S.C. Wright's Blog, page 4

Stairs.

Everyone is nervous when it comes to meeting their boyfriend or girlfriend’s parents for the first time and especially so when it’s your first boyfriend. This story takes place just over four years ago when I first went home with my boyfriend to spend time at his. I must admit the nerves were running high and as we sat on the bus to his discussing the usual blather that new couples talk about I couldn’t help but feel anxious.

Would they like me? What if I was awkward? What if I said something weird?

During the brief walk from the bus stop to his I explained to him;

“Daniel, I’m kinda nervous. Do you think they’ll like me?”

At this point, we weren’t officially going out, but I was pretty certain that we were pretty much on our way to it. My mum probably realised, and I’m guessing his had too.

“Sure.” He reasured me. “You have no reason to worry.”

Clearly, this was early days and he didn’t know me well.

I walked in, expecting to find a chair with a one-hundred watt bulb, dangling over it. Instead, the rest of the family stood around the kitchen island discussing dinner. They had made bacon sandwiches and you know what, I thought that was very clever. There aren’t many people that don’t like bacon and I’m sure my boyfriend would have mentioned to them if he thought I was a vegetarian, so yes, clever choice of edibles.

We settled into calm small talk and not once did it encrouch on awkward talk, which I liked. The prospect of boyfriend and girlfriend didn’t crop up which I liked because it might have scared either of us off.

Food acquired, we sloped off upstairs to eat in Daniel’s room and watch Cat videos on the internet or I dunno, I think he introduced me to World of Warcraft (shush!). Anyway, we tried to.

Four steps up, my foot caught on the hook of the stairs that were obviously build by a madman intent of killing me and I flew forward, tripping up the stairs. The plate of delicious bacon and bread leapt from my hand, did a triple somersault in the air, leapt over the bannister and clatter on the floor beneath the stairs.

The boyfriend blinked. The Mother froze. The brother paused in the door way. I screamed internally.

For fifteen thousand years, no-one moved. The bacon roll remained trapped under the ceramic plate against the flooring and, I, akin to a deer trapped in headlights, wished I was there with it. When the boyfriend’s mother finally laughed, I almost passed out with relief. Well, at least the plate didn’t break!

To this day, I have tripped up those goddamned stairs twice, bounced down them three times – once with a duvet – and my knee buckled climbing them once and my chin bounced down it too.

I think those stairs hate me.

I’m a writer now!

Brace yourselves for another little post about me! :D

So someone asked me the other day what it feels like to be a (soon to be) published author and I had to stop and think about it. Despite everything that’s going on I still don’t properly feel like a writer. I still feel like a nervous newbie diving into a world I have no clue about.

I started writing Bad Reception all the way back in January of 2015 as a way of getting over losing a few friends who meant the world to me. As someone with mild Aspergers – a form of Autism – I process the world in a way that is different to neurotypical people. As such, this was my form of saying goodbye, I feel. It wasn’t even until I reached the halfway point that I finally decided, you know what? I want to publish this. I want to share this story with the world. I had invented all these new characters and people and these situations and, you know what, I felt proud of it. I felt like I’d achieved something.

2014 was a rough year for me personally. I left college, I lost people very close to me, and I spent a lot of time dwelling on it. I vowed that in 2015 I would achieve something. Halfway through writing the book was when I sort of realised that this could be my achievement. This could be my way of pulling myself from the gutter so to speak.

Round about October, I finished the first version of my book and started sending it to publishers. I joined a group on facebook that focuses on writing and started bothering other writers, desperate for information. I found an interested little editor name of John Castle, (I’ll link to him at the bottom of the post! Promise!) who told me it could use a little work. With his help, we looked over it and finally I started sending it off to publishers again.

After a series of no’s, I resigned myself to self-publishing. It was not quite the drudge I had expected. Despite constantly being told that self-publishing was the way to go, I did not enjoy the idea of doing all this work alone! Especially when, as such a newbie in the world of publishing, I didn’t have a clue what work needed done never mind how to do it! But! I persevered, and one month later, I’d made £10.

I don’t know if any of you have ever made any money on something you created yourself, but there is something so fulfulling about the prospect of someone buying something you created. It’s literally being told that someone wants it. Someone likes and is interested in it. And that is a real booster to the confidence! :)

Of course, I continued to send away my book details to publishers and encountered an indie publishing company by the name of Snow Leopard Publishers. Imagine my surprise and amazement when they turned around and told me that, yes! Yes, they would publish my book!

