Fix Me (K-drama)

Chapter 1

The unit deployed me in the right time, 1455, just after the ascension of the new Joseon king. I knew that for a fact, because I recognize the style of the jeonrip hat the military guard is wearing. At least, I think I do, my heart is racing and I'm sure my wide, bright, blue eyes must scare the heck out of them. However, since they're the ones with the swords, I reckon I'm the most terrified at the moment and am entitled to a lack of straight thinking.

I only needed to do one thing. Go inside the palace, take the record of the last days of the slain king and go back. I barely took two steps and nearly fell of a cliff before I was discovered.

I want to hide my face, bow down, fall to the ground or whatever I can to get away from the angry, upset glances, but I don't move. I can't, even though I'm shaking so bad I'm scared my teeth will fall out.

Totally unexpected, the officer steps forward and pushes his blade into my shoulder. I scream as the sting hurts like a thousand needles. The effect is instantaneously. All of the men, probably not expecting me to be solid, bounce back and finally I am able to fall over and embrace the black soil.

Just before I black out, the guard's dark voice reaches my ears. "Leave it, back to the palace."

---

I'm dead. I think I am. I must be, right? I was stabbed and they left me to bleed to death. And right now I'm floating, so I must be dead.

My mind is muddled. Thoughts about my demise keep repeating itself over and over and nothing substantial enters my brain. That is ... one thing bothers me. There is pain. Terrible pain. It's everywhere, but the burning is fiercest in my left shoulder. Is there pain in death? That doesn't sound right. My stomach also hurts but when I try to move, I can't.

I open my eyes and see the back of someone walking. Dark clothing against more darkness. The earth is moving beneath two feet clad in some kind of woven straw sandals.

It wasn't supposed to go this way. Of course there were guards, even though I never saw the palace, I had anticipated them, but my cloak should have worked. Everything should have worked. But nothing did. I got dropped in 15th century Joseon and that was the end of it.

I lift the hand I am still able to lift and touch my face. There is dirt on it, no surprise there, dirt and blood and tears. However, the one thing that should have been there, the tiny dot; my lifeline back home, that's missing.

A sob escapes me and before I know it, I am on the ground again. More dirt, more tears, man, that hurts. Someone is staring down at me. When I manage to open my eyes again I see dark eyes, hidden in the shadow of a large straw hat. The man's face is partially hidden by a piece of black cloth and I think I'm going to pass out again. With my last breath I manage to squeeze out: "Help me."

---

This time, when I wake up, I'm on my back and under me is straw beneath a mat. Sunlight peaks through holes in a rag that takes it's role as a curtain not very seriously. The pain is still there, but when I turn my head, my bare shoulder is wrapped in a not so white bandage. Wait ... bare shoulder?

I shoot up straight and squeal as the blanket that covered my otherwise naked body drops. Who undressed me? Who touched me when I was unconscious? Where are my clothes? I guess I should be grateful to whomever it was that took care of the wound, but right now the only emotion I feel is agony. I move my legs and freeze, I'm still wearing my boots, which means ... I gaze around, there's no one here, then I lift the blanket a fraction and sigh immensely relieved. I'm still wearing my pants. The outfit was merely stripped halfway.

Now that breathing has become easier, I take my time to study my surroundings. My right hand travels back to my empty cheekbone while I gaze at the wooden door in the two by three stone shed that I'm in. There's more straw in one corner and some pieces of cloth in a pile.

No wait, my eyes shoot back, those are clothes. I reach with my good arm and pull the pile towards me. There is a long woolen skirt, I think it's light brown, and some dress that maybe, long ago, was white. And then there's a very short blouse. I recognize two of the pieces, which means the dress is probably an undergarment. Ehm... no pants? Please let there be pants.

There are no pants, no real ones, that is. And I refuse to walk around in nothing but what merely looks like a broad ribbon. I stand up after tightly winding the blanket around my chest. My shoulder is killing me, but I need to leave and find my dot and get out of this century before anyone starts to ask questions. I am not prepared for questions, there was no mention of a Q&A in my mission-file.

I sneak a peak through a hole in the curtain and when I see no one, I drop the blanket. Quickly I pull the undergarment over my head and release the air I was holding. Right, what next?

The top of my uniform is dangling, arms down, from my waist. I stare at it for a few seconds and then tie it firmly around my hips. When I drop the undergarment it billows a bit around my legs. I figure the short jeogori should go last, so I step into the skirt. The hem touches the floor and hides my scuffed boots. Very good. I pull the skirt right up to cover my breasts—I'm not entirely sure weather it should go under or over, but I'd better stay on the safe side—and tie the ribbon around them. It's difficult with only one good functioning arm, yet I manage. The blouse is even harder, but I'm tough. I have to be. I don't belong here and powerful people here are quick with the sword. At least, that's what history has taught me.

Shuffling outside makes me aware I am no longer alone. My eyes fly over the meager contents of the shed I'm in, searching for anything that could be used as a weapon.

When I'm not in the midst of a circle of blades a few inches from my carotid artery, I am very efficient in defending myself. I look in every corner, almost stick my head in the straw, upturn everything that is upturnable. In the end it doesn't matter, there is nothing. So I take a stance in the darkest corner and wait with pounding heart.