There's a light. It's vaguely reddish, but still wholesome and pale, like a light should be. It's the last thing I'm aware of before the colors all collide into some horrible kaleidoscope with me trapped inside. I can't move my arms or legs- I can barely feel anything at all. My skin is moist and rubbery. I blink once, twice. The movement is the most difficult thing I've ever done.
Something loud is rushing in my ears, like a gale or a motor or a train headed straight at me. But I can almost detect a voice somewhere in that storm…
"…ear me?"
I think that's what it said. Who's talking? Where are you? I blink a few more times, exerting an incredible amount of effort. Am I on the ground? How did I get there? Where am I?
"Hello?"
The cacophony of noise begins to abate, replaced by the erratic rhythm of my own breathing. Yes. In, out. In, out. That is how we push air through our lungs. Good job!
As soon as I master my breathing, my eyes tingle. One more blink, and colors seep back into their natural boundaries. Things are still swimming, but now I see a face peering into mine, white skin glowing in the aura of a lantern.
It's a woman, I'm pretty sure. She opens her mouth to speak, but I can't hear what she says. In fact, all this focusing has practically exhausted me. If I could just lay back a bit more…
A singular sensation plunges through my barriers of numbness- it's harsh and it stings. The woman has slapped me, and my lids fly up in response.
"Listen," She tells me sternly.
It's not like I have a choice in the matter. Her eyes are like fiery coals, and I notice a single curl of hair fold in towards her face. Huh, funny that the one curl is like that, but the rest of her hair is tied back. I wish I could pull it. That'd be so much fun…
"…need to snap it into place, alright?"
What?
"On the count of three."
What's happening on the count of three?
The face shimmies out of view, and I'm left staring up into darkness again. What did she say, what's goi-
"Three!"
What happened to one and two!
That horrid snapping sound is the last thing I hear before my lingering senses finally leave.
-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-
Something smells funny. It's kind of sweet at first, but there's this moldy tang that follows-
Oh, I know what this smell is! It's mothballs.
I take another whiff for confirmation and draw back coughing. Yep; definitely mothballs.
So, where am I?
I open my eyes one at a time. From the basic position of my body, I acknowledge that I'm lying down. The mothball odor is rising from the bed I occupy (which is lumpy enough to qualify as dough). I'm also sort of afraid to examine the pillow my head rests on, as while it seems to be feather-stuffed, its case is riddled with holes and…well, probably tics.
I shudder. It's really about time I got home.
I'm about to study the rest of my surroundings when I become aware of some muffled voices floating through the air.
I freeze, not daring to move a muscle in case the conversation is interrupted. Their words are just slurred enough that I can't understand them, but there are two definitive voices- one is sharp, female- it sounds vaguely familiar, like something I heard in a dream once…the other is very soft. At first I'm not even sure it's a voice, it sounds as quiet as rustling drapes. Maybe the speaker is hoarse?
Someone says something about a, 'constitution of stone'. They mention the number nineteen, somebody chuckles, something about 'still good'…what's that supposed to mean? This is so frustrating. I hate being left out on a good joke.
But then, without any warning at all, the door of my dark room begins to open.
A spiky ball of nerves drops into my stomach and my pulse quickens. Acting instinctively, I yank the bed's stale covers up and over myself just as lamplight floods the room.
Good! I don't think they know I'm here!
"Hello?"
It's drapes-voice. Still, I swear I've heard this whispery intonation before…when it speaks again, it almost sounds amused.
"Anyone home?"
No! Nope, there's no one here. Ha ha, just your imagination, old man- old man…? How did I-
A tuft of dust lodges itself in my nostril and I sneeze without a second thought.
The old man chuckles, or possibly sighs, it's hard to tell under these stinky blankets. But, uh, he probably already knows I'm sitting here, so…guess there's not much point in hiding anymore.
"I see what she meant…"
I watch from a hole in the fabric as he eases himself into a chair. He smiles, or maybe grimaces.
"…You are a small one, at least by comparison. I won't hurt you, though, don't fear."
Cautiously, I allow the quilts to crumble around me. The room is much lighter now, with a pair of candles burning at the door and a hand candelabrum beside the bed. My eyes wander to my visitor, and now I remember why his voice was so familiar.
His skin is dark and wrinkled, sort of like a person-shaped raisin. But when our gazes meet, I see in his visage great amounts of wisdom and experience. The hairs on my arms stand on end. I flush and look away, embarrassed by my childishness.
"So," he begins, shifting in his chair to achieve a more comfortable position, "you've suffered quite a fall."