Talk about over the moon.

I guess I’m still somewhat in shock that I’m finally being published. That my goal of writing my own book and getting somewhere with it is finally happening. It’s been a great dream of mine from a very young age and I can’t wait to see how far I can take this. Hopefully I’ll be writing books for the next few years, maybe decades!

The next book with naturally be a sequel to Bad Reception. You all have only a little bit of the story I wish to share with you…

Oh, and as promised:

John Castle

Damp Socks

So here’s a little story for you all, and a true one, that happened to me back in school. I thought you’d enjoy reading…

When I was in fifth year – that’s what? Eleventh grade to you lot across the pond? – I got a new camera. It was winter, and there was a thick coating of snow on the ground. Fresh snow. The kind you get excited to see, not the death harbouring slippery thin packed down snow that oozes death and chaos. So, the ground was pure white and I had a new camera.

My first instinct was to go and take some pretty pictures of it with my new camera at school at lunchbreak so, after asking a few people if they wanted to join me – and receiving a no – I pottered down to the wooded part just out of the school grounds, alone, yet ready to snap some pretty pictures for editting, because I’ve always pretty much been a proud geek. In hindsight, it does occur to me that, had I not gone alone, things might not have ended up the way they did.

So, at the base of the ground, there is a burn, or a small river, that runs parallel to the fence. There is a short few metres of ground that the burn sections off that runs along the fence till it reaches a large wall that separates the joining of the small bit of land back to the other side. The wall is unclimable.

On the other far end is a small raised lump of mud that, if taken with a running jump, you can leap across the burn and reach the small sectioned bit of land. The place is heavily wooded, though small, and a clearing within the trees boasted crisp packets, juice bottles, and the other evidence of youth activity. As you do.

So, I made my way across and, planning to sneak back into the grounds through one of the many holes in the fence, wandered across the snow and mud to reach the idea photo spots. Imagine my delight to find no-one else had wandered this way and the snow remained fresh, crisp, and unblemished. Perfect and still.

The photos turned out beautiful, but this was years ago and I don’t think I have them any more. Ah internet age; useful and practical, but so throw away. Eh, anyway, after taking a few, I decided I was too cold and wanted to head back into the school to heat myself up, maybe get some soup or something, and I looked back along the sliver of land, debating whether I wanted to go all the way back. I didn’t.

I walked the length of it, all the way to the tall red brick wall and sighed. Someone had either fixed the fence, or the snow, high as it was, had hidden the gaps from my sight. Again, I did not want to double back, so I resigned myself to climbing the chicken-wire fence back into the school grounds.

Yeah, that wasn’t happening.

So, I pulled off my jacket, and bag and swung them over the fence, resourceful as I am. Freed up, I had more freedom to move and set to pulling myself up. The only problem with that remained that I had – and still have – absolutely no upper body strength. Ah, the perks of hating gym (No coordination, of course.) and constantly “losing” my gym kit. Nor could I gain grip or traction with my shoes. Thus, off they came as I am very, very, resourceful.

Turns out, chicken-wire fences hurt your toes if you try to climb up them barefoot. So there I stood, no shoes, no jacket, no bag, no common sense, and rapidly dampening socks. I pondered for a second and wracked my brain for something of an idea. Luckily, there was a large tree nearby with a convenient branch that grew up and over the fence. What luck!!! I instantly set to climbing it, white socks greening as I did so .

So, the funny thing about desperation is, one tends to forget important things, like a fear of heights say. Even five foot heights. Doesn’t help when one is short (5”2).

So there I am, wrapped around a tree branch like a runaway cat and gripping the branch in sheer panic, despite it’s low altitude, when behind me I hear.

“Ahem.”

Despite the quiet volume, I hear this cry of indignation quite clearly across the burn, and my head swivels around with venom. Bullied heavily in high school, I await the taunts, imagining what I am about to hear in this, most desperate, of times.

“Excuse me, what do you think you am doing?”

I answer, the only way I can.

“I’m fine. I’m just climbing a tree.”

It was all I could say. The woman standing across the river stops, tilts her head with confusion and then tries again.

“Why?”

Good question. And not exactly one that I had a sane answer too. I didn’t feel inclined to give a full explanation at that moment in time and so, sighing, I clambered down the branch I had become best friends with and back onto the damp ground.

