Sarah rested her hand on her stomach, wondering where she was. This is a dream, I never- no one ever… HOW AM I PREGNANT!

Her knuckles popped as she moved, joints crackling from stiff disuse. Sand shifted beneath her, moving as she tried to stand. Sand… why is there sand…? I was going to Johns Hopkins, there shouldn’t be any sand dunes in the city…

Sara struggled to her feet, feeling as though her body had been tenderized by a steamroller then reinflated. To say everything hurt, was to understate the sun’s nuclear light. A light that brought sweat to her brow, making her veil adhere to her forehead.

Sand dunes sprawled out in every direction as far as the eye could see, except for the way she had come. Her footsteps carving a neon sign back towards rocky outcrops and A city… her city… In the blink of an eye Sarah lived a second life, distantly removed from the life she knew as Sarah. This world worshiped a God of strength, Therun Taloc, this was the Kheresh wastes, a —white sand— desert of fine glass particles, and a caliphate loyal to King Aldric, as all humanity was united on this continent. Or so her father said…

Her father…

Images of two men appeared, one of the disabled pig who took out his frustrations on Sarah, and one of the gold crusted sheik —Emir Efendi— who gave his daughter —Sirin— everything she could ever want. A stable home, luxurious food, horses, servants, guards, and literal meowtains of cats. Two men, both her fathers. Yet one embodied the word while the other rejected it entirely.

Migranious pain shot through Sarah’s brain, enough to bring an elephant to their knees, but not Sarah. Pain was a product of speaking, of being weak. So she ignored it, heading back to the caliphate. Sirin’s pregnancy was a product of a spoiled brat’s attention seeking.

“Of course it backfired you dumb cunt, your father cared about you, gave you the world and you threw it away for some cheap poems.”

Her foot slid through white sand, cutting at Sirin’s bare foot. You can’t be serious, you didn’t bring shoes? To the desert… Sarah couldn’t understand how sheltered of a child Sirin was, completely oblivious to the world’s true nature.

“You didn’t bring shoes to the glass desert!'“ Shouted Sarah, her voice strangely accented from the language that wasn’t English, or Spanish.

Sarah slapped her cheeks, trying to focus her migrane-plagued mind with physical pain. Get to shelter, she thought, walking forward as delicately as possible. Ultimately the mental pain faded, replaced by the pain of millions of glass shards embedded into her feet. Yet she pushed on, life wasn’t fair, and it was about time Sarah got the better end of that beat stick.

Night fell before she reached town, perfect cover to enter the city limits unmolested. Without an armed man she was in actual danger, micro-aggressions didn’t exist, but fornicaters were stoned by their own parents. Rape or murder were on the table, as was slavery. And no one would take in a pregnant girl.

The Christian notion of Charity did not exist within the Fulminonimbus, making Sarah chuckle. At least this world wasn’t full of gullible fools like Liam, though she did miss his eyes, and how he stared at her like a cute lil puppy. So trusting… Sarah bit her tongue to clear her mind, mentally assessing her new body.

Sirin knew her birthday, but not her age, a fact that made Sarah contemplate murdering the girl and taking everything from her, but a memory stopped her. Sirin was dead, unable to face her own shame of pregnancy she had walked into the desert, barefoot, without water, and with the heaviest garbage she could carry; thinking it would weigh her down.

In light of this revelation Sarah laughed, her voice husky from being forcibly regenerated. The man in chains… wasn’t a man, he matched the descriptions of this world’s God perfectly. And I tried to ignore him… Bloody Heaven below… Wait, bloody heaven… why did- oh, Sirin’s voice is my voice, her speech patterns and ticks are mine… crap. I’ve become a vapid valley girl. Thought Sarah, contemplating escape via death once more…

It wouldn’t be the first time she forced a regression, but no. She needed to work through the verbal tics, learn the local customs for herself, and then she could better herself. Patience was a virtue, and one Sarah had in spades. Though she was curious what would happen if Sirin died, would she start over with a golden spoon, or reset to her worst moment, lying face down in glass sand?

Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

Her hand found Sirin’s pocket, and what she found there sent her heart somersaulting through her chest. Gold coins filled every pocket, pouch, and seam of Sirin’s dress. ‘Heavy garbage’ indeed. The dolt had bumbled her way into usefulness, with this treasure Sarah had options.

Sarah slipped off the street, hiding in an alley between two walled homes. Adobe walls hemmed her in, protecting the occupants with solid wood doors or stone walls that towered above her. The message was as clear as heads mounted on spears, ‘unwelcome guests, are unwelcome’. Consequently Sirin shrugged, no one would take a single woman in, so the solution was simple, she needn’t ask. This wasn’t the her first attempt at squatting.

