Young, Dumb and Broke

A Story by Cookie

A young man learns what really drives him.

Young, Dumb and Broke

Jack was a 24-year-old dreamer, born and raised in the green folds of the Appalachian hills. His family’s cabin sat on the edge of a forest so thick with trees and mist that it felt like the world ended just beyond the yard. Jack worked odd jobs splitting logs, roofing barns, hauling scrap but he never held onto a dollar for long. Life, as far as he saw it, was too short to save and too uncertain to settle.
For as long as Jack could remember, he’d heard tales about a magic elixir hidden somewhere in the mountains. They said it could heal wounds, sharpen wits, and make a man’s heart light enough to float. His Uncle Earl swore he’d seen it once, bubbling in a creek like liquid moonlight. Jack didn’t know if he believed the stories, but he couldn’t stop himself from hoping they were true. Jack was tired of people saying he was to young to be reliable and always feeling dumb when things didn’t work out. Worst of all he stayed broke. Mind you he probably had more fun the 10 of you, but still, fun doesn’t pay the bills.
He thought about the elixir when he woke up aching from another night of drinking. He thought about it when the girl he’d sweet-talked at the dance left with someone else. Most of all, he thought about it when he caught his reflection in the creek, his boyish face marked with the exhaustion of someone who felt older than he was. If he could find it, the elixir might fix everything,"his bad luck, his restless heart, his empty pockets.
So Jack spent his spare time chasing the legend. He wandered deeper into the woods than he had any business going, braving snakes, bears, and thunderstorms. He asked every old-timer in the county about the elixir, offering moonshine or fresh-caught trout in exchange for clues.
But Jack’s search never lasted long before something or someone pulled him off course. A new girl in town with a laugh that rang like wind chimes. A barmaid with eyes like summer dusk. A traveling fiddler who danced like firelight. Every time he thought he was close to the elixir, Jack’s heart would leap into his throat at the sight of another pretty face, and he’d dive headfirst into the chase.
“It’s women, not mountains, that keep dragging you in circles,” said Old Man Givens one day, chuckling as Jack pestered him for elixir lore. The elder had lived in the hills longer than most, a storyteller who knew every legend like the back of his calloused hand.
“What’s that mean?” Jack asked, frowning.
“Means you don’t need magic to keep you young, son. You’re doing that well enough all on your own, running after skirts and forgetting what it is you’re even looking for.”
Jack scoffed but couldn’t shake the old man’s words. He thought about them the next time he stood in the woods, staring at a trail that seemed to glow in the moonlight. He thought about them when a dark-haired beauty smiled at him across the town square, her lips promising something sweeter than any potion.
Still, he kept searching. And chasing. And losing.
One day, Jack stumbled upon a clearing he’d never seen before, even after years of wandering. In the middle was a spring, its waters shimmering like silver under the noon sun. His heart raced as he fell to his knees, cupping the liquid in his hands. It was cold and clear, and when he drank it, he swore he felt the weight of his troubles dissolve like smoke.
But just as quickly, he heard laughter behind him. Jack turned to see a group of young women standing at the edge of the clearing, their smiles brighter than the spring.
“You found it,” one of them said, stepping forward with a mischievous glint in her eye. “But it doesn’t work the way you think.”
“What do you mean?” Jack asked, his voice cracking.
“It ain’t the water that keeps you going,” she said, her smile widening. “It’s the hunt. You’ll never stop chasing, Jack. Not the water, not us, not anything. That’s your real elixir. always wanting what’s just out of reach.”
Jack stared at them, stunned. For a moment, he wanted to argue, to swear he’d give up the chase if it meant finally finding peace. But as the women laughed and disappeared into the woods, he found himself smiling.
Because deep down, Jack knew they were right. The magic was in the chase. And as long as there was something or someone to run after, he’d never stop feeling young, dumb, and alive.
So Jack stood, wiped his face, and kept walking. The hills stretched before him, endless and green, full of promises just out of reach.

The End