“There,” I said. “I’m down.”

“Why were you climbing it? I work at this school and I want to know what you were doing.”

Oh joy, I thought. This is going to be a fun one. I try to shake her off.

“Yeah, I was just trying to get over the fence, I go to this school.”

“Oh really? Can you get across here I want to talk to you.”

Regretting that I didn’t just walk back in the first place, and propelled by indignation and exasperation for being hounded by this – clearly admin personell – whom I did not know. I stormed in my soggy socks back across, despite the nettles, with the fury only one with wet socks can achieve.

She met me at the junction as I hopped over and gasped.

“Oh. You have no shoes on.” She said, astute.

“Nope, I don’t.” I clarified. My tone devoid of emotion.

“W-where are they?”

“Over the fence.”

“Why?”

“I through them over.” I explained.

“Why?” Again, she asked.

“So I could climb the fence.” I revealed and offered a smile.

She paused for a few seconds, taking this in. I could tell from the expression on her face that she did not think me entirely sane. I waited for her to catch up.

“What’s your name?” She finally said.

Like hell was I giving her my real name, there was a good chance she’d phone home and I’d get yelled at for taking my shoes off and climbing trees, but the only name I could think of was another girl in my class. I will provide a pseudoname for safety reasons. Not hers, but my own. ;)

“Uhh, you’re not gonna tell on me are you?”

“Of course not. I just want to know.”

“Shawny Wilson.” I lied.

“Right.” She said. “And what class are you in?”

Again I lied. She gave a nod.

“Do you need help finding your shoes?” She asked.

“Nope.” I said. “Like I said, I threw them off the fence. They should still be there.”

“Okay…” she said, clearly worried for me. It was painfully difficult to keep a straight face.

I collected my things and headed back into the school with my damp socks.

Later that night, I was browsing the internet and generally ignoring the world when I heard a ding from MSN messenger (R.I.P.) and I glanced upon it to find that Shawny had found my Msn. Ah, no doubt through a mutual friend.

There was just the teeny tiniest issue. This Shawny girl did not entirely like me. I don’t think she really understood my quirks or my autism, but we live and learn. Regardless, I knew exactly why she was messaging me. I clicked on it.

“Hey, um, no being funny or anything.” It read. “But were you climbing trees at lunchtime barefoot?”

I choked. “What do you mean?” I typed, grateful for the screen and the two towns between me and the girl to hide my snort of laughter.

“Well, one of the pupil support teachers pulled me out of fifth period to ask if I was okay, because I’d been climbing trees at lunch time with no shoes on. And I want to know if it was you, because it wasn’t me. She said that “we need to find this person as they may be in distress.”

I almost died laughing. To this day, I will never know if the teachers ever found out that it was me. Given my track record of weird stunts, there is at least a ninety percent chance they did and don’t care. What can I say, I had my quirks.

GoodReads

One of the perks of publishing an ebook – I’ve recently discovered – is that they give you your own little book page of Goodreads. The disadvantage however, is that you can’t easily edit it. So, at this moment in time I am stuck with a blank author page on Goodreads and that is incredibly frustrating. Even so, it is pretty good to know that my book is up there too.

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/27388009-sanctuary-book-one

 

Interview with me!

So, I was recently advertised by Snowleopard publishers on their blog! Make sure to check it out guys. Link just below:

Interview Link

 

Devil’s Aggravate

Satan goes shopping. Maybe…

Devil’s Aggravate

The smell of death oozed between the shelves, aisles and aisles of death, and Satan looked on in slight approval. The human world had its appeal every now and again, he supposed. All this concentrated death. Yes. He liked this very much.

His arm reached out to caress the gentle embrace of death, overcoming so many at once, and placed his hand upon a decaying onion. The stench overpowering in its intensity. Why had he not come here sooner?“Can I help you, Sir?” Though he would never admit it to another creature – alive nor dead – the cheerful voice startled him. He turned to glare at it.

Small, round, young, and brimming with joy, Satan stared at her with venom, hoping she might leave promptly. Alright, perhaps cute too. Hopefully she would die soon.

“No.” He growled.

Unperturbed – clearly this was her first week – the supermarket assistant beamed back at him. Satan scowled and glanced at her name badge.

