Bridgette stood on a field of cool grass. She felt the soft vegetation beneath her bare feet. A warm breeze brushed against her lips and cheek, brushing her hair behind her. Long hair. Golden hair. Hair so fine that-

This isn’t my hair, she thought, as she lifted her fingers to the strands that came from her own head. Pulling it before her, she saw her tresses shimmered with a golden hue. Rubbing the hair between her fingers, she felt a fine consistency as smooth as silk. It was utterly unlike her dark, barbed-wire hair that she hated so much.

Looking down, she saw the rest of her was different as well. She was tall and slim. Perfectly built, perfectly contoured. She took a step, and felt like a tiptoeing princess from an animated movie. Nothing like the hard trod her leg made with much weight behind it. No, she was slim, she was proportioned, she was-

Beautiful.

It’s like the body I designed myself, she thought. I AM the body I designed.

A tingling joy filled her chest as she contemplated her new light step, her new hair, her new self. Who cared where she was, or how? She was beautiful, the grass was beautiful, and wherever she was now had to be better than where she came from.

Eagerly, she stepped forward, passing across the fine glade, thankful with every step that she was away from home. She could almost imagine music playing in the air, singing along with the warm spring breeze that made her hair flutter behind her. She hummed to herself as the Sun graced her with its golden radiance. Never had she been so happy to be out in the daylight.

Where didn’t matter. How was forgotten. She was, and she was happy, just to be herself. Herself, and beautiful.

The grasslands extended towards the horizon before her. Lovely trees dotted the landscape, left and right. The sweet smell of pine tickled her nostrils. She walked for what seemed like hours, just enjoying the sight, smells, and sounds that perfumed the land, enjoying how light and unencumbered her body felt. “It’s so sweet,” she hummed. “So special.” Only gradually did she realize that she forgot about school, and her troubles there which no longer seemed important.

But the thought of school and home did make her at least wonder for a moment. Here was beautiful, but where was here? She wasn’t afraid, and somehow she knew she was in no danger. But curiosity got the better of her. “Where am I?” she said.

“Why that depends,” a voice answered her. “Particularly when it comes to I.”

“Who’s there?” she asked. Turning, she saw no one.

“Only me,” said the voice. “Am I the first?”

“The first what?” she asked.

“Why, your first words of course. Am I the first words spoken to you here? Or the first words you said?”

“Yes,” she said. “I mean, no. Or is it yes? Who are you?”

“Who am I? Who do you think I am?”

She smiled. Something about the mischievous voice sounded intimately familiar to her, like recognizing a childhood toy at someone else’s garage sale. “I think,” she said, “That you sound like a little man. A little, grey haired old man with a kind face.”

“And you can tell that from my voice?” said the little, grey haired old man with a kind face. “You have the most marvelous ears.”

She studied him. He was short, and came up only to her thigh, or perhaps her waist if he straightened up. He was hunched over, perhaps from a sore back. He had a large nose that looked a little goofy, but his simple way of smiling and bright eyes gave her a warm feeling. She trusted this little man, though she couldn’t have said why.

“Hello,” she said. “What’s your name?”

“My name?” he asked. “Oh dear, oh dear. That won’t do. That won’t do at all.”

“Why not?”

“Well, you see young lady, it’s a question of manners. Yes, you see, there are all sorts of rules that we have. Rules we need to follow. Rules, laws, contracts. And questions of etiquette! You see, manners are so very important here. If you’re rude, you need to be rude by the book! Not that I’m saying you’re rude; you are such a young lady after all, and a guest, and it surely wouldn’t do to make you feel unwelcome.”

“Did I say something wrong?” asked Bridgette.

“Not exactly,” said the little, old man. But you see, it’s the squire to his knight, or the child to her mother, and the student to his teacher. Or ah, er, the younger to the older. And I dare say I think I have just a few years on you.”

“Younger to older?” asked Bridgette. “As a means of etiquette?”

“Indeed!” said the old man. “Proper manners are for the young to introduce themselves to the old. To have the old introduce themselves to the young, you see, it’s, er, such an awkward way of doing things, but it’s not your fault if your elders have been lax in teaching you. Not that I blame you, my dear, but things have been changing so fast for us old people.”

