Soul Searching

Act Normal

Devon approached the small village on the outskirts of the forest. There was a light mist beginning to shroud the roof tops. It must have been late afternoon when he, or Devon rather, had fallen into the creek after the unfortunate incident with the snake. The sun had begun it's descent as he approached town and it was nearly behind the trees by the time he saw the small outcropping of buildings.

He smoothed his clothes out, making sure to pull his pant leg down to cover the hideous bite marks. It itched though, he'd have to remember not to fuss with it around others to not draw attention to it.

He looked from house to house, deciding on which direction to start. Whatever intuition he still had from Devon's past was fading, but he distinctly felt that his home was due East and that his house was wood and stone with a grey front door.

He did his best to look casual while scoping out the homes. A booming voice with an American Southern accent sounded from behind him."Hey Devon! Where've you been all day!" He turned to see an old timer, complete with stubby white beard and a walking cane.

"Out seeing what kind of crayfish we got in the creek today!" Without thinking, Devon started speaking with the same light southern accent. "Took you long enough." The old-timer joked. Devon forced a laugh and raised a hand in farewell.

But the old man wasn't done with him just yet, he seemed like the type who liked to gab. "We'll see you at the watering hole tonight, right?" Isaac thought that was a great idea. A tavern would be the perfect spot to start searching and getting to know the area. "You know it." He flashed a smile and raised his hand again. This time the man raised his back.

He walked on, scoping out the town. He just had to find his house, he'd worry about finding the local bar after the sun had officially set. Bars were usually the perfect place to gather intel and try out his improv skills. There were two things he desperately wished he'd done more of before gallivanting throughout history.

First, he wished he had learned more history. He'd been a computer science major and only satisfied the bare minimum of required credits for history. Now, jumping around all places, at all times, he regretted not learning more about the world and it's past.

Second, as mentioned before, improv was a critical asset when moving from vessel to vessel. He wished he'd taken a class at some point in his life. Being someone else with a bare inkling of history was the most challenging thing he'd ever done. He was mostly used to it now but still wished he had some kind of training or practice at acting before delving into this.

He followed a stone path toward a small group of homes, seeking out the grey door- and hoping that there wasn't more than one. He saw a blue that could possibly pass as grey. He passed more houses on the street. He saw several common colors: tan, white, light blue and one red door. The two houses at the end of the street gave way to a path leading into what appeared to be farmland.

He leaned closer to the second to last door, the dimming evening light making it harder to distinguish colors. This one did appear to be grey. He approached the door and absentmindedly knocked. He pulled his hand back, wincing, realizing that most folks probably don't knock on their own doors before entering. So much for acting normal... He looked side to side down the street and saw nobody watching him, so he turned the doorknob to enter. Thank God, it's unlocked, he thought with relief.

He walked in and closed the door behind him. With the sun setting, he could hardly see inside. He fumbled for a match, a candle, a flashlight, anything. He didn't know what the exact timeframe was but based on his clothes and the way the houses looked, the fact that there were no cars on the small roads and no airplanes flying above, he assumed this vessel had lived sometime around 1900. And, given the humidity and accent of himself and the old timer, he figured maybe around the American South.

He fumbled around the end table and found a box of wooden matches. He always felt grateful to be in a time where matches already existed. He often landed in places where fire was made by hand, which was tedious and exhausting. He flicked the match on the sandpaper attached to the box, and used his hand to guard the flame while he looked around the living space. He grabbed a tall yellow candle but his match went out just before it could light. He lit another match and the candle took flame. He scouted the room for any sign of electric lights. Depending on exactly what year it was, it was possible that there could be electricity in homes.

There were no light cords or switches to be seen, but several oil lamps hung on the walls. He lit a few, grabbed one by the handle and gave himself a tour of his home. It was a small but cozy house, with a living space, one bedroom and a kitchen area. He immediately noticed that there was no running water, and no bathroom. Those must be outside. He cracked open the wooden back door slightly and saw the unmistakable crescent moon symbol of an outhouse. He also spied a hand pump for water in the backyard. He grabbed a bucket and hauled in enough water to clean himself with.

After cleaning up and setting his filthy clothes on a chair, he found some clean ones and was finally feeling comfortable. His ankle still itched like hell though. He saw the ticking clock on the wall that said 8pm. That seemed like as good a time as any to meander down to whatever stood as a bar in this town. He grabbed a black hat off the coat rack and pushed it onto his head. He stepped out of the gray door and walked towards town, hands in his pockets.