Unbalanced

I had the feeling that was balancing on something, and it hurt to do so. I opened my eyes, and decided that my viewpoint was slightly different. Plus, my legs still ached. I looked down at what I was standing on.

Nothing. The ground.
Hmm…

I shrugged it off as a kind of jet lag. That didn’t make my legs feel any better. Glancing up, I examined my surroundings. I was standing on rough cobblestones that were lined in rows rather unprofessionally. Between their jagged edges was muddied dirt holding them in place. Marvellously ornate buildings – in both design and construction – lined the paving. Welcome to Main Street, 19th century.

Women were bustling along with basket in hand and shawl in their hair. They didn’t spare a glance for me, even though I’d just materialised (I think) in the middle of the road in 21st century garb. From this I decided that only one person was able to see me; after all, the 17th century man didn’t seem to have any trouble. I set off along the street, and then turned back and picked up the microscope. No one seemed to have noticed it either.

Passing beneath a rustic archway, I stepped from the cool shadows of the alleyway into a brightly lit town square. A large church took pride of place on the north-western corner, and people were milling around the stalls of a market. The belltower rang out with a deep, melancholy chime. Time seemed to slow and the square seemed to pause, but then talk and chatter picked up again a second after the final echoing tones faded away.

‘I guess I go in there then,’ I muttered.