“The young introducing themselves to the old,” murmured Bridgette. She smiled broadly. She used to smile with her lips closed, back when she still wore braces. But now, she opened her mouth in a huge smile, her teeth shining like polished ivory. “My name is Bridgette,” she said. “Bridgette Mittison. What is your name?”

“Excellent!” said the old man. He pulled out a gold pocket watch and checked the time. “Ah ha! I see.” He bowed graciously, bending his back leg and gracefully unfolding his left arm. “I am Bickle Wa, at your service.”

“Bickle Wa?” she said. “That’s a strange name.”

“Is it?” he said, sounding a little hurt. “Bridgette Mittison isn’t exactly common in these parts, but I wouldn’t be calling it strange.”

“I apologize,” said Bridgette, still finding humor in the situation. “I think it’s a lovely name.”

“Wonderful!” said Bickle, his small mouth smiling beneath his big nose. “I am glad to meet you Bridgette.”

“Likewise,” said Bridgette. “Perhaps you know where we are?”

“Why of course,” said Bickle. “We are in the Freeland Meadows. One of the fairest grasslands in the realm. I do love coming here to sit, smoke my pipe, and say hello to those coming by. This here is my favorite tree,” he gestured, “and here is my favorite rock to sit on.”

“Is that all you do here?” she asked. “Come, sit and smoke?”

“And watch sunrise and sunset!” he said. “Of course, I can’t do it every day. Even Bickle Wa has work to do.”

“What do you do, Bickle?”

“Me?” said Bickle, “Oh, this and that, that and this. Usually I make shoes, but I’ve also done some spinning in my time. I like to sing, but not well enough that anyone would pay me for it. Although,” he said with a smile. “One time I was offered money to stop. But usually I get paid to talk.”

“Paid to talk?” Bridgette asked.

Bickle Wa nodded.

“Who gets paid to talk?” she asked.

“Who indeed!” said the little old man. “But now it is your turn. What do you do?”

“What do I do?” she asked. “I’m- I’m a student.”

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

“A student of what?” asked Bickle. “A student of Baking? Tailoring? Blacksmithing?”

“None of those,” said Bridgette. “Just a student. At a school. Plainsview High School.”

“Plainsview High School?” said Bickle, thoughtfully. “My word, I don’t know of any Plainsview, though it sounds like a nice place. Probably on a nice hill with a grand view of the green plains below.”

“Not exactly,” said Bridgette. “It’s rather flat.”

“Why now, that’s too bad. And what are you learning in this school? What trade?”

“There’s English,” said Bridgette.

“English?” asked Bickle. “I thought you already seemed to know that language quite well. We’re speaking it now, aren’t we?”

“Well yes,” she laughed. “But-“

“Can’t be just that. I don’t know why they’re teaching you something you already know.”

“There’s also Math,” she said. “And I’m taking Geology this year.”

“Geology?” asked Bickle, elevating a grey eyebrow. “And what is this Geology you study?”

“Why,” said Bridgette. “That’s Earth Science.”

Now Bickle’s eyes opened wide. He stomped his foot with enthusiasm. “Earth Science!” he exclaimed. “Why now, doesn’t that just all make the best of sense! Earth Science! You must be from Earth!”

“I am,” said Bridgette. “Of course I am. Where else would I be from?”

“Why here of course!” said Bickle. “Like I’m from here. Earth! I haven’t seen an Earthling in- oh, I wager even the Queen doesn’t know how long.” Once again, he checked the time on his pocketwatch. “Ah yes, that’s right. Years! A great many years! That’s how long. How did you get here, my dear? Do you remember? Did you follow a rabbit down a hole? Maybe you came in through an abandoned wardrobe in an old house? Or did a tornado hurl you here from the heavens, house and all?”

“All those happened before?” asked Bridgette.

“Oh yes, and many more!” laughed Bickle Wa. “Earthlings come here every so often, one way or another. A long time ago they came through stories, or they slept within rings of flowers. Quite a large number came through books. Some entered through plays… a theater with actors, costuming and lights! These days, our visitors have come through all sorts of new ways. Moving pictures, I heard one say.”

