Water

Water, the lifeblood of all. From it springs all of known and unknown life. In this case, it’s unknown. I was living in a bungalow in the 50s. 1550s, might I add. There was nothing but me, living in the year of our lord, in a green nothingness. I might be living in England, or France, or the HRE who even knows. I was born in the rolling hills, the neat forests, the flowing rivers of wherever this is. No human has touched this place besides me and the people who used to be with me, what about that.

Then she was there, in the river. There is no way she floated down that stream, it was nowhere near long enough for that, she had appeared there. I dropped my basket of herb clippings and walked over to her. I pulled her out of the water, at least this way she would die of exposure instead of hypothermia. I gently shook her in the vain hope of waking her. Knowing the signs, no breathing and soaking, the same thing that had taken someone close to me, I turned her over and landed a hard chop on her back. The spluttering and flowing of water from her mouth back to the river told me she was okay.

Let me tell you how hard it is to carry both a basket of herbs and and entire human being back. Not easy at all, that’s how hard. But I laid her down on my bed, which wouldn’t be comfortable for someone who hasn’t slept on a hard wooden frame with stretched animal skin their whole lives, but it’ll do. That spluttering cough was the only proof of life I had received, and since I still had stuff to do, I left.

Hours passed, and I hoped the fresh air would clear my head. The breeze was great, but it wasn’t able to blow away my pervading thoughts of her waking up and destroying my house in a fit of fear. As soon as I had cut my last plant I made a break for my house, and sure enough there she was. She was standing, not belligerently, but with idle curiosity at her new surroundings. I sighed, it had been a while since any form of human contact, it was time to put those rusty skills into practice.

“Hello,” I said, my first word in years. “I’m not a murderer.” Very reassuring. She stood there in puzzlement, before eking out an,

“Okay.” We stood around for too long, until she finally broke the silence, “Who are you?”

“I’m…” I thought a little more about what I…was, “Not sure. It’s been a while since I’ve heard my name.”

“You don’t know your own name?”

“The person who was here with me…who used to live here with me. She went deaf a long time ago and there was no need to hear my name after that.” Another awkward silence, until I was the one who broke it this time, “Who are you?”