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Being a seriously dedicated book worm, I have always had a longing for literature, devouring book after book, savouring each page. I think it may be a combination of my ridiculously over active imagination and my appreciation for beautiful imagery delivered in black and white type, that led me to try out my hand at writing. Dearest friends, I tell you this with a spring in my step and the goofiest of smiles on my face, that my very first 'real' attempt at writing a piece, has landed itself in the latest issue of one of my favourite online magazines Whim!
Here you can find issue 5 in all its whimsical beauty and charm, jam packed with dreamy photography and delicate literature, wonderfully gathered into one swell magazine. Whim Online Magazine have long been my favourite place to venture, when looking for a little creative inspiration and I recommend paying them a visit any time you're in need of an escape into a world of wonder and delight!
Here is my story, please feel free to have a read and let me know what you think. I welcome any advice or critique, as I hope to write more and using your help perhaps I can develop!
Footsteps Of The Past
The tiles peal away with surprising ease, a sure indication of that ever invasive friend called time. I dig my nails into the soil, my searching fingers find a cool, hard surface and come up for air, grasping the key in both hands. Kneeling on the ground, I take a moment to appreciate my treasure. The long, thin metal retained its intricate wonder, as the loose dirt clings to the curved edges. Within these four wooden walls, decrepit and crumbling, I pause amongst the over grown surroundings, hidden from the outside world.
How did she know I would find it? Such immense responsibility resting on one long forbidden secret, but how could she have known it would unfold this way?
I shake the key free of the grains of time and stuff it into my pocket. As I struggle free of the clutching claws and branches, the streaking golden beams that coat the forest in an eerie glow, show me the way.
I begin to run. My mind fills with unanswered questions. Thoughts I had long given up hope of untangling, blurred memories I had long forgotten, began to haunt my conscious. A face I could not place, a letter written in dark blue ink, faded by the weary tears of its author. If only I could ask her. See her one last time.
The sheltering crowd of ancient trees open wide and as I look out across the stretch of water a gentle creeping mist dances above the black depths. I long to run back towards the warmth of the sun, but I had to know. My answers lay ahead of me.
The boat was within reach but time was running out. I picked up pace and circled around the sandy bank and down towards the beech wood planks, that creaked and moaned with each foot step. The air hung moist and suffocating, as if pulling me down towards the silent lake beneath the deck. I scrambled for the rough, old rope holding the boat fast, and with a weakening grasp I release my vessel from this floating spectre of an island.
Having done this a thousand times as a child, these waters and land had always held a fascination, luring me into its fading embrace. The summer eves I have spent, stretched out on the deck, listening to this world around me. The warmth of the season soaking into my skin, entire days lost in this most isolated of places.
I make a leap to reach the boat, as it slowly makes its escape. Time slipping away like silk in the wind. As my feet leave the boards, a spread of birds stretch out across the sky, a wave of freedom mimicking my haste. I hit the boat and in that moment time stood still as the breath left my body and every vein squeezed tight to a halt. The key that held my story, dropped delicately into the vast liquid swell, leaving nothing but a sequence of ripples, then silence.