my decision settle onto my shoulders.
Axel nudges my leg, reminding me that he's here to support me too.
I glance back at the kitchen table, where my goodbye note is sitting, before opening the door and stepping out into the early morning air.
The drive to Kentucky was long, but Slate made it more bearable by bringing his guitar and singing silly songs to keep us both awake.
Axel slept in the back seat most of the way, but when we stopped at rest stops, he would bound out of the car and stretch his legs. It's late afternoon now, and we're almost to Slate's family ranch in rural Kentucky.
We pass through a small town and then out into open country again, where there are fields of corn and tobacco stretching as far as I can see.
As we turn down a long driveway lined with oak trees, I can feel a sense of peace wash over me.
This is exactly what I needed: to get away from the stress and noise of city life and find some quiet.
The driveway opens up to a large farmhouse with a wide porch and a swing hanging from one of the rafters.
Slate parks next to a large barn that looks like it's been there for generations.
I climb out of the car and stretch my arms overhead, feeling a sense of freedom that I haven't had in years.
"Welcome home," Slate says with a grin, pulling my suitcase out of the trunk. I nod and smile back at him as I take my bag from him.
The house is quiet when we walk inside, but I hear voices coming from outside on the porch.
"Come on," Slate says, gesturing for me to follow him.
I drop my bag on the porch step and follow Slate out onto the lawn, where two people are waiting for us.
They're sitting on lawn chairs beneath a tree that's offering some shade from the sun beating down on us.
When they see us walking up, they stand up to greet us.
The man has a bushy beard that reaches down to his chest, and he's wearing overalls like a farmer.
The woman has curly brown hair and a warm smile that makes me feel at ease right away.
"Welcome to the family," she says, and in that moment, I know I've found my place.
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