It was a foggy and rainy day. The Bulgarian mountains were covered by a thick blanket of wet clouds. Strong aroma of a forest was floating around in the atmosphere. Between the tall and legendary mountains were located roads, who took you everywhere. In the foggy distance there was a car belonging to the Ivanovi family. They were driving to Dobrinishte to rest a few days.
- Brother, brother, look! - said a girl with blonde hair and eyes blue like the depths of the sea, pointing at the incredible autumn views outside the car window. The boy who she called didn't notice her at all. The youth had his eyes piercing a book. He was reading epic stories about Bulgarian heroes. Ever since he was a child, he had huge respect for those who died to free the Motherland. His name was Georgi, named after the great Georgi Sava Rakovski.
- The weather is horrible. - Said a woman from the front seat. The man next to her was too concentrated to agree.
- Mooom... are we there yet? - The young girl asked.
- No, but please keep quiet now. Let's not trouble your father. - With that the woman stopped speaking.
Everything went wrong, the car became uncontrollable. It started to slide on the wet road. A voice could be heard.
- Get down! - A crash followed. Everything disappeared. The pain was agonizing. The blood didn't stop leaking. There was no sound, nothing to see. Full silence and darkness.
.
.
.
The atmosphere changed. The pain was gone. Instead of silence, there was a sound of a kaval that echoed. It reeked of fresh grass, forest berries and herbs. I opened my eyes. Everything was cloudy the first few seconds. I spotted a figure not far away. The great sound of the wooden instrument came from it. I noticed that the figure was tall, slender and stretched like a string of a mandoline. I was in the mountains. What time was it? Where are Mimi, my dad and my mom? What is happening? Who am I?
- Owh.. Where the hell am I? - Said the unnamed boy. Suddenly the kaval stopped. The figure approached the boy. It was a man.
- Momchil, are you alright? - Asked him the youth.
- What Momchil are you talking about? - Answered the confused boy.
- You're not okay in the head. - Worded the man as he put his long arm under the back of Momchil , lifting him slightly. He grabbed a bowl filled with clear, cold water and brought the bowl to Momchil's lips.
- Drink. - Said the man short and clear.
Momchil drank from the bowl and wiped his mouth with the clothes , which he had been dressed in.
Hold on a moment.
Why am I wearing these rags from the Bulgarian Renaissance?
He thought for a moment, then stopped thinking. He looked at the youth next to him. The man wore traditional Bulgarian clothing obviously from the Shopluk region. In his belt he had a sword and two revolvers. His face - pale, but covered in scars, his eyes - bright like the welkins, his hair - dark like the night.
Momchil's eyes were closing. He was unknowingly tired.
- No. - Yelled the man
Momchil's eyes suddenly opened.
- Who are you? - Asked Momchil.
- Where did you hit your head? My name is Prodan, your name is Momchil. We're searching for warriors loyal to the Motherland. They're going to be here soon.
- Who is goi- Momchil didn't manage to finish his words. Prodan pulled his arm and they both ran to the edge of the mountain cliff.
YOU ARE READING
Pursuit of Freedom
Historical FictionA young boy is going on a trip to the Rhodope mountains with his family. Unfortunately, the car crashes. He passes away and wakes up in another body. Where is he? What's the time? Who is he?
