She was laying in something wet.
Ignoring the feeling of the wet fabric sticking to her skin, she attempted to open her eyes, only for them to become violated by the harsh rays of sunlight. She groaned, though it came out awkwardly, and that was when she first realized her throat felt like she swallowed handfuls of sand.
Lifting her right arm in an attempt to shield her innocent eyes from the sun, she let out a dreadful squeak. That single movement caused a stabbing pain to erupt over her body, and for her head to begin it's pounding rhythm, like a child their first time playing the drums.
However, she persisted, and managed to force her body to block out the glaring light. Now, being able to open her eyes, she looked down at what she was laying in.
A stream, the kind you'd expect frogs and little tadpoles to thrive in, ran beneath her body. She groaned again, still feeling the sandy texture of her throat, and used her other arm to rub the sleep out of her eyes. This caused another eruption of pains, which she too ignored.
After rubbing away the eye crust, she now focused on where she was, and who she was, because she couldn't recall both. She sat up, surprised at the fact that her body didn't get a new load of pain, and looked down at her body.
She adorned a plaid skirt with a white, dirt-stained bloused tucked into it, ripped stocking, and a pair of mud-caked brown buckle shoes.
She dropped her arm that was keeping the sun away, eyes now adjusted, and looked around the area she awoke in. Beside her was a small bag, and other than that she saw a small field and a lot of trees.
Frowning as she lifted the bag from the grassy area beside the stream, she opened it, and looked at the papers inside. She pulled one out, brows furring as she noticed how old the paper seemed to be, and read the first line.
Dear Allison,
The ponding in her worsened at those words, causing her to gasp as she placed her palm against her forehead. The handwriting was freakishly familiar, and the name caused something to itch in the back of her brain. Taking deep breaths, she waited until the headache subsided, and continued to read.
I wish I had a drachma to see your reaction, sweetheart, but I'm afraid this letter must suffice. Tommy and I are expecting a baby this November. We'd wish that you would return home come the end of summer. Tommy and Aunt Francine send their love, and please remember, t-
The rest of the words had faded over time, though it didn't matter, since the girl had already read all that she needed to know. It was like apart of her brain had been sewed back in, as a rush of memories appeared before her eyes.
She stood in front of a small house, smiling at a pregnant lady sat on a chair on the porch. The woman looked up from her sewing, where she was fixing a hole in a man's shirt, and grinned at her. "Alice, love! You're home."
That was her mother, the woman who wrote her the note. She did have her baby, a boy they named Eddie - or Edward, maybe both. She remembered Eddie too, who was born when she was ten, and she remembered her step-dad, Tommy, who married her mom when she was only a toddler.
But she couldn't remember where she was. Or why she was there.
Delicately placing the letter back into the bag, Alice stood up from the stream, making a face as the water caused her skirt to stick to her body like glue. She then slipped, causing her to let out a loud gasp and attempt to stop her fall by using her hand.
And then there was no pain.
Even the dryness of her throat was cured, the headache stopped is continuous pounds, and the pain in her arms ceased to exist. She felt a rush of energy, and most of all, she felt completely awake.
Alice opened her eyes, not realizing they closed when she began to fall, and looked to where her hand was knuckles deep in the water.
This caused a whole other spew of memories, of her swimming in the ocean with a non-pregnant version of her mother and Tommy, feeling the same energy boost and speaking to the fish below the surface, which Tommy called her extreme imagination, and laughed.
Her at a camp, wielding a sword as she fought a boy a few years older than her, the clinking sounds of their blades meeting, until the boy ultimately won.
Camp Half-Blood, the thought of the place caused a burst of emotions within her. Happiness and fondness, though she also felt nostalgia. Chiron, I have to find Chiron.
She stepped out of the stream, the damp grass, wet with morning dew, causing chunks of mud to fall off of her shoes. She ignored this, and instead focused on trying to figure out where she was, or a way out of there.
Reaching up to her neck, she felt a chain, and followed it down to under her shirt. She pulled on it, and a horse charm came up. She unknowingly smiled, and pulled on it, as if it was something she had done a hundred times.
A screech left her throat when the charm turned into a sword, the same one from her memory. She basically threw the weapon and stepped several steps back, and watched with wide eyes as the sword disappeared and the heaviness of her horse chain was back.
Τυφώνας. Hurricane. That was the name of the sword, though she had no idea why, or why she knew.
Thunder cracked against the sky, and rain began to pour down. This water didn't have the same effect as the water from the stream, instead, it just made her wet.
And somehow, the raindrops felt angry against her skin.