"Damn, I must've been quite the heathen."

I've yet to arrive at my final destination since being dragged down this black hole. It's as if I keep going lower and lower into the layers of hell- the lowest layers where the Hitlers of history dwell.

"I knew I was bad but I didn't know I was this bad."

At last, below me, a blurb of light is coming up fast. It's not a vision of fiery brimstone, but rather a white then sky blue hole. It's only when I fly through it and am surrounded by blue skies do I reevaluate where I might be.

"Maybe I was decent enough to get into the waiting room of hell."

What is approaching me from below is a growing body of water in the middle of a forest. The point-of-view is pretty cool, not going to lie; it's like a camera shot from some big cinematic masterpiece. It's also like going skydiving without a parachute (gotta check that off my bucket list).

"You know," The lake is coming up fast. "My velocity is pretty fast and that water looks pretty still, now something tells me-"

"Shit!"

Smack!

For a dead girl, I sure do feel that landing like being slapped all over my naked body with a wet fish. It's precisely that moment when I realize I'm still alive and haven't been dragged to the inner depths of hell.

For a second, it feels like I broke every damn bone in my body from that impact. I even scream in pain under the water- like a dumbass- before kicking up to the surface where feeling returns to my nerves.

After that traumatic landing, I can't even swim to the grass so I utilize those 4th-grade swim classes and lie on my back to recuperate. Staring up at the sky I was shat from, I squint against the sun's glare to see if I could spot where there might be a hole, but I find no trace of where I fell from.

"Still not convinced this isn't hell or some sublevel of it." That landing's making me doubt if this is a better substitute for the real, fiery deal.

Even my eyelids took a brutal beating from that landing- I'm probably black and blue all over now- so I closed my eyes and simply drift until I hear an item drop.

"Oh no."

Slowly, I open my eyes but don't look over at the voice on shore as I want to stay afloat on my back still.

"S-she's- oh no."

I close my eyes again. Sounds like either a rough-sounding girl or a light-voiced boy, I can't decide which. One thing's for sure, they're in a dilemma.

"Oh my, wh-what should I-" Judging from the quick crunch of leaves, they've begun to pace.

I bet they don't see the sly smile on my face right now because they're still panicking.

"How will I get her out? Oh no, oh no."

Letting them fret a few seconds more before quickly glancing over at them to see their back facing me, I quickly plunge under the water, disappearing from sight.

Chilling out under the surface for a little, I force open my eyes under the water. Though my body still feels like an abused punching bag, my devious Loki side has emerged, blocking out most of the pain.

Like a lake monster, I quietly swim to the edge where the overly anxious person was standing. Just to keep from being detected, I swim a little farther down so the light can't reach me as well.

Thank God for these runner's lungs.

I get into the perfect position before I strike. Now, I propel myself out of the water as quickly as possible, bursting through the surface like a shark.

Let me say, energy well spent.

I have never heard someone scream bloody murder louder than a banshee until now. I've never wondered why I'm not getting into Heaven because it's moments like these that remind me.

I have to grip the edge to keep from falling back in laughter. Literally, I am crying- that's a memory for the ages.

The poor kid who I've scared the life out of is lying prone on the ground, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He recovers before I do, but he's still paler than Casper the ghost.

From the inhuman screech he just let out to his light, squeaky voice, I would have never assumed he was a guy until getting closer to him. He has a plain boyish look with nothing unique to his face except the still dazed, deer-in-headlights face he wears.

He stares at me from the ground as I finally pull myself up out of the water like I'm some monstrosity that's just begun to walk on land.

Deciding to tone down my dick levels a bit, I offer a hand up.

"Hey, you okay? You looked like you had a heart attack."

His eyes dart around and he makes no move to accept my hand- or even register the situation- until I bend forward a bit more to help him.

Suddenly, he's scrambling to his feet. "W-who are you? What are you"

Man, something about this kid makes me laugh more than I should.

"I'm your fellow asshole in arms," God, the faces this kid makes. "I'm Joan."

Talking to strangers I scared the demons out of, my parents would be proud.

He does what every sensible human being should do upon stumbling across me and takes a slow step back, his back against a tree. He's so wary of me it's actually kind of cute.

"J-Joan? What sort of name is that?"

"Ask my parents, they're the ones who gave it to me."