“Are you sure, Sir? I’m more than happy to help? Only you’ve been staring at the discount fruit and vegetable for some time now. We here at CostCheap take pleasure in providing the best value and best service money can buy.”

How well rehearsed, Satan noted.

“Jenny.” He said, eyes glancing back to her eyes. So full of hope. That had to be dealt with. “I have a shopping list-”

“Do you need help finding the items on the list?”

“….yes.” He grumbled.

“Well then!” The girl almost jumped with glee as she slid her arm through his. “Please allow me to escort you! What’s first on the list.”

“….butter.”

“Oooh! That’s in the dairy. Do you have any other dairy items in there?”

“Milk.” He let her tug him left and right, glaring at people who bumped him. The crowds in here rivalled the river Styx! He made notes in his head. That woman with the noisy child would suffur greatly. The kids too. Damn their noise!

“Mum! I want the chocolatey cereal!”

“No! Get the crumbly pops!”

“No! Mum! Mum!”

“No, me! Me!”

Satan’s fingers twitched. All it would take to smite them would be a snap of his fingers and a snap of their necks.

“Sir!”

He whipped his head around.

“What?”

“I said, would you like UHT milk or soya? Or almond?”

“Cow milk.” He grumbled. “Does that still exist?”

“Oh yes!” Her voice brimmed with amusement as she reached for full fat milk and popped it into the basket in his other arm. “That better? Did Sir forget his coffee this morning? He did, didn’t he?”

So close. He could wring her neck.

“Mmm.” He managed a grumble instead.

“What else is on your list?”

“Eggs and bread.” He squinted trying to read the writing.

“Oh very easy, if you’ll come this way.”

Again she lead him through the throng of people towards the aforementioned items. Many people smiled at him but he shot them all deadpan looks. How very dare they glance upon his visage with such disrespect. Why, back in the day he could have torn their throats out with a wave of his arms!

“There we go, Sir. Will that be all?”

“Yes.” he grumbled.

“Very good, do you need help finding the tills?”

“No.” He snapped. They did not constantly move the tills around.

As he stalked towards them, and slammed the basket on the till, he made a mental note to never take part in community service again. Human could be so damn nice. It turned his stomach.

“It nice to see, isn’t it, Margaret?”

“Oooh what’s that, Mabel?”

“This care in the community thing they’re doing.”

“Oh, so it is, deary. So it is.”

“See those psych ward patience, they’re pretty harmless, really. Aren’t they?”

“Oh, some of them, Mabel. Some of them.”

“Like that young man, there. I heard he has one of that, split personality things going on…”

“Oh no. That’s awful, isn’t it, Mabel?”

“Aye, dear. ’tis. But he looked happy enough.”

“Mind you, it’s probably the only time he gets out. Can’t be good for him in there all the time.”

“Aye… aye.”

Stories

Oh look! It’s all most stories, and in a convenient little masterpost! Oh, are they alphabetically ordered too? Wow, how awesome is that ;)

Coma

Writing exercise turned short story. About a sleepy little world in the middle of nowhere…

Damp Socks.

Climbing trees. Barefoot. As one does.

Devil’s Aggravate

Satan takes on the local supermarket. Sort of.

Dreams and Goals

Tonight I took a break from writing and sending out my manuscript and all the other things that go hand in hand with getting my work out there for all you beautiful people to read and went to a concert with my Dad. We’ve had this planned for a few months now and it truly felt good to kick back and relax after all the work I’ve done lately. Don’t get me wrong,  I adore my writing and I adore the adrenaline of putting it out there, but after constantly filling my spare time with it lately, I feel I deserve a wee break.

So, the bands were Alice Cooper and Motley Crue. I’ve seen Motley Crue before but this time I will not be seeing them again as it was their final tour (#RIP). The words that Nicki Sixx spoke out during the last hour however I will never forget…

This legendary man stood up in front of nearly seventeen thousand people tonight. This one man from Indiana stood up in front of Manchester and he moved me to tears;

In his own unique way, Nikki Sixx spoke about being a kid living in a trailer with his grandparents. He mentioned how he had very little as a kid and he wanted to be the best guitarist and such and how he wanted his grandad’s pocket knife. So he did it. He took it and to this day he always carries a pocket knife and he want out and raised hell and became the badass guy he is now…

The moral of his story, he said, is that if you want something or have a dream, don’t let anyone feel you can’t acheive it. You have to work and fight for it and don’t let anyone drag you down because it is achievable so long as you keep trying…

…And I felt tears brim in my eyes because he’s right. That’s how I currently feel with my book. I’ve worked hard to get where I am with it and yes, I’m not done, I’ve still got many a ways to go but you know what? This is proof that hard work pays off. This is proof that I am progressing. In the last year I have made so many wonderful writer contacts and friends, I have an editor (who is as wonderful and hilarious as I am, by the way!) and I have a group of supportive people pushing me on to write even more books.