“Moving pictures,” repeated Bridgette, bemused by the conversation.

“Yes, really!” said Bickle, emphasizing with his voice, as if indignant that she could doubt his story. “One visitor gave me a picture, many years ago. It was more perfect than any artist could paint, yet she drew it in the blink of an eye. It was black & white, but I treasured it for years, and I wish to the Queen I could see it again. But I heard of many of these pictures, moving so quickly one after the other that they move! What did they call it?”

“Film.” said Bridgette.

Bickle Wa snapped his fingers. “Film! That’s it!” he said. “Thank you young lady, it has been so long that I had all but forgotten the word. We had people who visited us through film! Yes, that’s right. So how did you reach us?”

“It was a computer game,” said Bridgette, feeling kind of funny. “I was at my computer. I found a new game, I started to play it and- next thing I know, I was here.”

“A computer game?” asked Bickle. “I know what games are, but what is a computer?”

“A computer,” said Bridgette, “is- how do I explain this. It’s a box with a screen, kind of like a television or a film. And it processes data really fast, like a calculator. And with the right programs it can- well, it can play music, show pictures, run games, find information for you, show you pictures of other places, all sorts of things, really.”

The little old man stuck his hand to his mouth and nervously nibbled on his finger. “That sounds like a Sorcerer’s Crystal Ball.”

“Something like that,” said Bridgette.

“And how many people on Earth have Crystal Balls?” asked Bickle.

“A lot of people,” she said. “In my country, anyway.”

“And you played a game on your Crystal Ball?” asked Bickle. “You weren’t using it for spellcraft, but just for fun? And it took you here?”

“Yes,” said Bridgette. “I started a game. The Dream Chest. I designed an avatar, clicked start, and I was here.”

“My word,” said Bickle. “What an amazing story. The Earthlings have Crystal Balls now, and they don’t use them to spy on distant places, but to play games! My word, my word, what a day! What a fascinating and important day!”

“Could you tell me where I am now?” asked Bridgette.

“You said it yourself,” said Bickle Wa. “You’re in the Dream Chest. This is our little country of it, which we call Shard. Here you are, and here I am, and now I can share with you the wonders of my home. You will like it here, I know you will.”

“Am I in the Dream Chest?” asked Bridgette. “Or Shard?”

“Well you might say Dream Chest is the world and Shard the country,” said Bickle confidently. Then he rethought it. “Or is it Shard that is the world and the Dream Chest that is the country? Ah! No matter, it makes no difference, I’m sure. You’ll like it either way, I know. Are you ready for a tour?”

“I’d like that,” said Bridgette. “I really would.”

“Excellent,” said Bickle. He stood himself as straight as the crook in his back would permit, picked up his walking stick, and pumped out his chest. “So! As your guide to Shard, where would you like to go?”

“Where?” asked Bridgette, bewildered. “Where is there to go?”

“Why anywhere you desire!” said Bickle Wa.

Bridgette turned around in a full circle. Everywhere she looked was grasslands. Grass, trees, and nature. “It all looks the same,” she observed.

“Is there something you’d like to see?” asked Bickle.

“Yes,” she said. “Towns, maybe. Places to meet people, see things. Adventures! Or castles. Do you have all that?”

“Indeed!” said Bickle. “All of that, and more! Shard is a vast land, Bridgette, and you will never find yourself bored or unchallenged. All the people will want to meet you, and all doors will be open to you. We have our problems of course, but I can recognize talent when I see it. I know you can help us too, if you wish to. And there is always an adventure when you help others in need. We have castles too, where Queen Scarlet reigns, though it is best not to, ah, attract her attention without necessity. She is very busy, yes, very busy ruling Shard. But let us start off local, and meet the common folk. Bickle Wa knows them, and they know Bickle.”

“But what’s nearby?” asked Bridgette.

“Well, the closest town is Lewes, and they got what you’d like: A bed to lie on, food to eat, people to talk to. It isn’t exactly the Ruby Castle, but it would be a wonderful place to begin.”

“That sounds perfect.”

“Then Lewes it is!” said Bickle. “Let’s be going. There’s a path not far from here.”

