ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
I am 18 years old, and in October will be studying radio, film and telelvision with English. I love writing, and my ambition is to become a writer for telelvision, or a novelist. [January 2000]
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (4) Going, Going... (Short Stories) A man commits suicide, and then realises what he's missing. [1,330 words] I Closed My Eyes (2) (Short Stories) After committing suicide, a young man realises what a mistake it was. [1,356 words] On The Other Side (Short Stories) This is a story about a young girl who is tired of being pushed around. She takes matters into her own hands... [1,134 words] Window-Shopping (Screenplays) A window cleaner falls in love with someone she notices as she is working. How will things work out? [16,218 words]
Hidden Reality Lisamarie Jones
Stepping forward, Christina looked out. It was such a beautiful day; the clouds were skimming along, pushed by a gentle breeze, the sun was hot, and the sky was a bright, bright blue. This was the kind of day she loved. This was the kind of day where everything was all right with the world, and it felt as though it was going to stay that way forever. The grass was soft and warm, and smelt of the summer. Obviously, it had just been cut, and although she normally suffered terribly from hay fever, she didn’t mind. She didn’t mind at all because she was enjoying herself so much. The shapes in the clouds as she glanced up, shielding her eyes from the rays of the sun, were fascinating. Here she could see a dog, there a clown, and in the far distance there was a fairy tale castle. A young child was playing happily on a makeshift tyre swing hanging from a sturdy apple tree, and through the branches a wobbly looking tree house could just be seen. Christina was at ease; she really did love days like these. After a few minutes she shook herself, and smiled. It was time to move on. She walked a little way, and soon came across a brilliantly yellow field. The wheat was high, still to be harvested, and the smell was heavenly. As the crops swayed leisurely in the slight breeze, Christina sighed. She wished that she could stay here forever, but she only had an hour. Less than that by now, she reasoned, and looking at her watch she saw she only had forty minutes of her lunch-break left. She couldn’t be late. She had been late yesterday because she had spent too much time in the garden and the field, and her boss had severely reprimanded her. Christina sped her walking up a notch and found herself standing by a dark lake. The water was deep, and looked ominous. Although she knew she really shouldn’t, she stayed there for longer than she had meant to, just taking in her surroundings. The air was still, and all the trees at the sides of the immense lake stood to attention. All the trees, that is, apart from one; a willow. That tree’s leaves and branches hung despondently down into the water, casting grim shadows onto the surface. She stayed because she was fascinated. She stayed because she wanted to know more about what was in front of her. But she couldn’t stay for long, and eventually she knew that the secrets hidden under the murky water would have to wait for another time. Christina looked at her watch again. She had twenty-five minutes before she had to be back at the office, but she’d have to leave in fifteen because of the walk back there. Still, she had got further than the day before; her trip had ended at the field then. She had time for one more little walk. As she left the lake, she shivered – she was definitely coming back here tomorrow. For now, though, she hurried along the path ahead until she came to a small hill. It was steep, and from her vantage point at the top of it, she could see a little village nestled in the valley. There was a church with a steeple, a little pub with a few cars scattered about in the car park, and a park with a swing and slide. The day was warm, as it had been in the garden, and she immediately felt more comfortable than she had by the lake. She desperately wanted to run down the hill and into the haven below, but she was already late beginning her journey back to the city office. But the view had been so beautiful that she hadn’t wanted to leave. Christina stepped back, and away from the painting hanging in front of her. If she looked at a certain angle back from the direction she had walked, she could just about make out the other paintings she had been admiring; the garden, the field, the lake, and, of course, the village. Although she still hadn’t eaten, and she was going to be late back to work yet again, she didn’t mind. She preferred to spend her free time at the art gallery; it was her hidden reality.
READER'S REVIEWS (2) DISCLAIMER: STORYMANIA DOES NOT PROVIDE AND IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR REVIEWS. ALL REVIEWS ARE PROVIDED BY NON-ASSOCIATED VISITORS, REGARDLESS OF THE WAY THEY CALL THEMSELVES.
"Loved it." -- Meg.
"This is really great! I loved it! Excellent reading. I loved the mystery. It seemed like she was at the sites until we learned that she was in an art gallery. Great story!" -- Robert K. Tarquinio, Santa Monica, CA, USA.
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