This year has been hectic, but it has been successful because – even though I am not in print – I am published. I have written a book. I spent this year writing a book and I am proud of me.

I did something with my life this year. So there.

It’s never too late to achieve something you want to acheive. You just have to want it hard enough to work for it. To change for it. To work for it. Life gives you the oppertunities if you reach out and show life you’re ready for work for them. No, it’s not easy, yes it’s scary, terrifying even! You might fail, but failing is better than not trying. Not trying is a definite no; trying gives you a chance.

I don’t know about you, but to me, a chance might be all it takes….

Coma

I must have wrote this years ago… but I thought I might share it up here with you lovely folks. Why not, eh? It started off as a descriptive exercise; an attempt to practise some in depth detail but it grew on me and I built on it. I doubt I’ll go back to it, but I want to share it :)

First Visit

“I walk into the small tear through the fabric of time. With a dull thud and a small disturbance of leaves, I fell into a large pile of the fallen foliage.

Once again, I have found my world.

Picking my way through the carpet of tree debris I walk carefully in my high heels, taking care not to stumble or step on anything alive. I find my way towards the cottage and what sits inside.

I know no-one can hurt me here.”

“There is too much to do at the moment so I settle with opening the door and clambering over the threshold. The whole house smells of dust and a stray leaf followed me with the draught.

It’s so quiet. I guess no-one else is here right now. I must be the only person here who knows this place exists and I guess no-one else can get here without me.

Perhaps someone will follow me and live here with me but not right now.

There is far too much to do right now. Dust splutters through every room so I venture upstairs to check the layout. My black dress is dusted grey by stirred grey flecks as I take clicking steps up the linoleum stairs. I have no idea what colour they were once meant to be.

The upstairs corridor is deathly quiet and the twilight seeps through the dust like a misty orange haze. I shiver. The house is cold from lack of life but something is alive here, it just needs to be awoken.”

< The first bedroom door I open is a reflection of pastel blue. The lilac wallpaper reflects the last light of the day shining through the window. This room seems dormant but not eerie. There is nothing eerie about this place. There is too much heavy time where nothing will change.

I look around and see many dusty ornaments. Dry and broken spider webs cling across the ceiling like faded rainbows. I can’t see any spiders but the pallid atmosphere the room portrays is oddly comforting. I walk further in snapping a few hanging webs but they are vacant, no spiders to call them home.

The bed however hosts something I have never seen before.

Dormant indeed, lays the stillest human I have ever seen, if I can call her human. No, him…if I can call him human. It’s a rough guess but this pale being lying in living sleep on this bed must have been here a while. I weakly lift an arm to stroke his dusted face so tenderly. The paleness is his skin, there is no dust. His white-blue dress is not creased despite however long he must have spent here. Resisting the urge to kiss his cheek I take another glance around the room. So much blue.

And dried flowers.

Hanging from all corners of the room are dried roses, dried lavender, cornflowers, pansies, violets… all dried and all either violet or blue. The pansies smile sleepily down from hanging baskets as I back out of the room.

I run home. Like I said…there is simply too much for one visit.”

Second Visit

< Today the sky is orange with the sunrise. My eyes nip with the light. It’s dark on the Earth right now and I’m here because I ran away from the Earth for a little time. I want to explore the house with the sleeping blue man in it. I’m distracted momentarily by a small hill that screams through the ringing silence for me to follow the path.

Although shrouded by leaves and forest debris I scuff my shoes against the dustiness and walk along to the top of the hill. A slight breeze tickles my dress and it flaps in fits of giggles. I don’t care, there is no-one here to see my underwear anyway.

There is a wooden swing dangling from a lone tree at the top of the hill which looks over onto the sunrise. I can only gasp as the oranges and yellows from the sky are reversed and flipped back onto the ground. I can feel the warmth through my furry black coat and remove it, tossing it down beside the tree. I step over to the swing and test my weight. The rope tightens audibly but doesn’t yield and I set myself down, resisting the urge to kick my feet.

