I looked out over the land. It was nice to have settled down in one place, even if it was far from home. Especially when it did not bring back so many memories, some sad and some happy, but all I wanted to forget, and being here, made it easier. Except I didn't really believe that, and I was ashamed to even think of it, why should I want to forget? Because I felt like I betrayed the ones that I once fought so hard to protect and I want to escape that shame. The thought brings the memories, the most painful ones, and the most recent ones. I decide to go inside my little cottage, to have a cup of tea and to read the book I recently bought from the merchant in town. The cottage was plain, a single square room, with a fireplace in a corner and my bed in the opposite corner. There is a small table in the center of the room and next to the fireplace is a cabinet with all my utensils. A ladder once led to the loft, which is where I store the things that I do not want to remember, so I threw away the ladder, and thatched up the hole, but that did not stop me from remembering they were there. I walk across the room, as I so often do, to my cabinet and pulled out the kettle, a cup, and some tealeaves. I fill the kettle with water and start a fire in the fireplace. Then I set the kettle on a hook over the fire and let it boil. I go to read, books fascinate me, maybe it is because I had never seen one...where I came from, the name makes me cringe with the force of the memories. Maybe that is why I enjoy reading so much, to escape the reality that has become my life, or maybe I would want to escape my world no matter what happened. Regardless, I spend most of my time now, either reading, or grooming my horse. The odd hours that I do not fill with these pursuits is when I tend my garden, and feed my two chickens, or do other odd chores about my home. Moreover, it keeps my mind off things, for a while at least.
The kettle is boiling, so I get up and pick it up off the hanging iron over the fire. I place the kettle on the table and put the leaves in my cup, then let it simmer for a little while before drinking a sip. I pick my book up again, it is a collection of folk tales, and the story I am currently reading is about a young hero, who stands up for what is good, and then destroys evil before vanishing from memory, in the obscurity of time. An image comes to mind; there is a boy, and a man riding a gigantic black horse. The boy is in the man's way, but the man stops and asks the boy a question:
"You must have seen them leave! The woman, and girl on a white horse, which way did they go?"
In answer, the boy draws a sword from a sheath on his back, and a shield that is strapped over it. He stands his ground; ready to oppose this man he has sworn to fight at all costs. The man laughs and declares that the boy can never defeat him. Then the man summons from some unknown place a powerful energy ball, which he throws at the boy, and then everything is black.
I wake up, it is morning now, and I must have fallen asleep. Then the vision of the boy comes back, another memory. Another part of the life I decided I wished to no longer live and yet, it still haunts me, every second of my life. Every now and then, when this happens to me, I have doubts about the choice I made; to leave my home as a boy, to forever forsake a destiny that once ruined my life. Now, I have gotten a second chance, and I will not be a "hero" anymore. I get up off the floor; I must have knocked over my chair when I fainted. And go outside, to the chicken coop. I collect the eggs, as I do every day, and then take them inside. I take two out of the basket, and dump the rest in the larger storage basket at the bottom of the cabinet, I will go to market next week, and I should have enough by then to get a new book. I'd be more careful next time though, to choose something that wouldn't bring more memories back. I get a frying pan and the kettle out of my cabinet, and then start a low fire, so I can fry the eggs, that I have taken out for my breakfast. The kettle I fill with water and set on its hook to boil. I go back to my table but disdain the book that I had been reading last night; I will sell it next week with the eggs. Now though, I go to my bed, under which is my stash of books. Only "citizens" are allowed to own books and if the soldiers were to find them in my home, I would be arrested. The book I choose is called The History of Gonzo. That is where I live now, Gonzo. A land so far from...what was once my home that no one here even knows of its existence. Moreover, because of this distance, I am safe, no one here recognizes me, I am Klink, the wanderer, nothing more. The eggs are done, and not long after the kettle begins to whistle, I repeat the process by which I made my tea last night and then put the eggs on the only plate I own, and begin to eat with the only fork that I own. All through my meal I read, this foreign script, which was another reason I liked it here, no one spoke or wrote in...my native tongue.
After my breakfast is finished, I close my book, and take my plate and pan to the stream not far from the cottage. There I clean them, slowly and methodically. When I am done, I take them back to the cottage and put them back in their places. Now it is time for the day's work. I must weed the garden, and harvest whatever plants are ripe, it is autumn and the plants are beginning to become ripe enough to eat. As everything else, this takes longer for me than it might for others, because I do it slowly and methodically, so that it is done correctly. However, once I am done, I do not worry about having to go back and do it again, because it's already done. I go inside with a few tomatoes and quite a bit of dirt sticking to my clothing. I go to the peg that is next to my bed and pull a clean tunic and leggings from it. I take the dirt clothes off and put the clean ones on. The dirty ones I will clean tonight before bed, but now I must go hunt.