The morning was a bit dreary, but nothing too depressing. Sasha Carnovich woke up peacefully from her evening slumber. Sleeping was never an issue for her. She then went into the bathroom to take a nice shower. Warm, but not too hot. After having breakfast, she went over to the living room and picked up one of the many books from her bookshelf.
Sasha sat there in the room reading her book with joy silently. “What an escape,” She thought. The book she held in her hand was about the Hundred Years War. History was an escape for her. She reveled in the facts that dwelled in the book and what occurred in a time where her existence was not even though of. It broke her away from the reality of life that gave her both excitement and fear. She shook her head so that her long black hair wasn’t in the way of her sight. While reading deep within her book, she started to think deeply about herself. What she has accomplished, what she plans to do, and what lies ahead for her. She thought about her work and what it meant to her. She loved her career and there was no need to change that. She knew how hard it was, but she made sure that her self-care was essential. She also though about what she felt was missing and how she can retrieve what she feels is lost. Eventually, she shook it off and focused about the riveting battle of Agincourt.
At the moment of the French defeat from the victorious English, her phone vibrated. Looking puzzled, she went over to the table next to her to see who it could be. She never really received many phone calls on the weekends, so this had to be something serious. To her relief, it was her brother Lars. Sasha and her brother have always had a good relationship. Just a year older, Lars worked in communications in the area. He would always give her good advice about how to succeed in social situations. There have also been times in which Sasha was there for him in need of advice. Although the relationship was good, it wasn’t perfect. Sasha would stress the hell out of him in many circumstances and vice versa. But in the end, it would be over and done with.
“Hello?” Sasha asked. “Hey, how’s it going?” Lars replied in a clam voice. There was many times in which she envied Lars’ laid back attitude. She only wished that she had such a thing at times. “I’m just reading.”
“About what?”
“History.”
“Figures,” sighed Lars.
“Hey, this is interesting,” Sasha proudly stated.
“I’m not judging,” laughed Lars. Sasha then giggled along with him. “I know,” she smirked, “what’s up?”
“Well I was just wondering how you’ve been. I know a new place can be difficult for you, said Lars with concern. This was true, change was difficult for her. Sasha dreaded when there was too much change. One little thing could bring her to a panic of biblical proportions, for her at least. “I’m fine, just at my own place,” she replied. “That’s good, I was curious,” Lars said in great relief. “How’s dating been going for you?” he asked. “It’s okay, disappointing, but okay,” sighed Sasha. She had been dating for a while. To her, there was no prince charming, or will there ever be. Just someone she can spend her life with is equally as gratifying. “Hang in there” stated Lars. “I know”, Sasha assured. They talked for a while until Lars said he had to go, in which they both sent their love and hung up. Feeling calmly, she went back into her book. Oh, how she loved history. If only she was there to see it all. A flapper at a speak easy; a noble woman in Florence under Medici rule; one of the daughters of Boudicca; all of this indulged her in life. She also seemed to indulge her with great and wonderful lust. She also though about the many authors who she mesmerized. One of her favorites was Steinbeck. The descriptions of his settings and the characters he moved around and created as if he was the god of Salinas inspired her. She was also fascinated in the surreal worlds that were the core of William S. Burroughs’s yage induced fantasies. As well as the high induced counterculture drug trips of Hunter S. Thompson; the skid row realities of Bukowski; the harsh sadness of Vonnegut; the low key dreams of Twain; the many tales of Chancier; and many others who have given her solace. Her mind went back to the Hundred Years war. She thought about what would it be like to go there and who will be there. With this thought, she then began to close her eyes.
As she opened her eyes, she found herself in a field. She wasn’t familiar with this field, for it was open with only a small number of trees surrounding it. She was also surrounded by men in what she thought to be armor. Many had chain mail covered over their bodies and riding on horses. Over their chain mail was a garb of bright colors with three lions over red and three fleur over blue. Some of their faces were unrecognizable due to a number of them wearing snout shaped metallic masks. In the middle was a man who seemed to have importance. He spoke to the crowd with great charisma, as if he was summoned by ancient gods themselves to fight off the demons of the world. At this time, she decided to examine herself and she saw that she wasn’t her anymore. In fact, she wasn’t even female. Her physical personal had turned from a black haired woman in her mid twenties to a somewhat scruffy blond male. Only the age range has remained the same.
Once the man has finished speaking, the men chanted in a way of comrade ire. “Hoorah, hurrah, hurrah!” they shouted and proceeded forward. She then realized where she was. She was in fact leaving Calais to fight for Henry V in Agincourt. There was another man riding near her in a similar fashion. There seemed to have been an expression of great despair and fear as her looked to her. “Fare thee well, my good man” he said to her. At this point, she didn’t know whether he was serious or not. She rode on her horse with the other men at her side for hours and hours until they reached their destination and from the far reaches they can see the French defenses. She can feel her heart racing and her mind was at a clear silence. Then they charged.
What occurred next was hellish chaos. Men from both sides striking each other with swords and arrows. Bloodshed was everywhere. It was as if a pool of blood and metal appeared in a once pleasant French countryside. As the battle went on, it seemed certain that the English would win. Sasha seemed to be certain about this as well, which had led her to joy. However, this small and silent celebration wouldn’t last. For out of nowhere, she felt something sharp hit her. As she looked down in pain, to her horror, she discovered an arrow tight into her heart. She looked up and saw a French bowman miles away looking at her. He was standing at ease expecting her to fall. She lumped over her horse and on to the bloody ground. The last things her senses could detect were the putrid smell of the blood in the air and sound of the cries of war. Her final thought was the last thing the knight she met earlier told her. “fare thee well, my good man, fare thee well my good man.” The phrase was spinning in his head and when everything started to get darker and darker, the voice became quieter, until they were ultimately gone.
Sasha then awoken from her short slumber. She looked around in a slight panic and to her relief; she was back where she was. She looked down at her chest and found no arrow, no blood. She then looked at the table next to her and saw the book on the Hundred Years War she was reading. She smirked and gave a short shrug. “Fare thee well my friend, my good man indeed,” she said.