< I am alone in this world, but it is a different, serene calming oneness. I’m not afraid to be alone here. The sun heats up my bare arms, the hairs on my arms prickle up and I resist the urge to sleep. I might not wake up if the boy in blue is anything to go by. But then, I’m not sure if that is such a bad thing. I reposition myself upon the ground and curl up under my coat ready to doze. My eyes close sleepily and I yawn loudly. I try to sleep but a voice whispers softly into my ear.

“Not yet.”

Startled but not afraid I sit up. Nothing. There is no-one there despite it all. I couldn’t however, shake the feeling that something was happing here I was aware of. Since I had first arrived, things were starting to happen, life awakening. I wondered if I had something to do with this….”

Third Visit

“The third visit to the world saw me revisiting the man in the bed. It was dark in your world when I left it to come here but this one is daylight. Tiptoeing up the dusty staircase into the echoing room reflected with sky blue, I almost feel dizzy with the lightness of the air. The room hasn’t changed since the last time I’d been there and I run my finger along the thin crumbling wallpaper. The figure hasn’t moved from the way he was laying so peacefully beneath the quilt, the same light stains were visible when I moved the paintings on the wall.

I begin to wonder how long it’d been like this.

The first frame holds a pastel coloured painting. There is a small boy, in dungarees waving to a coal black train that almost leaps out of the picture. Small blue cornflowers, like the ones in the hanging baskets by the windows, decorate the fields along with yawning yellow daffodils in the opposite corner.

The second picture is an oil painting of a girl in a stable with her horse gently nuzzling her hand. He is a young colt with a cold black colour. Yet more blue flowers surround the scene in any way they possibly can.

The third picture is the most interesting of them all. The scene is a meadow filled with forget-me-nots and daisies. It is empty save for a few black rabbits and at the bottom of the picture the beginnings of a small mysterious forest. This is another oil pastel painting and the edges seem hazy. It is odd how like the view from outside the window of the bedroom this picture is.

I take a few steps towards the window and glance out. The similarities were uncanny save that this forest is stuck in autumn and no rabbits danced in this forest, the rabbits here seem dazed, as though whacked over the head by a metaphorical spade.

I brush my finger along the windowsill. It is coated with dust but still had an almost iridescent glow that radiated from it.

I wiped my finger against my cotton pyjamas. They are red with penguins on them, technically my Christmas jammies but I often wore them anyway when it was cold. Now they have a small grey mark on one leg but with the amount of dust I had stood on in my bare feet that seemed inconsequential.

Finished with the rest of the room, I now turn my attention to the unconscious figure. He hasn’t budged an inch since the last time and I could swear that this was the first time in a few weeks I had returned to the forest. Didn’t he eat? Didn’t he need to go to the bathroom? I half expect to find the sheets had turned to cardboard if I try to lift them but stifle a giggle at the thought. It seems wrong to disturb the silence or wake up this life form, not that I feel I could even if I wanted to.

I sit down on the bed, trying my hardest not to sit on any trailing part, any arm or foot and brushed my hand along the figure’s cheek for the second time. He is so like a doll, a living doll trapped in this body that almost seemed like it didn’t want to move.

An odd thought occurs to me.

What if this place is a dream? What if this sleeping doll had dreamt up this place and lost his soul to it? What if, by living here alone he has turned in on himself and, having only himself to talk to, found his life slowly withering away. What if you couldn’t die here? What if these were only dreams? And you can’t die in your own dreams. But could I? Since this wasn’t my dream, this was someone else’s dream, would I die?

I try not to laugh yet again, who even said this was a dream? Perhaps I am merely thinking too much again, I have a habit of that.

“How long have you been alone like this?” I whisper to Sleeping Beauty but he says nothing in return. I wonder if I can revive this world, and in turn, breathe life back into this wonderful, artistic human who created this 3D, physical world and receded into a shell.

I find my way out of the room in silence. If he wakes now, I don’t know how I’d re-act. How does one react to the creator of a world? Particularly a perfect world, so devoid of wasteful humans…

I run back into the forest and will myself back to your world despite how much I’d rather stay here, I mustn’t give away the game too early. I will slowly ease myself into this world; it is far more inviting than my own. I wonder if I could bring a friend…”

The outside is light. I wonder how long I have been here….

