My name is Trey Gnome. I live--or at least I once lived a simple Garden Gnome's life in a small abandoned mill I inherited from my family. I grew up here as a boy, and have fond memories of times before the combine and the antlions. Times when I would sit in the garden all day and keep the daises and the roses company. Sadly, those times are long passed.
Now I live alone in the house just east of the mill. I have little in the way of necessities: food, television, (that Dr. Breen was good TV) and drink. See, I have a little bit of a drinking problem. It's not so bad as my fathers, (He too loved travel, and even had his own commercial success promoting a travel agency in the 00s) but I'm certainly no saint. I find that the constant day to day struggle with the forces at be give me such a headache. The juice helps me calm my nerves.
Just last week I was drove to drink as the looming Citadel in the distance exploded, knocking out my TV, cutting me off from my BreenTV. Since then, it's been nothing but chaos. More explosions, more antlions, more combine, and worse: The resistance soldiers who deliver my juice haven't shown since the first explosion. I fear they may be dead. A pity, as I was beginning to like the young medic lass. She knew how to make a Gnome feel good about himself. I also miss the juice.
Just as I had given up on life, and had taken enough sedatives to kill a cow, a couple of unlikely guests arrived at my home. More later!