So recently I managed to recover a whole load of my writing from when I was younger. Although most of it seemed to be rewrites of Enid Blyton, I found my entry to a village show entitled ‘My Perfect Holiday.’ I have to admit as soon as I read the title I remembered that I hadn’t gone for the usual Disneyland or Hawaii, but still – I like it – even if it’s less like a holiday and more like a dream sequence.
My Ideal Holiday
My Ideal Holiday. How can I describe my ideal holiday except for maybe… perfect? The vacation of my dreams requires much imagination, for it is one that is simply out of this world…
I find myself alone, so much alone that I can not hear anybody else. Nothing else except the rush of the wind and the calling of the wild birds. The wild birds, things which before were just a figment of my imagination, they now glide beside me.
I see their feathers, each slightly misaligned but still magnificently majestic. Their plumage rests proudly on their heads, as a tiara would to a princess. Flying high above even the tallest crown: maybe two or three metres high, it portrays their inner royalty. Their eyes gleam. The colour of the Mediterranean Sea in the sunny season, but behind this shining turquoise is hidden a darker truth. These eyes which tempt us to look deeper seep through to the very depths of the heart and only those capable to show true compassion will enter.
They purr, much like cats, as we climb higher and higher through the cloudless sky until at last we enter their kingdom. They are only the gate-keepers and behind these gates which they guard, you will find things which will fulfill and indeed extend your wildest fantasies.
As I pass through the gate, I am greeted by many other magical, mystical creatures, ones which the men of our world would have hunted to extinction many years ago. I see faeries, with wings towering high above their heads, much as the wild bird’s feathers; I spy gnomes, no taller than my knee but among all of the other otherworldly beings, these simply just blend in.
The scene which I am faced with reminds me much of Christmas markets, crowds of people. I am overwhelmed by the difference between the sereneness of just a few seconds ago and this mad rush which I know seem to be surrounded by. I can hear noises which are clearly words being exchanged but it is much to fast and high pitched for me to understand. It probably isn’t even English, maybe French? I hope so, I love French.
I turn around, suddenly claustrophobic, but as soon as I do this, I find that there is no need, it’s like this world is programmed into my thoughts, for now the masses which had surrounded me have distanced. As if to test my theory, my stomach suddenly seems to lurch and I remember that I haven’t eaten anything today as I ponder on this fact, I feel a light tap on my shoulder. As I turn, I am provided with a bowl full to the brim with… I’m not quite sure.
I look to the person who must have passed me the dish, but I see that there is nobody within reaching distance. The food which I have been given looks rather like a plate of candy. I can see a pale green dust which reminds me of sherbet, a stick which reminds me of liquorice and I can definitely see a sugar mouse. I don’t know what I expected from these faerie tales but I knew that it would be something unusual.