He simply nods, his eyes never daring to look away in fear I might snap at him like a feral animal. Just to spook him even more, I take an abrupt, jolting step towards him, causing him to slam up against the tree even harder.

This kid is just too much- I am dying.

Wiping the tears from my eye, I straighten up again.

"Okay, okay, I'm done, relax."

"A-ar-are you su-sure?"

I need to stop. I'm bringing out the stutter in him.

"Seriously, dude, I'm done," I wipe all traces of humor off my face. "I'm tame."

He believes me, from the looks of it, and pulls away from the tree a bit.

"You said your name was Joan?"

"Yeah, what's yours?"

He's the smart one between us as he actually hesitates to tell me.

"Oslen."

Cocking my head, I ask, "How old are you?"

"Thirteen..."

"Really!?"

I guess his meek voice and boyish appearance made me believe he was younger than that- though his height would match that of someone one year younger than me. I mean, who can blame me, though? He's the perfect blond-haired, rosy cheek golden child, no lie.

"How old did you think me to be?" He asks, one eyebrow arched in curiosity.

"Oh, I dunno know, ten maybe," I wave him off before he can interrupt. "Doesn't matter. You're only a year younger than me anyway- not a huge deal."

"You're fourteen?"

He says that with some sort of sneer like he can't imagine me having the mental capability of being fourteen- and he wouldn't be in the wrong.

"Yeah, I know I don't really act it, but, you know, life's too short not to make fun of it."

Back to those expressive faces of his. I laugh while he looks on confused until I rein myself in enough to bring up an important issue.

"Say, what's this place called? Is it hell?"

Frowning, he leans close to me, sniffing my breath, making me erupt in laughter again.

"You're too odd for me," He shakes his head as if that's such a terrible thing.

"Eh, different strokes for different folks. Now, am I in hell or not?"

"What is hell?"

"Guess not then. Well, in that case, where am I?"

"In the forest outside my village."

Hands on my hips, I glance around a second.

"What do you call this place? This dimension?" Because I know I'm not in Kansas anymore.

"Edalirwen. Why?"

"Well, it's more pleasant than a burning lake of fire so I'll take it."

Grinning, I start. "What would you think if I told you I wasn't from this world? Like, I fell from the sky."

He blinks once, twice, one more time before his round brown eyes stop glazing over.

"You're absolutely mad."

"And you're hella fun to play with."

Ah, alas, my cheeky humor flies over his poor, boring mind, just like the rest.

He doesn't respond after that. Instead, he goes to pick up the bucket he dropped when he first came across me.

"Now I have to fetch another pail," He grumbles softly to himself but still loud enough to where I can hear it.

"Let me help," I offer, reaching for the bucket. "It's probably my fault you dropped it anyway."

He keeps the bucket just out of my reach. "It's quite all right, really."

It's common knowledge that whenever you put something as far away from me as possible- no matter what it is- I'm going to try for it.

"No," Using my long arms (because they have to be useful for something), I grip the handle of the bucket. "It's no problem. Besides, I'm pretty good at drawing up water, just trust me on that."

"No, no, I wouldn't want to trouble anyone-"

He's trying to get away from me but I hold the handle firmly.

"It's no trouble at all. Just let me help why don't you."

"You can let go now, thank you for the-"

"Come on, what's the harm?"

"No harm, just-"

"Then let me help-"

"-no thank you, let go of my pail, pl-"

Snap!

Like a wishbone, the flimsy handle snaps in two due to our struggle. I got the bigger half which means poor Oslen is now sprawled out on the ground again.

I grin sheepishly at him. "Whoops. Sorry, didn't mean to break your bucket-"

The upset expression he wears causes me to trail off. I think I've genuinely pissed him off now (I have quite the nack for that).

He's already turning sharply on his heels. "Nevermind. Consider it yours."

I can't get a single apology in before he's already storming away through the woods. I've turned that stuttering, golden boy into a raging, overheated hothead- that's a new one for me.

So I'm still holding this kid's broken bucket, watching as he leaves the forest and goes God only cares where.

I actually liked that kid. Though he didn't get my humor, I found his reaction to my humor more amusing than if he were to understand it completely.

"Ah, man, now I'm having a conscious and shit."

I'm not a professional bucket fixer, but it doesn't look like too hard of a fix so I'll be able to slap something presentable together. Hell, I'll be an even better Samaritan and get him water along with a fixed bucket.