Bickle started walking, and Bridgette followed behind. Every step was a pleasure. She felt beautiful, and her steps emphasized the perfection of her form. She couldn’t wait, she just had to ask. “Bickle,” she said. “By any chance, do you have a mirror?”

“As a matter of fact, I do!” he said. “I carry one with me. It’s always helpful when I trim my whiskers. Here you go, Bridgette dear.”

Reaching into his battered leather satchel, Bickle produced a small silver hand mirror. Bridgette accepted it gratefully.

She gasped in amazement at her reflection. She was flawless! Her skin shone like alabaster. Her hair was perfectly styled, and her skin reflected remarkable coloration, as if she had traces of makeup naturally in her skin. She could never have imagine having such perfect form. “I could be a model,” she reflected quietly.

“You can be anything you want while you’re here,” said Bickle. “But yes, you are a very attractive young lady.”

“Thank you, Bickle,” she said. Turning the mirror she examined her reflection from as many angles as the thin sheet of glass could provide. She couldn’t see her back, but she turned her head left and right, examining her face, cheeks, eyes, brow, neck, and all other surfaces.

“I’m sure you’re having a wonderful time,” said Bickle. “And the day is long, yet we have some walking to do. I don’t relish walking in the dark, so perhaps we can resume heading where we are going?”

“Oh, of course,” said Bridgette, as she handed him back the mirror. Bickle returned it to his satchel, and led her past the nearby pine trees.

With a skip in his step, Bickle led her to a path between two pines. He turned right and headed along, humming to himself as he made his way. Bridgette followed. Turning her head to the left, she saw little except a grove of trees. The path did not extend past them.

“What is this road?” she asked.

“Just a foot trail,” said Bickle. “It takes me to my favorite sitting spot.”

“And this is the end of the trail?” she asked.

“Or the beginning,” said Bickle. “Frankly, I’m so happy when I get here, I’ve never seen a need to go further. And the path takes me home, so home we go and you’ll be my guest.”

The countryside went by as they made their way. The breeze was warm, the sun glorious, and the white clouds drifted across the sky. “Do you come here by yourself?” asked Bridgette.

“Often,” said Bickle. “I used to have company, but this is a Springtime age for Shard. Some in town talk about Dark Ages, and Troubles Far Away. But such ills have not come near Lewes. Not yet.”

“Do you know of any?” asked Bridgette.

“Me? Oh no, not I,” said the little man. “Even the cruel Baron of the Darklands would scarce find reason to cast his wicked eye on this land. But why worry about the evil that men do when one can smoke a pipe in the Freeland Meadows? Ah. If you wish news of that sort, you will find it in town, if that’s the sort of adventure you have in mind.”

“I don’t know what I have in mind,” said Bridgette. The question did probe at her. She was in Shard, and she was beautiful. Was that all she needed? Could there be more that she was missing? Could she get home?

“Bickle,” asked Bridgette. “Do Earthlings go home after they visit?”

“Quite often they do,” said Bickle. “Earthlings are visitors and honored guests. We love their company. Some choose to stay. And some go home and never return,” he added, sadly.

“How do I get home?”

Bickle stopped. He turned to look her over, his kind smile turning upside down into a sad pout. “You want to go home already? But you just got here!”

“Oh no,” said Bridgette. “Not yet. I’d like to stay a while. But if I do choose to go, can I?”

“There will be a way,” assured Bickle. “There always is. I can’t tell you how, as I don’t know myself. But with your bright mind, I know you’ll find it if you wish to. Perhaps there is someone at Lewes who can help you. Or maybe somewhere else. Never fear.”

Bridgette smiled back at him. “Don’t worry, I’m not going home yet.” Returning her smile, Bickle led her on. Bridgette wondered: did she want to go home? Not yet; not nearly yet. The land was beautiful, and she felt good about herself for once. Maybe there would be someone at Lewes who would appreciate her, unlike someone named Rick who laughed at her with his other friends. She set the memory aside, as not to spoil her good mood. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized that there was nothing she wanted more than to see new places, meet new people, have some fun, excitement, and maybe even a spark of romance.

“I can’t wait to see Lewes,” she said.

“Then wait no longer,” answered her guide. For there she is.”