I was around 14/15 in this story
I grew up in a small town of 150 people in the middle of nowhere Australia. No service, nearest town was 30 minutes away, and there was nothing but a communal post office made up of lettered pigeon holes, and a pub.
One day, my lil tomboy bumpkin brain had itself a brilliant idea.
I built a sketchy lil bunged up house on stilts, in and around a big tree, in the middle of bush, out of recycled materials I found that had been discarded by other residents of the town.
Am talking sketchy roof metal, rotten or damaged wood, a couple door and window frames, and some metal sheeting I pilfered from the old wheat silo that they’d turned into the donkey tower. (It was a donkey and a camel living there, but fuck the camel I guess)
So I tried to live in it. I actually do not know why my family allowed it to go on as long as it did.
Anyways, I’m thirty now. Survived
Edited for grammar.