"First, I need something to fix this with," I speak to myself when I'm hardcore problem-solving- the best minds do. "But what?"

There's nothing in a forest that really helps repair a bucket handle- not astounding news- so material hunting I go. I keep an eye out for anything that might remotely repair or replace a broken bucket handle.

One thing people need to know about me, straight up, is that persistence (when the situation is right) is my middle name. Unsurprisingly, it's usually when people tell me that I can't possibly hold my breath underwater for more than three minutes that I put my all into proving them wrong- God, I love when I can prove people wrong. Right now, I'm set on the path of finding something to fix this bucket.

Lo and behold, straight ahead is a well. Now, not only is said well a source of water for my bucket, but it holds another helpful key. Tied securely to the water bucket in the well, a rope dangles in the breeze, beckoning me like a course snake.

"That's what I'm talking about."

It even has that new rope smell to it. First, though, I draw my water, filling my bucket, then I loosen the knot and get the rope by itself. But another problem soon arises: the rope is too long.

"Just when I was that close to fixing things." I shrug. "Guess I'll just take it along."

Really there's no other way. I can't tie it back onto the bucket the way it was and it's the perfect material for a new handle- sturdier too.

My other middle name must be I-don't-give-a-fuck because I'm unraveling that rope- all of it- from the spool without a care in the world. I start walking away while it continues to unravel the further I get. A little further and I've unwrapped the whole yard or so of it.

At first, my attempts are at trying to tidy it up into a manageable knot, but eventually paying tribute to my second middle name, I simply don't care.

"Next, I need to figure out where he ran off to."

From what I can recall, he left in the direction of the slight clearing ahead so I head in that direction with my stolen rope trailing behind. I know I'm a sight.

As I start to reach the location, I realize the clearing is actually a village- the village he was talking about.

Not lying, it's a pretty cute village. The houses are like something out of Renaissance Europe, with colorful rooves and all smooshed together like a family in a family portrait, it's ancient but still cute as all get out. The place is streaming with people all going about their business...until I walk in.

Back home, I'm not so much a freak show as I am a disappointment, but here, I might as well be walking in on stilts. It feels like a bad, embarrassing dream. They just stare at me like a walking, breathing exhibit and I can't figure out why. Usually, I can piece together why I'm the object of intense scrutiny, but right now these people are blinking at me like I'm a strange creature that's sulking through.

Despite the stares, I'm not a stranger to the experience and so I'll simply do as I've always done in times like this. I let it roll off me like water on a duck's feathers.

But I'm going to have to interact with someone, unfortunately, since I can't find Oslen any other way.

Not a big fan of talking to strangers, I search out the right, sweetest looking candidate to approach and find that in an older woman sweeping her stoop with a small smile on her face as she works.

"Hi, yeah, excuse me," I get her attention. "Do you happen to know a kid named Oslen?"

So far, I have yet to receive an eye roll, a copy pasted look of failed masked annoyance, or any other indirect way of informing me that I'm being a bother.

"Oslen? The Verith boy? Yes, he lives on the outskirts, a little ways from here. Their house has a beautiful garden around it, you can't miss it. Why don't you come in for some tea? The kettle's boiling."

"Yeah," I'm already heading towards a clear way out of here. "Thanks, but no. I have no time."

Really, I don't. I have to lug this bucket full of water around through these congested, tight streets brimming with people who stop and stare at me while I try to carefully squeeze through- I don't even have time to breathe.

Following the cobblestone road, I'm led out of the bustling square, out where the houses begin to become detached and the dirt road tells me I've arrived at the outskirts.

I'm assuming- and we all know what happens when we assume- that his house isn't too far outside the reaches of the village, but as I start the road begins to feel longer and longer.

"She said the outskirts of town, not the edge of existence."

If my guilt wasn't driving me to do this then I would most gladly abandon this bucket full of water in the middle of this dusty road and peace out. But I've put too much effort into this now so I'm sucking it up.

I suppose I could have passed the place, but I'm having faith here (something that's not in high supply with me often) and following this country bumpkin dust trail until a house comes into view. For the meantime, I'll just keep my eyes peels for any signs of civilization near.

"Who travels this far for some damn water!?"

If I had to travel this far every time someone needed some water, I'd quicker dig a well rather than haul it down to that forest to draw some up. Guess it makes sense why he was so peeved at me for breaking his bucket.

