Whenever I’m feeling stressed or anxious, I think of my special place – a place where I was happy and relaxed and at peace with the world. And where is that place? It’s under a tree – a tree I first sat under when I was five years old.
That’s nearly fifty years ago now, but I can remember it like yesterday. I was at primary school and it was a glorious summer day. It was story-time and when the weather was nice enough (which wasn’t nearly as often as all the children would have liked), we were allowed to have our story read to us outside, under the shade of the old oak tree. It was massive and I remember tipping my head back and looking as the sun tried to force its way through its branches to get to us, but because it was such an enormous tree, the sun had no chance.
My teacher, Mrs Stimpson, was wonderful and she made the stories so exciting, so vibrant, so real. All the children would find themselves caught up in a new adventure as she took us to different lands and created images of colourful characters in our minds.
And on that particular day, she did just that and it was almost as if life was standing still. I felt such a sense of peace, as if everything was just right with the world. No wonder it’s a place I would like to go back to!
Do you have a special place that’s your sanctuary – somewhere that you go now, or that you take yourself back to? Your prompt this week is
SPECIAL PLACES
I always enjoy seeing what you come up with if the prompt gives you inspiration, but there’s no obligation to share your writing. Here is the work you shared on the last prompt FICTIONAL WORLDS.
A lot of Enid Blyton’s world was quite thinly disguised, around the Purbecks in the UK. I’ve been to the real-life Kirrin Island, Kirrin Castle and Kirrin Bay. In reality they are 3 separate places but all quite close to each other.
Tongue in cheek, I’d fall right into Narnia
Through a wardrobe or something much barmia
But I’m sure I would find it alarmia
And I’d worry I might come to harmia
I’ve gone a bit serious in my contribution this week.
The world today is a scary place, full of scary people, and millions who are just plain scared. Is it no wonder we dream of far away lands or worlds, searching for something that we cannot find on our doorsteps, or hide from the dark forces invading our lives?
The world of dreams is an escape, a place where our departed loved ones are still with us. Though communication is limited, and those loving parental embraces protecting us are impossible, there is a surreal sense of safety, even if only for a short period of time.
Would it be fun to travel back in time and relive happier times with the simplicity of a child who is unaware of the struggles adults faced?
Fictional Worlds like Oz or Narnia are wondrous, places we can escape to through the world of entertainment.
Similarly we have The Planet of The Apes, where authority has been seized by primates driven by greed and power.
They say “You can’t make this stuff up” and “Fact is stranger than fiction”.
So is the world we think we live in today a work of fiction?
“There must be some mistake.”
“No mistake, sir.”
“But why am I under arrest?”
“We have a complaint signed by a citizen.”
“What kind of complaint?”
“That your world is unusual.”
“Is that a crime?”
“Well, we have to make sure you aren’t a danger to yourself or others.”
“Who signed this complaint?”
“That is confidential, sir but I can tell you, most read your blog.”
“You must realize that I live in a fictionalized world.”
“Not my job, sir.”
“But it is very real to me and not for others to understand.”
“Yes sir. Now shall we go?”
“Where?”
“To the library of course. You can get help there.”
The world I would like to visit is the Discworld of Terry Pratchett. I would really like to meet Granny Weatherwax and her fellow witches. I think the idea of an unpolluted, magical world, with tiny dragons that singe you slightly when they sneeze. When there is a real figure of Death with a horse called Binky. The stories weave around using ideas from Earth but putting a spin on them. Flat Earthers would possibly love the idea that the Discworld is flat and rests on the back of four gargantuan Elephants who in turn stand on the back of the giant world turtle, A’tuin, who’s paddle like legs steer him through interstellar space. Wood can be sentient, there are pines that count their age so when you chop them down the number of years they have been standing appears in their heart wood. A magically infused trunk will chase you on hundreds of little legs and swallow evil people up. Rincewind the Wizard is at the centre of many stories and his friend Twoflower follows along and adds to the chaos. Yes I would love to be there!
Each night, once the sky closes its eyes, I step beyond the hush of waking. My sheets become a portal, thin as breath, soft as silence.
I fall, not downward, but inward, through a door that wasn’t there when the lights were on. Familiar laws dissolve like mist.
Time unfolds like paper, and I walk its creases. Mountains move and oceans rise all at the pace of thought. Each dream a fictional world conjured up by an unconscious mind unloading and renewing.
I am versions of myself, often in a younger skin and a more able body. I find myself in a surreal world, realistic and unimaginable, places familiar and places strange.
I meet people, both known and unknown to me, who are sometimes friends and sometimes foes. I find myself in situations both comforting and frightening.
And then every morning the sun opens its eyes once again and I return to a world of reality, which is sometimes comforting and sometimes frightening.
I don’t have s specific fictional world to visit, except one that is happy and every tale has a happy ending.
The perfect life
She was a happy person. A very happy person. Sad at times when it seemed to fit – for funerals and when loved ones fell sick or pets had to be taken to the vet for the very last time to save them more suffering.
