A/N: Okay. This is the first chapter to what should be a three-chapter series. It starts off with the main character waking up in a grassy plain with no clue to how she got there. Coupled alone with ‘My name is, Bird,’ this chapter is a little confusing; but I’ll have the next one up very soon-and that one will hopefully clear a few things up. Thank you for reading, if you are in fact, doing so.

Girl from the House of Irvine

(Pt. 1)

I woke up, and I was just simply, not in my bed. I was in a field of yellow grass that looked like it stretched for miles. The grass wasn’t tall, or short, but medium in height; tickling my calves as I slowly circled, trying to find a point of reference that looked familiar.

Nothing did.

I was stranded in a sea of puke-green. It was a nice day, though, I had to admit. Me not knowing where the fuck I was didn’t stop the weather from being pleasant. The sun was low in the horizon, and the sky still carried that bit of gray overcast dawn almost always has, letting me know which direction north was in. Always travel north, you hear; and so I did.

I took to walking; what breeze there was calmly brushing at the back of my robe.

Oh yes, I forgot. I was in pajamas.

If I was at home, I would probably be getting up to go to school right now. It’s testament to how much I hate school, but I would rather walk around aimlessly in a place I don’t know and all by lonesome, than go to my Shakespeare class. There was a time when I liked going to class…actually enjoyed taking thorough lecture notes and studying them later on for hours, but that time has come and gone. I consider school redundant now, because I learn more about the real world from reading on my own.

Let no one tell you that you need a college degree to be considered educated. Every dumbfuck in America who gets a loan can go to college. And since most people are lazy and only put in the bare minimum of effort, they continue being dumbfucks up until they realize that books are actually nice. Books are lovely.

I love books.

A lot of what I read is considered fluff by the general population, but the general population just wishes it had the self-possession to read romance novels, and not care if someone is sneaking a peak at a lurid book cover and sneering at you.

I love gentlemen pirates. I’m going to marry the 21st century equivalent one day…or in other words, I’m going to marry a rock star and have lots of attractive, rock star babies. I think it’s important to set a life goal as important as this early on in life, so when my hot guitar-player and I meet for the first time I’ll be able to recognize that moment in time as the moment I met my soul mate.

…Now I don’t believe in the concept of soul mates, but wishing I did looks good on paper. Besides, what else is there to think about other than boys and being in love? I’m in a place all by myself, and usually I would cheer at this fact, except for the small nuisance that I have no clue where I am, and the fact that if I start a trek in any direction, it will be a long, long time before I come across anything other than grass. Though, right now, this is better than school, so I’m going to keep the complaining to a minimum.

…Actually…since no one seems to be around, I am going to sing. My voice always sounds so much better when there’s no one around but me to hear it. I really wish there were some hills I could twirl around on, though…it’s been on my imaginary list of things to do before I die to visit a foreign, hilly country, and spread my arms and twirl around on the hills there, and sing, ‘The Sound of Music;’ it’s not going to happen today, but someday it will.

A half hour-or there about-has passed. I have decided that I am pretty fucked. I just knocked my right foot against a broken spear sticking up from the ground. I almost fell on it. People-that is people in the 21st century-don’t use spears anymore, do they? I think not. I, at least, don’t use a spear to hunt my food and kill people with-I don’t kill people at all…and I certainly don’t kill the animals I eat; no, I placidly eat the meat my parents buy at the supermarket. If I did use a spear however, I certainly wouldn’t leave it stuck in the carcass of a dead animal.

…Interesting, but I actually do wonder if the spear was left here intentionally-it is broken in half, after all.

And what about the dead animal? Why kill a bird and not eat it?

Even more interesting is that I’m starting to look around for the spear’s owner…because of course said spear owner wouldn’t be here, of course he wouldn’t be lying in the grass nearby, dead himself, waiting for me to trip over his naked legs, and of course I’m not going to greet his dead, rotting corpse-the dead, rotting corpse that hasn’t been complete carrion for the birds but sufficient enough to look like something tried to eat him but gave it up as a lost cause not long after due to the smell-with a face-plant…I just have to see for myself that nothing can be done.