At long, glorious last a house comes into view up ahead and so I shuffle my ass as quickly as one can while slugging a bucket of water towards the house. The cozy-looking two-story cottage is as homey as it gets with a vibrant garden- as the old lady mentioned- in the back and small shutters for the windows.

Everything's as cute as a button here, I swear.

Luckily, outside, playing in the grass with a puppet doll or whatever- the kind that used to creep me out (still does)- is a little girl who I decide to get information from. Even better, she has no sense of stranger danger.

"Hey, you," I stand before her. "Does a kid named Oslen live here?"

Staring up at me, she squints like the sun's in her face though my shadow towers over her.

"That's my brother." She then points to the bucket. "And that's his bucket. Did you steal it from him?"

"What? No. Technically speaking, he gave it to me, but that's not the point. Can you get him for me? Please?"

She stands up, her little doll in hand, and nods.

I watch her run into the house to retrieve her older brother, her golden braids- almost the same shade as her brother's- slapping behind her as she moves.

Only several moments pass before she comes running back out with Oslen dragging behind her, a rather dour look on his face upon seeing me. Initially, he leans in the doorway, not coming out fully, but once his eyes behold the bucket he steps out with not as much stormy gloom to him.

"I fixed your bucket," I hold it out for him. "And I got you some water, too."

Taking and inspecting the bucket, he replies in awe. "Thank you. You didn't have to repair it or fetch the water-"

"Yes, I did. I screwed you over, alright, it's the least I can do," I shrug, hands in pockets. "So, we cool again?"

"Huh?" His humorous expressions are back to amuse me some more.

"Nevermind," I laugh whilst shaking my head.

He looks down at his sister with a baffled face. She doesn't seem to care for this situation at all and appears only interested in her creepy doll.

After a short recovery, he clears his throat.

"If you're not expected anywhere else at the moment, would you like to come in and enjoy some refreshments?" He offers.

Ah, what the hell, I have nowhere good to be.

"Sure."

So, ignoring my parents' rules about stranger danger yet again, I follow him into the cutesy little cottage of a house. Setting the bucket aside, he goes over to this stove thing and pours some of the water I drew into a small pot- making tea, I guess.

Like I assumed, the interior of this place is just as homey as the exterior. A close-spaced, but by no means clustered, room with a warm looking stove to cook on and extract warmth from- it's all so Little House on the Prairie like. Strangely enough, this house kind of fits the personalities of the occupants from what I've seen of them so far.

He presents a mug to me for whatever he's boiling. If it's tea, I'd rather not tell him I abhor tea than let his water boiling skills go to waste.

"This place is cute," I tell him, still looking around.

I can tell he never knows how to take my words as if everything I say has some hidden joke or taunt to it.

At last, he simply nods and replies, "Thank you."

It doesn't take long before we're interrupted by his little sister again (how little siblings go). She always wears the most indifferent face, though.

"I'm bored and lonely, Oslen. Come play with me, please."

"Eathelin, we have a guest, mind your manners."

"Don't worry about it," I wave him off. "I need some fresh air. I'll play with you."

She smiles at this, hugging her doll before scampering out. I follow suit and soon enough I'm sitting criss-cross applesauce on the grass about to play dolls with a little kid- my life.

"You're name's pretty cool," I tell her as she frets over her doll's appearance. "I'm Joan, FYI."

She never looks up from her doll. "Joan? Okay."

"How old are you, Eathelin? I got that right, right?"

"Uh-huh. I'm six."

"I remember being six. It kind of sucked because I started school and everything and my first-grade teacher had a personal vendetta against me, but who knows, it might turn out alright for you."

"Uh-huh."

This girl is seriously entranced with her doll, it's semi-creepy. She doesn't even seem all that interested in me yet she brought me out here to play. I guess she just wanted company, I don't know. Kids here are strange- generalization or not it's true thus far.

Oslen brings me a cup of- what else?- piping hot tea which I place aside while trying to get to know his self-contained sister who, just from the feel of it, could be a lone killer if she wanted. It's a pretty flat landscape, to say the least, that is until an interruption.

"Mother's back!" Oslen calls out.

Twisting around like a convulsed question mark- cause that's an attractive look on me- I look behind to see a woman carrying a cloth bag, that's probably never seen better days, with a young child holding onto her hand. She shares the same honey blond hair as her other two kids, but the little boy holding onto her hand has a light brown set of hair and the older, energetic looking girl that skips ahead looks like she used to be a blond but over time has switched to the brunette side.

