July 13th, 2003
Yorkshire England, UK
For the first few minutes that was all the girl could perceive. Then the wind, the heat of the sun, the scratch of the bramble she lay in, and finally, pain. So much pain. She sat up slowly and gazed out over her surroundings. Squares of green and brown sprawled out before her, walled with stone and endless sky and for a long while she simply watched the grass move in waves with the wind, her mind empty of thought save for the barest of them.
The girl hesitantly pulled herself from the scrub, fell, then succeeded the second time. The vaguest of memories offered her what information it could as she surveyed the space around her.
'Field. This is a field. Bushes. Grass.'
She looked at her hands, then at her clothes, a white t-shirt and striped pajama pants. They did not feel familiar to her, but nothing did, and the fact that they were now torn and stained with blood somehow didn't concern her. Even the sense of urgency that flitted at the edges of her mind was too far from her reach. Like a dream, it was simply how it was.
It gradually occurred to her that standing in a field was not achieving much and she slowly picked her way across the moor until she came to a narrow dirt road.
‘Roads go places.'
This road was upon a particularly steep hill, and so the obvious direction to go was down it. Whether she walked for minutes or hours, she didn't know. Clouds came and went, bringing a touch of rain and a gust of wind before the sun poked out again. She had no idea where she was going, only that she should continue on, until by and by she came upon dilapidated shack where a man in worn overalls and a checkered shirt reclined in a rocking chair, a beer in hand and radio at foot.
The girl stared at him.
The man stared back. "The hell happened to you? You fall in a chipper? Wots with tha hair o' yor?"
She cocked her head but said nothing, for while the words made sense to her, she couldn't quite place their meanings.
The man stood up to get a better look. "You speak English? Jeeze you're a right mess. Wotcher name, kid?"
The girl sensed that a response was expected but now realized she couldn't find her own words, and soon grew visibly frustrated in her efforts
The man sighed. This was one of those situations that called for the police, but that wasn't how things were done around here. He pulled a transceiver out of his pocket.
"Hey Yeller, I got a situation up front. Some beat up kid just wander' in, don't speak a lick."
A fuzzy sound answered back and an argument commenced, but this was of no interest to the girl and so she wandered past him unnoticed, down the path beyond.
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