I never knew that dreams actually come true. It was the sort of thing I had always hoped and wished would happen, but never did. But then it did happen, and in the most unexpected way.

I thought I was still dreaming until I heard the shouts. Shouts coming from all around me. A passerby brushed past me making me jump.

I turned around and saw a market. Not like a grocery store or a farmers market, but a literal market. With stalls set up on the cobblestone and peasent people seling all sorts of goods.

The smell is what brought me to the present. The stench of unwashed bodies, perfume from exotic plants and concoctions, the pleasent aroma of baked goods. And the smoke coming out of the rich people’s mouths.

The rich people, I could tell they were rich from the way they dressed. Full suits of many colours and pretty, frilly dresses. Each of them wore a hat and stood out from the rags of the peasents. They even rode in fancy carts with horses instead of riding directly on the horses.

I must be dreaming. I had to be. This mas certainly not real.

A laugh came from behind me. I turned and saw three little boys playing with a ball they had stopped at the sight of me.

“Clown!” One of them yelled.

“Did you lose the circus?” Another asked.

I looked down at myself wondering why they were making fun of me.

Then I noticed my pyjamas.

My fluffy pink pyjamas with purple hearts and teddy bears. I reached a hand to my head and felt bed hair. No wonder they thought I was a clown!

I ran behind some of the stalls to hide. I could not look so obvious.

I looked around and noticed one of the stalls selling clothing. I snuck down the back alley up to the one with the clothes. The vendor was busy with a customer so I bent down and pulled the closest pile of clothes I could find.

Good. One problem down.

Then I continued down the alley to where there were shadows and no more people about. The sounds of the busy market were quieted from the brick wall.

Finally alone, I slipped into the stolen clothes.

I felt like I was dressed up for halloween. With the long skirt and the tight corset top. It felt so unnaturel, yet I was going to fit in.

Next, I needed to find a way to get home.

My stomach grumbled. It was only then that I realized I hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday’s supper. And that had been fast food takeout.

But I had no money.

I walked back around to the open market hoping to have some better luck. I felt much better already, at least I fit in.

“Excuse me,” I asked the nearest person to me, gently tapping their arm. The person turned to reveal a middle aged woman.

“America?” she asked. “What’re you doing all the way here?”

I froze. Then I realized everyone was speaking with accents. I must have been too sleep-ridden to notice earlier. I still was going to stand out with how I speak. My fake accent was never too good.

I ignored her question and got to my point, “Is there someplace I can get a meal around here?”

She looked at me with a grunt and then pointer ahead and to the left.

I nodded in thanks, and ran off in the direction of her finger. My bare feet stung on the hard cobbles. I hadn’t been able to find a pair of shoes with the clothes.

I walked a good ten minutes through the busy crowd until I reached about tavern called the Red Beagle.

I pushed open the large, heavy doors and walked inside.

It was packed for so early in the morning with all sorts of people. It was overwhelming to my senses. Especially the multitude of smells. The fresh stench of horse poop everywhere didn’t help.

When the bartender came up to me I just pointed to the sloppy mess of food the person beside me was gobbling up.

After I ordered I turned to the person beside me. He was a handsome gentleman, complete with a top hat and a fine cut suit with tails. I would have thought he was a part of a dinner theatre play if I didn’t know any better.

“Not from around here?” he asked, turning to look at me with his bright blue eyes.

“No-,” I stuttered. _Was I so obvious?_ “How can you tell?”

“Well before you talked, you have no shoes for one.” The gentleman tood a swig of some sort of frothy liquid before continuing. “And you don’t have a hat. No respectable person goes out without a hat. Unless that is because you are not from here and not accustomed the standard practices.”

My mouth hung open and I forced myself to shut my jaw. I looked around and, sure enough, everyone was wearing a hat.

“So,” the man said, as I was handed my slop. “Where _are_ you from?”

I stuffed a spoonful of grey slop down my throat and nearly gagged it up. The gentleman slid his frothy glass over to me, I took a sip and it helped the food go down.

“I’m from overseas,” I said.

“That’s a given,” said the gentleman. “But that’s not what I meant. _When_ are you from?”

I nearly spat up my newly-swallowed food. He _knew_ I wasn’t from this time!?

“It’s becoming clear to me, you have no idea how to fit in here. Even someone from overseas would have some sense to wear a hat.”

What was with him and hats?! It was just a hat for goodness sake.

“Come with me,” he said.

“And why would I come with you?” I asked.

“Because I can help you.”

He pulled out some coins from his pocket covering the fee for both of our meals. Then the gentleman held out his arm in a gentleman-like way.

I took it. I wanted to fit in. And clearly I had to act the part. But I couldn’t trust him. A random stranger in an unknown time, even if he had pretty blue eyes and a strong arm.

I tried not to focus on the feel of my hand on his arm as we walked side-by-side down the street.

We walked until we were out of the busy market, then he waved down a man holding the reins of a horse attached to a small coach behind it.

_A taxi of some sorts_, I realized.

The coach felt a little to small to sit side-by-side with a stranger.

Our legs touched, and arms, and- I had to stop that thought. I looked out them window and took in the view.

The view of village people carrying on with their lives. What seemed so ordinary to them was so unnatural for me.

“What’s you name?” I asked the handsome gentleman beside me.

“That doesn’t matter,” he answered. Then he didn’t say another word. Didn’t so much as even ask mine. But I guess it didn’t _really_ matter. Even if it wasn’t a very gentleman-like thing to do.

Eventually we were out of the busy city and the gentleman politely asked the driver to stop. We had arrived in front of a one-storey cottage. It was quaint and cute.

Gentleman hopped out of the coach first then so-kindly offered a hand to help me down. I ignored it and got down myself. Landing harshly on my bare feet on the dusty gravel and poop-filled street.

The blue eyes held back a smile.

I followed him inside.

Inside were three other people around our same age sitting around the table.

There were two other nicely dressed men and a woman wearing similar clothes to me. The only difference was that _she_ had on crisp, white gloves and a hat.

“Welcome,” blue eyes said.

“So,” said the Lady. “What year are you from?”

“What do you mean?” I asked nervously.

“You didn’t tell her?!” The one gentleman exclaimed to blue eyes. This other man had green eyes.

Blue eyes shrugged in ignorance.

“What we mean,” spoke green eyes. “Is that we all come from different years. Lost from our own century and stuck in this one.”

My mouth was open, aghast. It took effort to force my jaw shut. _Again_.

“Can we get back?” I asked.

“We’re working on it,” said the Lady.

“So,” spoke the last gentleman. This one wore a burgundy suit. “What year are you from?”

“2024,” I said.

“1937,” said burgundy suit.

“3082,” said green eyes.

“2846,” said the Lady.

I looked to the blue eyes. He wasn’t saying anything. I gave him my best death stare, or what I _thought_ was my best, until he answered.

“938,” blue eyes finally answered.

Five of us spread over two-thousand years apart had somehow all ended up in the same year.

And now we needed a way to get back home to our respective years. Back home to our lives.

But what did I even have back home? What there even a way to get home?

All I had at home was my stuffy little apartment and my job.

A job I didn’t even like.

Was it so bad if I wanted to stay?