Those moments between seconds

Trespassing

I was in a field. Or the edge of a garden I think. Which for the standard person in this day and age is not the ideal place to wake up, however its what my life is now and I've learned to live with it. There was a forest on my back, a house on the other side of the grass, and the soft relative silence of morning. Good, silence was a consistency I had come to treasure, after living in the busy streets of London for so long, although I was much closer to a building than I usually liked to be. I pushed myself up to a somewhat sitting position against a tree and ran through my things to find something to substitute for breakfast. My eyes were still blurry from what I assumed was sleep, although the pounding behind my eyes told a different story. I was dehydrated, but I had no water until my next stop at a shop, whenever that would be. I drink anything I get, mostly the liquids my tinned fruit comes in, but its never enough. A black backpack full of assorted clothes, a few tins of food and an old wok that's badly tied to the side are all I own anymore, a far cry from the high life of house parties and vintage wine that would have surrounded me a year ago. It's almost laughable this drastic change in pace, but even if it's not much but it's safe, secure, and most importantly, mine. As I moved the silence became less assuring, the hairs on my neck prickling as I felt eyes on me. I hoped whatever farmer lived here didn't have a pitchfork or at the very least would let me eat something before yelling at me to move on. It was honestly impressive how the stereotype was quite accurate in that regard, and I've been threatened by my fair share of them. To give credit to the farmers, I've been trespassing on land the whole time i've moved through ireland, and to them I've got to look like a scruffy backpacker that's been lost a little too long.

A few moments passed and, content that I was safe to snack before being threatened, I started digging through my things to find some food. It was mostly cheap tinned fruits, cheaper bags of cereal, and the occasional well rationed chocolate bar to keep my spirits up. I'd long since given up on buying anything fresh, though farms in Ireland were endless they didn't take well to trespassers and there must have been maybe two stores in the whole country with how few I've seen on my journey. It put my poor wok out of use, not that I wanted to start a fire to cook over anyway. But ever a sentimental creature I kept it with me, hopefully it'll gain use again in time. After dragging out a half eaten bag of cheerios I start munching, and the door to the old house opens. Damn. With luck I can finish the final few mouthfuls before I get yelled at to move along, and get off this property. To my surprise the man that emerges holds a glass of water and starts making his way over towards me, immediately trying to make eye contact. I was never good at that and averted my gaze almost as soon as I looked over, I dislike pity as much as aggression, although it certainly comes up less frequently. More often than not I am met with pity only when I walk into a town, which is why much of my travelling has taken me the windy route through the countryside.

The man didn't look overly farmerish, but they did seem to come in all shapes and sizes around here and I wasn't about to take his fairly lanky build as a weak point. He was Tall. I am, Not. He took long strides but I was far enough away it took him a fair few seconds to get over to me, enough time for me to panic and wake up fully.
"Hey there, are you alright? You look a little... lost."
No kidding buddy, dragged through a hedge backwards is an understatement for how i look.
"I uh, yeah, yeah I'm good."
My voice was hoarse from lack of use.
"I know i'm not technically meant to be here, but do you mind if i sit and finish eating first? It's been a while and opening things while walking is a right pain."
I was mumbling, but this was the first time I've spoken to anyone in a fair while, but he seemed to understand.
"Sure friend and here, you look you could use a drink."
He passed the glass over as he spoke and I faked a sip, he seemed nice but that sure didn't mean he couldn't have slipped something in it. It never hurt to prepare for the worst. Years spent with a boyfriend who went parting almost every night taught me never to trust anyone else with a drink, no matter how much you think you can trust them.
"What brings you here? To cork in general, not just my backyard I hope."
He chuckled to himself while I looked down silently, deliberating on what exactly to tell him. He was in all cases a stranger, but what exactly could he do if i told him? It wasn't like he could send me back, and I hadn't done anything against the law, although it felt like I was running from it at times.
"It's really a long story. Not an overly happy one either i'm afraid."
He glanced back at his house, then slowly moved to sit cross legged in front of me. Obviously intrigued by what little I had given him. I would tell him everything, I decided, the first time I would recount my story.
"I've got time, and you look like you've got quite the story to tell."