Nothing can be done. The man is very dead. I cannot come any closer; I have already touched him. I should actually be getting far, far away. The man is obviously dead and I cannot help him. The man reeks. Still, here I am, taking the two steps that will bring me back to his body. And here I am now, kneeling down, and almost moving to check for a pulse, but then remembering myself at the last second and pulling away before my hand comes in contact with the man’s diseased neck.

Oooohegh. I shuddered.

Ew. Ew. Ew.

The stuff I dream up!

I’m either in a coma, or I’ve been taken to an alternate dimension.

There’s nothing I can do. The most proper burial for him, at this time, would be one by fire. Even if I had the means to light a pyre and have his damp, decomposing body catch, I wouldn’t do it. I am in the middle of a grassland plain. It’s turned out to be a windy morning. I am not going to start a brush fire the likes of which nothing in the surrounding area-including me-would be able to escape from save for by taking flight.

Ah…flight.

As exciting as finding a dead body is, I would rather my day of rest continue somewhere where the air smells nicer.

...I found the other half of the broken spear lying halfway under the dead man’s body. I wasn’t about to try and pull it out from under him; but I was curious. Maybe he had marked it before he died…you know, he wasn’t just lying on top of the spear shard. He was impaled upon it. There’s a hole in the middle of his body. If I were to go and pick up the spear-half currently stuck in the bird, and place it on that hole, it would probably sink in until it met with the place it had broken off from. The other part of the spear probably snapped when the man fell on the ground…which is why I can see that other part and the engraving on it. It is marked. It is marked with Linear B.

Linear B.

Linear B.

Not English. Not Greek. But, Linear B.

‘Fucking Christ, where the hell am I?’

I didn’t feel like I was just talking to myself anymore. Corpse of a naked man aside, nature sometimes has a way of a making you feel complete-instead of completely alone.

I want that spear now; the one in the dead bird’s carcass. I had an argument in my head over whether it was smarter to just leave it to chance and walk away without touching anything, or if I should still pick it up.

I yanked the spear out of the bird’s body.

I’m not a leave-it-to-chance person.

I’ve touched a lot of unclean stuff today, but I need that spear to feel protected. If I die from some old world disease because my body is ill-equipped to fight it, then I die. But I need that-

Oh, God. I just thought of leprosy.

Surely the man doesn’t have it.

Surely, whoever killed this man would have burned his body and not just left him here to rot-if he had leprosy.

Surely they wouldn’t have even touched him, or looted his body, if the man had leprosy. Surely not.

Where’s a crime scene investigator when you need one? I’ve determined the cause of death-a fact I am proud of-, but if the man was diseased to begin with, then getting impaled upon a spear isn’t going to change his fate; just make the death come quicker.

Why the fuck didn’t he get a proper burial? I feel like I should say something…

…Broken spear in hand, I proceeded to do just that, kneeling on the grass before him. ‘I’m sorry for your death,’ I said. ‘I know you can’t hear me-I hope I know you can’t hear me, because if I doubt right now that you couldn’t, I’d be getting myself into a thought-monologue on metaphysics and I just don’t want to go into that right now. It’s not the time.’ I stopped, trying to think of more words to say.

‘…I hope you were loved,’ I said. ‘…I hope someone else besides me-and whoever killed you-knows of your death…I dearly hope I didn’t just conjure up a dead man’s body in my mind, because that would be really sick of me. That being said,’ I coughed, ‘I hope you’re not about to miraculously come to life as a zombie and try to eat my brain…I say ‘try,’ because you would never succeed; humans run faster than zombies.

‘…It’s interesting that you don’t have a horse,’ I continued. ‘Well, I guess not so interesting, seeing as how if I was raiding a dead man and wanted to be thorough, I wouldn’t neglect to capture his horse…that is if said horse wasn’t dead as well, like you…I hope your horse isn’t dead,’ I said.

‘…But maybe you consider death to be more honorable for your horse than having the man who killed you become his new master,’ I suggested. ‘You guys are always so sticky with your morals…or maybe, ‘virtues,’ would be a better word?’ I shifted closer, then leaned back again, deciding that no, I did not want to kiss the man’s forehead after all, because that would just be asking for disease.

