Non-Player Character

Chapter 1 - Jeryeline

When the world pauses, it's not like a blurry still-frame or picture when taken with a cheap camera. It's not a remote, carefully lifted and paused when the actor's face has one eye open and another closed. Or perhaps it was, and it's just impossible to take all of that in during a moment, no longer privy to a timepiece. 

Without a flash, a firework snapped, crackled and popped. For a moment, for a glimmer, everything paused and then shifted. Three birds of an unremarkable brown color flew frozen in the sky. If not for the fact that one did not have its wings open, Jeryeline would have thought they were gliding on an impressive airstream.

Why were these words slamming into her skull with a familiarity she no longer recognized? These memorized lines screamed in her head, trickling in like a storm surge of a category five hurricane. The same sentences, same day, same life.

A splitting headache cracked in her skull and the bubble that kept her floating above her body popped and she fell forward. A shadow in front of her moved, the image before her cleared, revealing a person standing there as if she had been the one acting odd.

"What..." Jeryeline stumbled, the words like ash in her mouth, "What can I get for ya?"

Delayed, like a nuclear blast in the distance, a blinding flash of light struck Jeryeline and everything snapped back to normal. She focused on the individual, his strange appearance starting to come into focus.

He wore a costume, an outfit of some sort, which had large mounds of metal on top of his shoulders. Chainmail, real looking chainmail, was woven across his chest. Large metal plates on his legs reflecting the sunlight into her eyes, causing the additional pressure in her skull to intensify. He looked like a knight from medieval times, or what she had seen in books or on television anyway. Except, his armor appeared gigantic in size, almost like a caricature.

Jeryeline felt her head pound again. Memories flooded back, stinging her brain. Her skull throbbed in pain and protest. Memories of a different time, different world, assaulted her.

Images of a family, pets, a past. A life.

I don't belong here.

The trees next to the sidewalk bent and blew in the breeze. But the buildings surrounding her weren't right. She wasn't sure how she got here or even where she was. But this was not her home.

Twisting her head, she examined her surroundings, noticing for the first time that she was standing in the middle of a street. But instead of room for cars to travel, she was standing at a booth blocking their path. It was in a street fair.

Across from her stood a stable with another person behind it. The other person, there was something off, the way he stood sent chills up her spine.

A slight breeze kissed her face, cooling her scalding headache. Her dress swayed against her legs, the fabric scratching against her. Jeryeline pressed her hand against the brown material that lay on her body. She never wore wool, never even touched it before. But she was certain that this coarse fabric against her skin could be nothing else.

A white apron covered her chest, the material much softer but unlike cotton or polyester, not like any of the synthetic material she wore before. It felt real.

The wind brought a warm honey scent this time. Jeryeline's stomach rumbled. Baked goods lined the table. She swayed, feeling light-headed. This was her booth, she realized with a start. All these baked goods she had cooked. The memories of this morning fading as her robotic body moved on autopilot.

Jeryeline smelled the air, impressed. She had loved to bake but to do that as a living, that hadn't been the plan. She had been going to college to be a biologist, a scientist of sorts, like her father, not a baker. She was going to help people.