Darkness guarded her life, alerting her of wandering guards with glowing lamps and pointing Sarah to unoccupied homes. She sought the darkest houses, walking through town for hours til she built a mental map. There were an unusual amount of silent doorways, but they usually stood beside guardposts or vigilant neighbors whose watchmen and guard dogs warded away Sarah’s midnight mischief.

Dogs… Now there was an idea, beasts would protect Sarah, pregnant or not. And would keep people from asking questions, vagrants wouldn’t keep guard dogs in someone else’s home. She could pretend to be house sitting and rob them blind.

Midnight was long past when Sarah entered the first home, a walled affair that some thoughtless attendant had left unlocked. She padded silently across the courtyard to the door, and found it wouldn’t budge. Most likely barred on the inside. Her path forward blocked she crept beneath the windows, listening for the telltale sound of breathing before heaving herself into the home. The home was silent, and unfortunately barren, with only a few sacks of grain present.

Effectively inedible in its current form, but not without value. Sarah moved on, she could come back to loot the grain once she found a proper home.

She found other homes, trying each door until she found one that was unlocked. Humans were naturally trusting people, fools who were practically begging Sarah to steal from them.

The next home was similar, with the wall’s gate unlocked and the inner door barred, but this time she hit the jackpot. Barrels of dried fruit filled the room she climbed into, a feast of fiber that Sarah greedily enjoyed. They tasted like a mix between an orange and a plum, bitterly sweet and acidic. Munching happily on her bounty she slipped further into the home. Surreptitiously searching for a basket or satchel, something to conceal her stolen goods.

A stairwell rose from the darkness, mirrored by stairs ascending to the next floor, discerning this building as a three story—

‘Breathing.’

Sarah froze, holding her breath.

Fabric swished, something was coming. Memories of a captured grain thief flashed before Sarah’s eyes, a child, no more than twelve had been found with stolen grain. Emir Efendi had sentenced him to a week in the stocks, only to set him free three days in. By cutting off his hands and head with an executioner’s sword.

Grain thieves were killed. That was the law, ‘especially for pregnant women who had already fornicated.’

Sarah was dead.

‘If they caught her.’ She padded backwards, matching the approaching man’s heavier footsteps. He reached the stairs as she reached the room of dried fruit.

A door swung open, creaking as three dogs ran into the yard. They sniffed the air, running to the unlocked gate. ‘You won’t catch me that way.’ Thought Sarah.

She was no amateur who left doors open, that’s how the cops found you. But dogs did not rely on sight alone. Two followed her trail, lingering near the drips of blood from her needled feet. Highlighting a crucial error. Just because there was no concept of DNA in this era didn’t mean her blood wouldn’t condemn her.

They had her scent…

‘You bloody bitches.’ Thought Sarah.

She scanned the room, finding a crusty sack as the only makeshift weapon. Worthless against the blonde dogs or their master. One of the bitches raised her head, ears aiming forward, right at Sarah.

Who hit it with a fruit, nailing the pup right in the nose. Or she meant to hit it, at the last second the dog caught the fruit, eagerly chowing down. That caught the man’s attention, luring him into the front yard. Exactly where Sarah wanted him. She turned and walked through the house, acting as if it were her own, then exited the back door. With a house between them, she escaped.

The dogs never barked, nor did their master ever suspect he had been robbed, but that was Sarah’s first night in the Kheresh Caliphate, marking the first of many nightwalks. For that night, she returned to the first house, moving the furniture into a single room on the top floor and using it to barricade the door. Careful to pick a room with two windows so she could always flee. Her pregnant belly weighed her down, making her toss and turn as she slept through the day.

‘Curse your whoring self Sirin, I could’ve found a man and gotten him to protect me, but no, you had to run into the desert and die after a dandy knocked you up.’

“You have got to go…” She said.

‘Abortions don't exist here… I guess I could give birth and dump the fetus in the desert. That’s how they did it in the bible’ Thought Sarah, recalling the story from one of her father’s friends, a friendly priest who had recited it during their —private— scripture study.

‘You’ve survived the priest. And dear old dad, may the worms never find his body. A few months Sarah, just a few months until this baby drops and you can catch yourself a man. I doubt any men know what a virgin actually is. I’ll find a merchant, no… Merchants talk to people all day long, I need someone with talent but no social skills, like Liam…