Untitled1

  Falling through time is not what I thought it would be. It is more like drowning, and right before you hit the bottom of the pool, something reaches out and pulls you out of oblivion. The rush of adrenaline courses through your veins as the cold water sloshes over numbing skin, and then you are flying like an eagle, free of any earthly bonds you had before. Then you fall, and as the wind whistles past your ears, the bliss felt before becomes ice-cold fear, a fear that tears through your gut and knocks the air from your lungs, leaving you wondering if this fall will kill you. Then, when you see the ground before your eyes, you hold your breath for the inevitable impact. Instead, you slow down, softly landing on your own two feet...

  This is briefly how I felt when I accidentally jumped through time from the year 1998 to the year 1123. I was only fifteen at the time, a hard headed, stubborn, fearless teenage girl with a passion for creatively painting nature. My father forced my older brother, Jason, and me to move from our peaceful home in Utah, to some place near the standing stones in England, where he landed an archaeology gig. I did not, and still do not, like the idea of moving such a great distance but I made do with what I could, and took advantage of the opportunities laid before me. Instead of going to school, I would take to exploring the archaeology sites my father worked on to paint all the different places I possibly could.

  One particular day stands out in my mind, and I consider it the first day of my change. It definitely was not a gradual change, but almost instant. I woke up that day feeling the same way I did every day before. I showered, dressed, ate, and left on my way to the dig site. Just a normal day for me, except on this day I had a sick feeling in my stomach. It twisted into knots all throughout the day until I finally sat down to chow down on my club sandwich. That is when time seemed to slow down, and my vision blurred into a different scene, much darker with a lot more wild plants growing around. In this dream like state I remember standing, not physically, but mentally, and walking through the trees until I came upon a cliff overlooking a muddy beach. I squinted against the glaring sun at the hundreds of dragon shaped war galleys, quickly drifting onto the shore where upon landed rugged, godly men, carrying a wide range of weapons, marching through the changing tides to the golden beach.

  Fear jolted through me at this point when I realized most of these men were injured, limping across the beach or helping others move. I felt my legs bringing me closer to them, my feet tripping over one another, my eyes searching the crowd of men while fear made itself comfortable in the pit of my stomach. Then one golden arm snatched me up, lifting me high off the ground and safety washed over my skin as I hear my voice gasp.

  Then his voice was in my head, his lips slightly brushing my ear as he murmurs, “I’m here, I’m here.” Repeatedly his words echoed until I saw nothing but black, and the numbness of waking replaced his solid warmth. When I awoke, it was the dead of night and the ground was soggy under my body. In the distance, my father and Jason’s voices melded together, calling my name frantically.

  “I’m here…” I croaked, repeating the words circling in my mind. “Dad…Jason, I’m here.” They must have heard my feeble voice for they had soon jumped through the bushes and my father fell to his knees beside me.