A fast couple of weeks

I decided on keeping a journal. The past few weeks, or maybe even months, flew by. This new life, or rather, the life for as far as I can remember it, has been… adventurous to say the least.

This journal will serve as my way to deal with my day to day encounters and adventures. An ‘Adventurous life’, implying a voluntarily based chance I’m taking, is not the right way of describing my life right now, but for a lack of a better word it’ll do.

Apart from a way of dealing with my experiences, I do have two other reasons of keeping a journal. As my anew started life, a misunderstanding between my consciousness and myself for keeping a memory of my life as it used to be, I’m afraid of losing memory again. I wish I had written down anything of past days in life. Kept them close to my heart, or in a book. Alas. A new chance to get things right I suppose.

The third reason is as a follow up on advice. The people I have met take good care of me. They offered me a place to sleep, eat and drink for as long as I need it. Splitting firewood, gathering herbs, flowers and roots, and delivering messages to nearby villages serve as compensation.
An old lady told me about keeping a journal, and how keeping it might brighten up my memories of days past. I trust these people, admire them even. Lacking any other considerable offers of aid to my memory, I felt like this was as good a start as any.

Knowing weeks have passed since I woke up and began my new life, I do have some catching up to do. I will start from the beginning.

My first memory

A distant sound echoes through my head. Words, like they’ve traveled for miles, keep repeating themselves. “Wake up! Get up!” My head feels like it is about to errupt. I try to open my eyes, wake my senses. My body doesn’t seem to agree with my attempt, and returns no answer, no movement, no awakening of senses.
The still echoeing words make me feel uncomfortable. They sound urgent, unpleasant, rushed. I am supposed to feel a rush of adrenaline flowing through my veins, supposed to hear every sound, supposed to feel a gatheringg of strength in muscles. Nothing happens. The world is black. Apart from a continuous background noice sounding like the howling winds of a by ghosts haunted valley and the echoeing voice in my head, the world seems quiet. A dark peacefulness surrounds me. A scary peacefulness at that.

I feel a scorching hot touch on my shoulder, followed by quick, short shocks through my entire body. A sudden unvoluntary twitch forces my eyes wide open. The black world is replaced by a less black world. My eyes quickly adapt to the slightly brighter blackness.

Two eyes of a stranger stare in mine. “You’re awake” the stranger whispers slightly relieved. He breaks eye contact and searches the surroundings. His hand, pushing on my shoulder, forcefully pins me to the ground. Confusion and fear take over. My hands start pulling and pushing the wrist attached to the hand that is forcefully pushing me down. The man turns his face back to mine. An ice cold, emotionless stare weaken the will to fight. My hands drop down to the ground. There I lie, my back pinned to the ground, no power nor a will to move or fight. Hopeless, broken, and incredibly tired. My eyes close again. The world turns black.

The last thing I remember is feeling the pressure against my shoulder change into a pulling motion. For a few seconds my body felt like it was floating in the air. Seconds of feeling free, going places my body wouldn’t take me a minute ago. Eventually landing on the shoulders of the man that forced me down. “Should I make another attempt at getting loose?” I thought to myself. Seconds passed, the rocking movement of the walking man carrying me on his shoulders made me feel even more tired than before. My thoughts fade to a state of nothingness.

The awakening

I don’t know for how long I’ve been asleep. My last memory of being carried away might have been a minute ago, an hour, a day, or for what I care even a week. A slumber without dreams, thoughts and consciouness. The first time it felt like my body was awakening from this terrible, paralitic, and for what it feels like, an ages long sleep.

The tingling in my limbs, the pounding in my head, and my unsteady breathing make it feel like an awakening I should be worried about. Odly enough, I’m feeling rather happy. Happy about feeling anything at all.
I considered just lieing there, being happy with the pain I felt. I decided not to. I wanted more. I can’t think of a reason to be happy with pain if nothing holds me back from being happy while also actually feeling good. On a normal day my eyes would have opened themselves without me explicitly thinking about opening them. Right now this does not seem to be the case. I focus, gather strength and willpower. My thoughts solely focusing on opening my eyes. The incredibly bright light from a spring midday sun worsens the pounding in my head. The pounding gets so much worse that it deadens the tingling in my limbs. Seconds later, which might have been years filled with agony and pain, as that is how it felt, my eyes adapted to the bright light.

Staring at a ceiling of what looked like a tent made of wood and leather, I started regaining some consciousness. Slowly I feel strength build up in my body. A strength I haven’t felt for a long time. Enough strength to willingly move the tips of my fingers, twitch my toes, and roll my eyeballs to observe ever so little more of the room.

Happy, empowered, and even pleased by the incredible abilities of moving the most outer parts of my body, a sigh of air leaves my body. Were I in full control, that sigh would have been a scream of relieve heard in all villages, cities and kingdoms on earth. Somewhat saddened by the inability to scream, I  stare at the ceiling of the tent I am situated in.

Happy, sad, positively empowered, or angrily frustrated. I am not sure what I should feel. Atleast there is one thing I know for sure; I am conflicted, confused. Atleast I now know I am still alive. Tears of unimaginable confusion roll down my cheek.

A smile of comfort and peace

Faint conversations and laughter can be heard from the bed I now lie in. People are close, and they seem to be at peace. Atleast at peace with one another. Distant footsteps get louder, nearer. A man approaches. I can’t see his face clearly, as my sight still is hazy.

The man stops at my bed side and kneels down. A pair of friendly eyes accompanied by a friendly smile look into my eyes. “You’re awake” the man says. The exact same voice, the exact same phrase, just a bit louder and more comfortable this time. Come to think of it, with a friendlier face this time as well.

I try to smile, but I can’t. I want to ask him if he is the person that carried me home. Eventhough I quite certainly knew that it was he who brought me here, a confirming answer would, for some strange reason, make me feel a lot more comfortable.
I want to ask how he found me, what happened to me and what is going to happen to me. I couldn’t.

His dark brown eyes stared at me. It felt as if he stared right through me, as if there was something far more interesting right behind me. His long black hair tied together with a string of leather hung over his left shoulder.
“It’s good to see you are finally awake. That means you are making progress” the man said. “Your head must be filled with questions, and there will be a time to answer all of them. For now, don’t stress yourself. You are in a safe place with good people. We will take care of you.” The man turned around and grabbed a piece of cloth and a bowl of water. He drenched the cloth with water, folded it and lied it to rest on my forehead.

The refreshing touch of the cloth drenched with cold water felt good. The soothing words of the man made me feel good. His smile, and his clamness made me feel good. Everything made me feel good, comfortable, almost like I was at home. A smile appeared on my face.