Tears and comforting words and the whole shebang.
Of melancholy she was the master.
Chin in hand, head slightly tilted and the air of remembering the sad truth behind it all. In fall and on rainy days – this was her favourite posture.
But otherwise: She was the happy one. Laughing, joking, keeping everybody entertained.
Except when she had to deliver a vey serious and dramatic speech or a passionate confession to someone, making others tremble with tension or shake with fear.
Yes, she led the most exciting life in a fictional world where everyday was just another chapter of a great novel, the moment a legendary scene of a well reknown play.
Her fictional life seemed perfect, but unfortunately it was not hers at all. She was only the pawn of a prolific writer’s fantasy.
Catherine X Heathcliff
The afternoon sun streamed through the dusty windows, casting a warm, golden hue over the cluttered room. I sat at the edge of the sofa, clutching the old, worn copy of “Wuthering Heights” you had given me months ago. The book’s cover was faded, the edges frayed from countless readings. It was a quiet moment, punctuated only by the occasional sound of traffic from the busy street below.
“You remember this, don’t you?” I asked, tracing the spine of the book with my fingers.
You glanced up from your spot at the window. “Of course. It’s the one we talked about on Recto street.”
I nodded, feeling a familiar shiver as I recalled the day you handed me the book. “You said something then, about Heathcliff and Catherine. About their love.”
You walked over and sat beside me. “Yeah, I remember. How Heathcliff saw Catherine and it was like he was seeing his whole world. Why?”
“It’s just—” I hesitated, the book feeling heavier now. “When I read this, I feel that same shiver. From my neck to my spine. Like something deep inside me is stirred.”
You looked at me, your eyes reflecting a mix of curiosity and warmth. “Is it the story, or is it something else?”
I took a deep breath, holding your gaze. “I think it’s us. The way Heathcliff declared Catherine was his soulmate, that they were bound together for eternity. I see that in us. I see Heathcliff in you and Catherine in me.”
You reached out, taking my hand in yours. “And you think…”
I squeezed your hand gently. “I think we’re not them, but we’re close. We’re not doomed to tragedy. We’re choosing to be together.”
You smiled, a soft, knowing smile. “Then let’s make it ours. Let’s be like them, but better. Together forever, not apart.”
I leaned in, resting my head on your shoulder. The afternoon sun continued to bathe us in its gentle light. “Yes, forever,” I murmured. And in that warm, sunlit room, I felt a profound sense of connection.
Note:
I’m a fan of Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights, and if I ever had the chance to step into a fictional world, I would love to join Catherine and Heathcliff in their hauntingly passionate story.
I would visit the Hobbits in the Shire.
Robbie’s Inspiration:
Crossing the Empty Room
I stand at the door, looking in
Knowing I must cross the floor
My footsteps echoing on the tiles
The sound bouncing off pictureless walls
An empty room, stripped of its essence
All signs of its purpose removed
Dirty marks and picture hooks
All that remain of an earlier time
When occupants gave it life
I take a deep breath, move forward
The temperature is cold, the air dry
The ghosts of previous employees drift
Across the vast and empty floor
Dancing the steps of disgruntlement
The room grows, seeming to elongate
As I pass through the hostile crowd
The retrenched sucking on bitter lemon
The leavers regretting hasty decisions
They tap my slopping shoulders
Breathing memories into my reluctant ears
Bequeathing me their despair and vexation
At the unexpected turn of events
That derailed the smooth flow of their days
Destroyed their faith in ‘the system’
I reach the exit, yanking open the door
It slips from my sweaty fingers
Banging closed on the disappointing past
I walk on, cloaked in disillusionment
–
Hey diddle diddle (twisted nursery rhyme)
Hey diddle diddle
A boy with a fiddle
What a terrible rasping noise
Horrified by the sound, the goat found herself skyward bound
In search of serenity and inner poise
Nicola Daly:
When we were young my sister and I used to ‘play’ the books we read – ‘Anne of Green Gables’, ‘Little Women’, ‘Little House on the Prairie’, ‘Heidi’ each took turn in becoming our world – the ‘Narnia’ books too. For a while my sister was into the ‘Chalet Girl’ stories and the school in the Alps became a setting – although I seemed to spend most of my time in detention which wasn’t so much fun and far too much like real life.
When my sister considered herself too old to play such games, Arthur Ransome’s ‘Swallows and Amazons’ became my world – my bed was a boat or a tent, my room an island. Imagine my delight when years later when I took my daughter to a ‘Swallows and Amazons’ birthday party and we sailed on the lake, kayaked to Wild Cat Island, and picnicked on grog and pemmican. Truly magical!
But the world I’d love to visit would be Dianna Wynne Jones’ world of Chrestomanci. Imagine staying in Chrestomanci castle with its fantastic grounds, items which sing’ I belong to Chrestomanci Castle’ if you try to steal them and being able to do magic at the flick of a wrist? That would be truly awesome! You see, while I’m all grown-up on the outside, inside I’m still all child!
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Esther Chilton 
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