Fourth Visit

A week later I come back. I was afraid to make it a too frequent thing in case I found myself trapped within, which, although a seemingly promising concept, is slightly scary this early in. I don’t want to risk my chances and find myself trapped before I have fully scoped the place and the surrounding areas.

I don’t go into the house but instead, I walk around the gardens, I am looking for inspiration for a novel for English Class. This ethereal world has more inspiration hiding within than the so called reality that limits and controls our thoughts and emotions. I am slightly annoyed, as you can tell, with the other reality. This is mostly because I have homework to do. I really don’t do well when it comes to homework. School and home are contrasts. Home is home, not a work place.

Irritated, I walk through a pebbly path along the banks of this chortling river by the side of the house. I can see fish, small gaping things. Perhaps they are startled by the presence of someone human; my attention is drawn to the upper window. The third floor, the second window in: where the figure rests in this perpetual dream.

I can swear something moved, or maybe it is the morning shadows, the darkness from the night slowly starting to drift away.

Yet I can’t help but gape like the fish, unbelieving, as I run into the house, pound my feet against the stairs and, nearly falling, trip into the bedroom. The figure is still in the bed.

I breathe again. Though it would have been wonderful to be able to share this with someone I begin to worry that if he did wake, maybe he wouldn’t want me here. Maybe the years of watching this beautiful world from afar would have him protective of this balance.

I can’t blame him if this is the case. I know I’d be scared someone might destroy this place if I were him.

I return to the fish in the pond. A small koi carp swims past and, carefully I brush my fingers along its fin. A compulsion, yet a silly one, I may have frightened him. The water is cold but fresh, more real than the rest of the world. I note the irony of this place seeming dreamlike…if you think about it, maybe it does make sense.

I draw my fingers out from the cold heavy water before a fish nibbles them, it does look rather hungry.

Climbing to my feet, I wander south along the edge of the water, it leads me through an almost park-like area, the area seems less “dusty” and the air isn’t so airy…does that make sense? The air isn’t heavy and seems more like the air I’m used to. I clear my throat and continue my walk. There is a path, a worn path with prints. Horse prints and tracks, perhaps a horse and cart?

There is a small bench and I make a mental note to bring a picnic for the next visit. The trees here are less cluttered here and give way to a field of fresh blue flowers of all kinds. A field of yellow flowers sits beside it; they are separated by the river and joined by a small stone bridge.

Picking my way carefully around the flowers I find myself on the bridge looking over at the water. It is deeper here and I can just make out pebbles at the bottom as I bend over. The water trickles along its path as I bend over the side of the bridge. It’s relaxing to watch and I note how even larger fish swim past here.

Panicking I look at my iPod. I snuck in here via the girl’s bathroom today. I’m skiving fifth and sixth period as well as staying here during lunch. I have a maximum of three hours but I notice how slowly the time is going. I could have sworn I’d been here about an hour already. It took me half an hour to walk from the house to the bridge, but it didn’t seem long at the time…I’m just guessing, after all, I have no concept of time. I don’t have a watch because I hate watches so instead I’m using my iPod for the time.

My iPod is the only thing here that even resembles something from the other world but I’m not listening to it. I am however, clutching tightly to it.

I have left the path now and go east into the field of yellow flowers thinking about Alice in Wonderland and contemplating whether I would fall down a rabbit hole in my pyjamas, hey, stranger things could happen.

There are no trees in this field and ever seems to become spring and summer as I walk further away from the cottage, the flowers for example are all spring flowers such as the daffodils.

After what I imagine is around twenty minutes I look at my iPod again. Three minutes have past. This can’t be real, maybe my iPod is broken. I put it in my pyjama pocket and continue on my walk.

My feet are starting to hurt. Despite the soft wet grass cushioning each step I have to sit down, accidently crushing a few golden buttercups. It is really sunny here and warm. Warm enough to take a small nap. Just a nap though, because if I am still here when they lock the toilets, I will be in trouble. I’d rather not stay here all through the weekend. I might starve!

Dozing off, I began to worry that I might not wake up, like my friend in the cottage but when I considered it, wouldn’t it be beautiful to sleep forever in the company of a thousand flowers…

~

Don’t forget to check out my ebook;

Available now

First post!

Whoo! Finally got my book up on Amazon and Smashwords. Please check the link at the top of the page to see more :)