I woke with a start. I sat up, breath erratic and heartbeat so quick it could match a hummingbird's. 'It was just a nightmare', I told myself. 'Calm down, it was just a nightmare'. I began to do my breathing exercises. In for seven, out for eleven, in for seven, out for eleven. I could feel my heart rate decrease. Seeing the light surround me and feeling the warm breeze flowing through my hair and clothes, I reassured myself, 'see, everything's perfectly normal'. I felt my panic start to ebb away, its place, relief. 'It was just a nightmare'.
But that panic came screaming back at full force when I adjusted to my surroundings. When I realized that the surface beneath me wasn't my bed and when the area surrounding me was definitely not my bedroom. Instead, I was on a street. Well, technically I was on the footpath, but I digress.
It was filled with people in clothes you would see your grandmother wearing. Silk blouses ugly cardigans for the women, and polos matched tacky brown pants for the men- not that I'm fashion master, but the sight of that combination makes me want to vomit a little. This wouldn't be too strange except for the fact that I see people in their twenties walking around in that exact fashion statement.
The cars that filled the street were certainly not your average Ford or Toyota either. Instead they were those black, vintage cars you point out every time you see them, as it was such a rare occurrence. They were the ones you see in documentaries and movies based in the early to mid 20th century.
Have I gone back in time, or am I still in some hyper-realistic dream. I touched the ground beneath me. It was cobblestone, cracked and worn, with weeds poking through the cracks. Much unlike the concrete streets back home.
People walking passed me mostly ignored me, and only acknowledged me with looks of contempt and disgust. Whether it was because of my - to them - strange attire or the fact that they thought I was a beggar. Probably both. At one point a little boy, who was holding his mother's hand, pointed at me.
"Look, there's a girl over there." His accent twisted and folded into an American twang. His mother looked at me, before turning her nose up and wrinkled it as if she had smelt something foul.
"Ignore her Benjamin," the woman had a pompous and, like her son, American accent (how she managed to sound pompous without being English, I don't know). "Trash like that are not worthy of our attention. Don't make eye contact with it."
But the boy wrenched his hands out of his mother's and ran towards me. Upon closer inspection, he couldn't have been more than ten. He had big baby blue eyes and cropped blond hair, with freckles dancing across his pale skin. His outfit, well, kind of looked like a school uniform. He wore a grey blazer over a white button up shirt, with dull grey shorts that went down to his knees. He ruffled through the pockets of his shorts, before pulled something out and placing it in the ground in front of me.
"Here you go, miss," he said with a smile that was without his two front teeth. I hesitantly went to pick them up. It was some coins, ones that I have never seen before. I scrutinized them for a bit, before glancing back at the boy questionably, only to see him walking back to his mother.
"Wait!" I shouted, standing up. But his mother walked briskly towards him, grabbing his hand and hastily pulling him away.
"That's why you ignore them. You give one money, and they start surrounding you, asking for more. Vultures I tell you."
I felt my blood pressure rise slightly at that. 'Takes one to know one, bitch', I thought. I then calmed myself. I've been called worse. The boy turned around and waved at me. I hesitantly lifted my hands and waved back. Then the boy and his mother disappeared round the corner, out of sight.
I glance down at the coins he gave me. Three, I counted. They were all round and silver, similar to a twenty cents coin. But there were some differences. They were bigger and heavier, and on the backside was a crescent moon making a face. Or at least, that's what it looked like. Wait, no I take that back. It looked like a lion with no legs, only a ribbon like substance that twirled and twisted behind it. I flipped the coin over. On the other side was the number five hundred.
I thought of tossing the money away, but then reconsidered. This may be the currency for... wherever I am. I looked around. This definitely does not look like the streets of Wellington. My time travel theory was still at the forefront of my mind. Maybe it was time travel in a dream. I grinned slightly at that. That would be cool.
'Whelp, no point staying in one spot,' I thought, and started wandering off in the opposite direction of the woman and her son. 'God forbid I run into her. The real fucking vulture there. Looked like one too.' I stuffed the coins in my hoodie's pocket.
Never before have I been so glad that I wore pants to bed, as I was now, standing in the middle of the street with my hoodie that goes down to my mid thighs, and my black sports leggings. Unfortunately I didn't have shoes, but my feet were calloused enough for it to not be painful walking in bare feet.
The more I wondered around, the more confused I got. I know New Zealand isn't known for its skyscrapers, but there wasn't anything even distinctly modern here. The shops looked old and worn, with faded signs and dusty windows. The strange thing was also, everyone around me had American accents. The boy and his mother weren't an exception. Considering the fact that I was still in my pajamas, I assume that I am still in New Zealand.
After what felt like hours wandering around, with the sun lower in the sky, I finally worked up the courage to ask one of the civilians of this place... where this place actually is. The woman I approached was average height, with long straight black hair, black eyes and an athletic build.
"Um, excuse me," I began, awkwardly. The woman looked down at me, smiling. She nodded, as if beckoning me to go on.
"Do you know what city this is?" I continued, accentuating each syllable, knowing firsthand how hard it is for Americans to understand a New Zealand accent.
The woman looked confused. "Uhh, you're in East City," she said, as if that would clarify everything. Which it didn't. There were a lot of cities in the East. Napier, Hastings. In America, New York, Washington... I think. Or is that in the west?
"Okay... how about what country?" I clarified.
The woman looked, if it were possible, more confused than before. Her eyebrows furrowed and she peered down at me.
"Well, you're in Amestris of course."
YOU ARE READING
The Not Quite Truman Show
Fanfiction"You say I haven't lost anything, going through the gate," I say, sneering, pointing my finger right in his face, "but here you are assuming that the loss has to be physical, such as an arm or a leg. But what you don't understand is I have lost my f...
