A New World

The sun is warm on her face, and birds are singing. Loudly. While pretty and melodic, it does nothing to ease the pounding headache sending white fire through her brain. Rather the opposite. She’s nauseous too. Muscles sore as if she’d run a marathon.

Taking a deep breath, she stretches, then freezes as her hands touch not the soft headboard of her bed, but some sort of leaves. Leaves? Birds? Something is very wrong here. Diane opens her eyes, blinking against the sunlight. It’s much too bright, and the sky is a deep, clear blue. What the…

Startled, she looks around, but it’s hard to picture a less threatening setting. Nothing like the alley…

The alley! The monster! The spinning…

She scrambles to her knees, hands sinking into a dark green moss so soft it feels like spongy velvet beneath her palms. Where is she? She closes her eyes to shield them from the light and rubs her aching temples. Is this some sort of fever dream? Has she been drugged?

Slightly unsteadily, she gets up on her feet. When she looks down at herself she nearly gags. The sleeves and front of her coat are splattered with dark stains. Blood. It hadn’t been just a nightmare then.

Wincing, she unbuttons the coat as fast as she can, trying not to touch any of the dried blood. With relief, she shrugs it off and drops it in a pile on the ground.

The rest of her is clean enough, but the tight bun she usually wears for work has come partially undone. Out of habit, her hands reach behind to undo the rest of it, letting her hair fall down her back. She makes an attempt to comb through it with her fingers but soon gives up and just parts it into three strands, starting to braid it.

While her fingers work, Diane takes a better look at her surroundings. A vast meadow stretches as far as the eye can see, the green broken by large patches of tiny, bright yellow flowers. Close by, a copse of trees twists in intricate shapes, reaching high into the sky, colorful birds soaring around them.

After securing the end of her thick braid, she puts her little nurse’s hat back on. It might be silly, but keeping up appearances feels right. Professional. Ready for anything, just like in the ER. Giving the coat a disgusted look she decides to leave it behind. She never wants to wear, or even see, it again. Instead, she picks up her backpack, slings it over her shoulder and starts walking toward the trees. Looking for… anything familiar.

What catches her attention is anything but: a swarm of floating orbs, the size of bumblebees, drifting lazily in the air, pulsing faintly. Hovering over something, something dark. Diane quickens her pace and half-jogs toward it, heart hammering in her chest.

She’s not alone. A man lies face down, limbs sprawled out as if he’s just fallen from the sky. Had the monster brought him too?

All her training slams into place, overtaking fear and confusion. Diane skids to a halt and kneels next to him, pressing her fingers to his neck. A pulse, thank god. Faint, but steady. She checks his airway, lifts an eyelid.

He’s young, probably around her age. That much she can gather, even if the arm and the side of his face she can see are covered in dirt and blood. His only visible injury is a cut on his bloodied arm. Just under the elbow, long but not too deep. Taking a deep breath, she allows herself to relax. There’s a strange flavor to the air here, not quite a scent, more like an energy. Similar to the crispness in the air after a heavy thunderstorm. Refreshing. Soothing and energizing at the same time.

Fortunately her little flashlight is still in her pocket and she shines it in his eyes, one after the other. His pupils respond, but sluggishly. A concussion maybe? She can only pray that there’s no internal bleeding. Whatever supplies she carries in her bag wouldn’t be enough for anything but scratches.

The man looks like he just came from a cosplay, or perhaps a theater rehearsal. Light short-sleeved shirt, covered by some sort of leather vest, dark loose trousers that disappear into soft leather boots in the same soft brown as his vest. A wide, matching leather belt with – she swallows hard – a sword attached to it.

Fingers slightly trembling, she reaches for it, slides it out a couple of inches, hoping to find a replica. Something plastic and dull. But it’s real. Gingerly, she touches the edge, then swears as a fine red line is cut into her fingertip. The handle might be showing signs of wear and tear, just like his clothes, but the blade is spotless and very sharp.

From the depths of her bag, she fishes out a packet of wet wipes and begins cleaning his arm. Starting with the wound and steadily moving outward. Keep working, focus, that is the key. Don’t think too much. Don’t wonder too much. It’s a pretty dream, so why not enjoy it? Do not think about what happened in the alley, the monster, or that you’re probably lying in a hospital bed, unconscious, pumped full of medications. No, focus on helping this guy. Dream or not, that’s what’s important now.

Once she’s satisfied with her work Diane digs inside her bag again and smiles when she finds a small pack of band-aids. She places five of them along the wound to keep it together, and after a moment’s hesitation, uses one for the tiny cut on her finger too. Getting an infection here would be bad, that much she’s sure of.

Looking down at the colorful band-aids, her smile grows wider. They’re Hello Kitty ones and clash wonderfully with this guy’s strange attire, and add more of that dreamlike, surreal feeling. The floating glowing orbs that are now surrounding them both, gently bobbing in the wind, are closer now. Curiously, she reaches out with a finger to touch one, and it sends a tingling jolt down her hand when they touch. It bounces away, soft light flickering. Excited or scared?

“It’s okay,” Diane coos. “I don’t mean to harm you. Whatever you are.”

It hovers closer as if it can understand her words, then lowers itself to briefly rest upon the man’s face. Diane nods. She needs to keep working. The man’s other arm is tucked beneath him in an awkward position, so she gets on her feet, grabs the now clean hand, and tries to pull it so he’ll turn onto his back. It doesn’t work on the first try, and she grunts in frustration. While lean, he’s a tall man, and much bigger than her. Heavier too. And in excellent physical shape, she can’t help but notice.

“I don’t suppose you guys can give me a hand?” she mutters jokingly, glancing at the little floating orbs dancing around them. “Oh well, I guess not since you don’t actually have hands.”

She takes a firm grip with both hands tightly wrapped around his wrist, digs her heels into the soft grass, and pulls. Leaning back to make use of her bodyweight. At first, nothing happens, so she grits her teeth, tightens her grip, and leans even further, putting everything she’s got into it.

“Move!” Throwing herself backward does the trick. Sort of. His body rolls and she loses her balance, falling unceremoniously on her behind with a startled yelp.

Embarrassed and glad no one but the birds were there to see her clumsiness, she scrambles back to the man’s side. His dark hair is a mess and short stubble covers his chin. That, together with the dirty state of him and his clothes, gives him a worn-out, ragged look. Besides the sword, his sturdy belt has a sizeable knife and a flat, square leather bag attached to it.

Then there’s the smell… Diane is used to handling patients who don’t exactly smell like roses, age or disease making it hard for them to maintain proper hygiene. But this guy is young, in good shape… Why did he smell like he’d been camping next to a sewer for weeks?

Well, she could always ask him when he wakes up. She pats his cheek, gently but insistently.

“Hey there. Time to wake up.” Time to wake up and help me figure out where we are and what’s going on.

He doesn’t stir. Worried he has some concealed wounds, she tries to open his vest. It’s got some complicated straps and lacing that seem entirely impractical, and the caked on dirt and dried blood make the leather hard and uncooperative.

Finally, she manages to pry one of them open and goes for the next one. Fully focused on shoving the stubborn strap out of its little hoop, she doesn’t notice him moving and gasps as a big hand closes around her wrist.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?”