‘I hope I’ve done this right,’ I sighed. I stared at the man’s hollowed out eye sockets; no flies in evidence. ‘I’m going to assume that the reason nothing is touching your body right now is because the flies and birds and other…hungry animals have all decided that they want to preserve your dignity while it lasts. Why they didn’t think of that before tasting you I’m not sure, but I’m not going to dwell on it,’ I told the man. ‘I’m not going to worry about it.’

‘Who are you?’ I asked him, after a minute or so. God, he was such an eye-sore. I hated to look at him. ‘I wish you could tell me where the…where I am,’ I said. ‘I wish you were alive and completely healthy, actually, and uh, not a…wild man bent on raping me…um. No. No, I shouldn’t talk like that…even suggesting the possibility of you being a…I apologize. What would you like me to say? I realize you’re dead, but asking you questions is keeping me from crying…

‘Please understand that I don’t want to cry for you…I can’t even cry normally, so you’re definitely not the first person who deserves my tears. I want to go home,’ I said. ‘You know, I would enjoy this more if I knew I was actually dreaming.’

I stood up, shaking out my legs. ‘Thank you for the spear,’ I gestured with it, ‘I hope I use it well.’

I looked him over-I felt nothing; the man might have been faceless for all the emotion he was inspiring in me. ‘Have a pleasant rest,’ I ended.

At a last ditch attempt to maintain my karma, I tore out several handfuls of long grass and let them fall over his body…maybe he would decompose quicker that way.

I swung the spear around to face me. ‘Well, spear,’ I said, feeling eerily like Tom Hanks’s character in ‘Castaway’ when he talks to the volleyball, ‘what do you want to do? Do you want some water? I want some water.’ I looked around at the depressingly flat land. ‘Is there a brook ‘round here, d’you think?

I squinted into the distance as much as I could; looking; searching…

‘Nnnuthin’…there is nuthin,’ I said. ‘That’s fabulous…maybe I’ll I have to eat some grass after all. Have you had grass before, sp-?’ I remembered myself. ‘Of course you have; my mistake. As I recall, that coupled with dirt is pretty much all you’ve had for probably a good, long while…how long were you in that bird, anyway?

‘…I don’t know why I ask,’ I said, into the silence. ‘…Well, obviously, I do…hey,’ I shook the piece of wood. ‘How about I get you some blood to soak in, hmm? Would you like that? You probably thrive upon it. We just have to get attacked, and you’ll have your blood.

‘…And you know, if we don’t get attacked,’ I said, ‘it’s not the end of the world, either. The sun is very hot today, and you can absorb some of that and warm up, and the palm of my hand holding you will warm up nicely too.’ I laughed, as I thought of something. ‘Is it hard being a piece of wood?’ I asked.

I examined the spearhead, as I walked, letting the light glance off it. The elements coupled with the man’s blood had erased most of the sheen the metal once had, but as the light…as the light glanced off the tip, the spearhead looked bronze.

Bronze.

Linear B and Bronze.

Deductive reasoning puts this in the realm of the im…probable. The severely improbable. I still maintain however, that I am dreaming.

‘How many people have you killed?’ I asked the spear. ‘You know it’s your fault, right? It’s the spear that kills the people…spears are vicious. They are-you are made for warfare. Does that upset you, little spearhead? Does it upset you that you were made for killing? Maybe you wanted to be a piece of jewelry, instead? Hmm?

‘…I’ve made pieces of jewelry from your kind before,’ I told it. ‘…I’d turn you, specifically, into a necklace for myself; but I like how you’re attached to a piece of wood right now-broken and jagged as that wood is-too much to do anything to you…by the way,’ I requested of the spear as a whole, ‘please don’t give me any splinters. I have no way of cleaning my hands…no…no iodine…shit.’ I looked up at the sky. ‘I don’t have any iodine,’ I said. ‘…I knew I should have packed some iodine in my robe before I went to sleep last night, but I was so tired…I just knew.

‘…We’ll pick up some later,’ I said, this directed at the spear again…though really, I was talking to the air in front of me. ‘…When we miraculously identify that specific plant, and then find some leaves to wrap it in…what do you want to do, now?’ I asked. ‘Do you want to play ‘Movie Bomb’?’

I continued walking.