The acrobats were like nothing ever seen before. Against the black stage backdrop, the men and woman were glowing neon lights come to life. They performed with a swiftness that years of practise had given them; they balanced on top of each other, swung from heights, juggled and walked on stilts.
The children wowed their wonder, cried their delight and gasped at the feats before them. When it as all over, the clapping echoed for an age and the acrobats bowed till their backs ached.
Back stage they celebrate and let their true fairy forms shine.
The doorbell rang and I went to answer it. On the doorstep was a medium size box. Looking up, I saw the deliveryman waving as he went back to his van. I waved back then gathered my parcels.
‘Postman?’ my husband called from the study where he was working from home.
‘No…it’s a thing for me,’ I answered.
I went to deny it but I couldn’t. Since starting lockdown my world had moved online. Everything I wanted came at the click of a mouse and it was like Christmas everyday but if it kept me going then it was worth it.
All summer events were cancelled and tickets had been refunded. Donna couldn’t believe it. She had been saving so hard to buy a ticket and now because of the virus, the rock festival had decided cancel.
Sadness filled her. She wouldn’t be able to sing her favourite songs alongside the bands. That feeling of being a part of something big and the rock music shaking her whole body wouldn’t happen. Donna only felt truly alive when surrounded by loud noise, the cancer had taken everything else.
There was nothing for it, she would have to create her own rock music festival in the living room.
Another summer without any sun and just full of rain instead. I wondered when I’d walk on dry ground and feel warmth on my face instead of the whipping wind. Summer happened in other countries but mine seemed to go from spring to autumn.
I should be waiting to make a fire and read before it like I did in winter. I should have been sitting out, enjoying the setting sun whilst sipping wine.
Dazing lights shone through the night as water played it’s tinkling tune within the fountain. Rising up from the centre was a large pink and white waterlily, posed on the edge of fully opening.
My mum sat on her balcony each clear evening, sometimes with a glass of wine and my dad, looking at the fountain. She didn’t know she was having me until four or five months in. She couldn’t get pregnant and thought it was another phantom.
My parents struggled to name me for weeks but finally one evening on the balcony with me wrapped in a blanket in mum’s arms, she looked across at the waterlily and knew what my name was.
Every spring as soon as the grass got cut and the flowers started popping up, my sneezes and watery eyes started. Normally, I’d take some meds and get on with it but this year, my hay fever was worse then ever.
I felt like I had a cold. My nose was blocked and I was sneezing so much whilst my eyes were puffy and always felt like they had something in them. None of my normal things seemed to work, so I went all out on cold and flu things as well. At least they kept some of the symptoms at bay.
The days grew longer, the sun was out more often and spring turned to summer. Still, I was plagued and only cold showers seemed to help. I longed for autumn and winter to come.
Upon opening the book, she let out the waterfall of words that were trapped inside. They filled her head and took her on a journey through the pages. A part of her vanished into that world. She walked with the characters and listened to their conversations. Her thoughts judged them and her feelings rode the waves of emotions.
The plot carved its way, twisting this and that, giving up the secrets like a shipwreck. Soon, things waxed to climax then waned as the rush of words settled. The tided went fully out and the pages became empty before her.
The book was over but the characters would remain with her.