Of course, future serial killer Eathelin barely pays any attention to her mother's arrival, continuing, instead, to fiddle with her beloved doll (which I'm not yet fully convinced isn't a voodoo doll).

I'm, of course, a sore thumb sticking out so she notices me right away- I'd kind of label it bad parenting if she didn't.

"Oh, hello," Her voice is as rosy sweet as her cheeks. "May I help you?"

She's the only person that actually sounds like she genuinely wants to know if she can help me, for real.

"Uh, no," I stand up, brushing the dirt off my shorts. "I was just returning something."

The girl with the spirit of a squirrel stops in front of me.

"You're dressed awfully strange."

While her mother gently scolds her, I allow myself a laugh at the way she said it to me. So much like me when I was younger, maybe toned down a bit.

"Yeah, well it sucks to blend in so why not stand out?"

She grins at me, nodding with a bounce in her movements. This whole family was as cute and quaint as their cottage house.

Long-lost Disney princess mom pipes up again. "You aren't from around here, are you?"

"I'm as far as one could be from home," I admit nonchalantly.

"That sounds awful," She frowns. "Why are you so far?"

"I'm gonna be honest here- think me crazy but it's the truth, I swear it- I fell through this hole and landed in this pond and boom I'm here."

Not really any better way to explain it.

From the way she's staring at me as if I belong in some mental ward (not saying I don't), she clearly is reevaluating having me near her kids...or so I thought.

"You fell through a hole?"

"Most ludicrous thing ever, but..."

"Yeah."

The sheer astonishment on her face is priceless, I tell you.

"Now here comes the part where I should be committed."

"What's your name?" She asks me with urgency.

"Joan."

"Gotta have that name to inform the authorities I imagine."

"Your full name. What's your family name?"

"Domshov."

"Silly me, they're going to need a full name. Can't throw a-"

And this Disney princess practically turns into an NFL quarterback as she tackles me with a hug.

"Jesus!"

It's a struggle to keep myself upright at the amount of momentum hurled at me. This woman is hugging me as if I'm her long-lost daughter, which I can safely say is the highlight of bizarre for the day. I can hardly make out her excited ramblings.

"I can't believe my eyes! You're so grown. How old are you? How are your parents? How-"

I pull back a little, mostly to get some personal space to breath but also to give her a quizzical look.

"My parents? How do you know my parents?"

Her face is brighter than a full wattage light bulb

"Your mother's name is Mallory and your father's name is Xalale, correct?"

Now, officially weirded out. Gah, even her kids are lost on this.

I take a cautionary step back. "How do you know that?"

"Because I knew them. Your mother, I was friends with her. She fell in the same pond you did, through the exact hole."

"Plot twist. Serious plot twist."

"Come again?"

She's so ecstatic, there's no calming her down.

"Come, come," She ushers me inside, her curious children following us as well. "Sit, there is so much to discuss."

She goes to put on some water, I guess making even more tea that I'll inevitably waste. After setting a plate of what looks to be figs in front of me, she sits across from me, placing the little boy in her lap and leaning forward slightly as if I hold the juiciest secrets on the planet.

"First and foremost, how are your parents? Is your mother well? How old is she?"

Talk about rapid fire...

"Um, she's good, I guess, I don't ask her much. My dad's also pretty chill, I suppose..."

Truthfully, call me the worst daughter of the year, I don't care- I already know it- but I don't know my parents' ages so I try to avoid that question like the plague. All I know is my dad's four years older than my mom.

"When did they married?"

"Um..." Come on, woman, stop bringing my bad daughter skills to light. "Before they had me..."

Her face is brighter than the freakin' sun at this point.

"How many of you are there?"

"Huh?"

"Do you have any siblings?"

"Oh," My parents would probably die if they had one more of my type. "I have a younger brother. His name's Brent."

"How old are you?"

"Fourteen."

"You're merely a year above Oslen," She shines. "You look like your mother, but you have your father's demeanor, I can tell."

I swear people are lying when they claim I look like one of my parents. I just don't see any resemblance. I'm the baby found on the porch stoop, I swear.

Since she has to take a second to breathe, I interject her to ask a few questions of my own- or at least one.

"And who are you?"

I receive a warm, docile smile from her.

"My name is Elvina, but I'm known to all as Elle."