The Way Back Home

Chapter One: I Am a Poor Wayfaring Stranger

.

.

.

Only a mere two miles away from the English-dug trenches, a pair of disoriented eyes slowly opened to the ceiling of a wooded farmhouse. The person whom those eyes belonged to groaned as they tried to clear their fogged mind, making certain to move their aching body slowly.

A young woman of late twenties lay on the hard creaking floor of an abandoned farmhouse, desolate and foreboding with the lurking past evidence of looting and arson.

The woman sat up from her position on the floor, making note that nothing in her body felt broken or fractured as she alternately flexed her fingers, clenched her hands and stretched her legs. She patted her head gently to be sure of no resulting concussion from this strange delusion, her brunette hair entangled beyond the need of a simply hairbrush. Her head became clearer as her vision adjusted to the gray sunlight fading in and out from the shattered windows and gaping holes in the house's woodwork.

Where the hell am I?

The faint sound of airplanes overhead caused her to perk up and gasp in alarm as she struggled to her feet. The stench of decay and dusty debris assaulted her nostrils and she took in more of her surroundings.

Stumbling her way to the window nearest her, the woman looked out to the distance, seeing a barn that was in much improved structure compared to that of the building she currently occupied. A lone cow stood nearby the barn grazing on the grass with not a care in the world.

The woman clutched on the windowsill, feeling the oncoming sensation of hyperventilation threatening to overcome her. Whatever that had happened prior to her awakening, she doubted she was anywhere near her home. No sounds of cars, sirens or people talking in an indistinct manner, nothing familiar to her at all made her feel assurance that she knew where this location was.

Tears flooded into her eyes as shivers racked her body, panic and overwhelming sense that this was defiantly not an overly vivid dream. The splinters inhabiting her palms from the windowsill convinced her enough that this was real. The breeze from outside whirled around her shaking form as she realized that she was only wearing a short hot-pink nightdress that barely came to her knees and her feet were bare. She had worn so little the night previous due to the sweltering weather of early April heat.

She was exposed in this strange country and separated from anything familiar. In an attempt to gather herself, she looked around for any other form of clothing that would cover her more modestly. She had no idea what or who she would encounter and she needed to preserve her modesty. Feeling protected would help her in keeping a clear head to figure out what was going on.

In the decimated wardrobe, she found a plain dark blue dress, designed as if to be fitted for a girl ten years her junior, but luckily she was just slight enough to be convincing as a younger woman. Feeling satisfied that it would cover her up after dressing; she began looking for anything that would shield her bare feet.

Stepping around the numerous shards of broken glass was difficult, considering she had to lift up the skirt of the dress to avoid tripping. In her best effort, she proved to be unsuccessful as she heard the creak of footsteps from the lower level. A stab of glass at the base of her foot pierced her frail skin, her hand covering her mouth to smother her cry of pain.

She fell to the ground as her foot caught on the long dress's skirt. The shivers of paralyzing fear coursed through her again as the silent wail of pain from the glass embedded in her foot built into a genuine scream that she could barely suppress with her hand.

She brought her knees up to her chest as she crawled to the corner of the room, debating whether to wait out for whoever was downstairs to leave or risk being seen in climbing out one of the windows and even risk falling due to the house's debilitated state.