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My Perfect Holiday – Aged 10

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…

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Gone

How many things does it take to drive somebody crazy?  One. Two. Three. Four? I want to go crazy. Diagnose it if you wish; right now I have no excuse. No excuse for the crying and the screaming and the hurting. If I told you my story, I don’t think you’d understand. You’d be just like all the others, telling me what to do. Where I should be, with whom I should meet. It’s like they think I don’t know. But I know alright, I know exactly where I should be and who I should be meeting. I just can’t, because she’ll never get home.

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GRUMPY?!

Now let me first explain this: it’s true that I never really liked Snow White. It wasn’t that I wanted her dead or anything, but I just really preferred it when she wasn’t here.  I suppose now you know exactly who I am, yes that’s right, I’m “Grumpy.” Yes, that really is the name that you will all know me as. I’m the one which books and films seem to love to present as the bitch of the household, well up to the point at-least where I actually warn your precious princess about the Queen. Then I’m fine. No-one ever seems to understand why I didn’t really like her at the start, but I suppose that’s because you’re all just distracted by her beautiful face and voice. The truth is that you don’t really know her at all.

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On We Go (Extract)

On We Go (Extract)

I wake up early.

It doesn’t even surprise me any more, but still I’m annoyed at the lack of a needed lie-in. It just doesn’t seem fair. If I was anywhere else in the world then I could have pulled the softened duvet up around my neck and delved straight back into my dreams. That doesn’t happen here though. For a start I have no bed – nothing but the granite flag-stones beneath my bruised body. Secondly, I’ll just have to keep dreaming of that duvet, as the only blanket I could find was a ragged, plaster-covered sheet that is way past needing washing.

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