His accents have a very calming effect, and the anxiety I felt earlier is diffused a little. He's easy to talk to, this raisin-guy.
"Yeah, that's me," I reply, "I leap out of trees for fun."
He laughs at that, which catches me off guard. At first I think it's because I'm just so funny, but when I focus, it becomes clear he knows something I don't. Well, he's just full of inside jokes- that much has already been established.
The old man's laughter rumbles into a cough. I take the moment to sit up, so we might converse a bit easier.
But at that moment a lasso of fire latches around my ankle and squeezes tight, shooting flames of agony up my veins.
Ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch dear lord I think I'll just die here I don't think legs were intended ever to hurt this much oh god what did I DO to myself
"Yes, well, maybe it's time you retired that hobby."
I suck in my breath between clenched teeth and turn to the old man, my whole face red and burning.
"How bad is it?" I squeak pitieously.
He folds his hands together, and for the first time I notice the cane he's been holding onto.
"Bad," he attests, "the ankle is largely fractured, and a few shards of bone have been removed."
This must be what it feels like to be a sheet of paper.
I didn't know that white was a feeling.
I think I'm really dizzy.
He took out a piece of my BONE? As in inside of my body? BONES.
One of my bones splintered and he had to take it out. In the eighteenth century. Holy crap I'm going to die of infection. I'm going to die. I'm going to die from a swollen ankle.
Aaaaaaaaaaaa…
"The marrow will regenerate, with rest and a proper diet," Who even cares what he's saying anymore? "but Doctor Lyle advises that you not pressure it for at least a week."
A week.
So I can't get out of this bed for a week.
My head hits the pillow forcibly enough to pulverize even the tics.
"'Constitution of stone' indeed." I hear the raisin-man mutter.
Aaaa…aaaaaa…a week? A week, in this lumpy, doughy, insect-ridden pustule of a bed! With no running water, no toilet, no shower, no electricity- nothing? I can't do it!
"I suppose I should introduce myself," He clears his throat, and my head drifts towards him, allotting fifteen-percent of my attention.
"You may call me Achilles."
"Ok," I say, utterly numb. "Achilles."
"And what may I call you?"
I stare at the ceiling. I think I spy a cobweb hanging above me.
"Helen."
"In that case, Helen, I will leave you to rest- however, there is one small thing we must discuss before that."
Oh come on- look, why would you say you're going to leave if you're NOT going to leave?
My eyes slide to the side of my face in order to glare at him, since rotating my skull would be too much work.
But when he presents my digital camera, I'm forced to show a bit more interest.
"This fell out of the tree along with you," Achilles explains, his expression unreadable. "I want to know what it is."
I can't take much more of this… I prepared in advance for this moment, but my mind is so scattered I can't even add two and two. What exactly am I supposed to tell him, the truth?
Well…why not?
"Okay, look," I grunt as I prop myself up by my elbows. I'm careful not to bring my torso vertical- I only lean towards Achilles enough for him to give me one hand on the camera.
"I'm only going to explain this once, so listen good, alright?"
I press the 'on' button. The camera beeps and the scope deploys, the screen welcoming us monotonously. I show Achilles the basic functions of an image recorder, as well as a few of the shots I took for the Homestead commission. The whole ordeal takes about five minutes.
"There, now you know what it is," I say, "happy?"
Achilles' eyes are wide and white, with small pupils in the center like dots of coal on a snowman. He swallows, then trains his stare on me. He looks at me for a long, long time, during which I start to get hungry. Finally he asks:
"Are you…human?"
"…Yes," I answer slowly, drawing out the middle of the word.
"And this invention," He holds up the camera with a trembling hand, "could it be a-a relic of those who came before?"
It takes me a few seconds to get what he's saying. But when I do, I laugh. I laugh pretty hard. Oh man, he thinks I'm like…haha, he thinks I'm like an alien or something- no, no, dude, I'm just from the future, ha ha. That's great…yeah…yeah, he's gonna burn me for witchcraft or something now, I just bet.
"No, no, it's not anything like that," I answer, leaning back into the bed. It's not so uncomfortable anymore, and my leg doesn't hurt that much. In fact, I'm really tired, and I'd like to go to sleep. Sleep would be fantastic right now.
"It is my property, though, so…will you give it back soon?"
Achilles nods mutely, and that's all the affirmation I need.
"Okay then," I yawn and twist in the sheets, nestling my head further into the moldy pillow, "goo'night, see ya in the morning."
I don't think Achilles had even moved from the chair by the time I fell asleep.
But…
One strange thought occurs to me before my lids droop shut completely. And that was…
Did he say Doctor Lyle White?
