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Stones bounced together on the shingle path as I kicked them with my feet. My hands rested inside the pockets of my favourite black jacket. Bold white letters were printed on the jacket spelling "Area 11". My foot caught a large stone and I stumbled, again.

"Dammit..." I muttered.

The wind blew my hair behind me, whipping my face every time I turned around.

It was a beautiful Sunday evening. The sky was painted a combination of oranges, pinks, reds and blues. The only thing that spoiled this beautiful night was that it was a Sunday night.

School tomorrow.

The shingle underneath my shoes switched to a broad field of tall, dry grass. The whole field swayed together as a steady, gentle breeze tossed fallen leaves.

The moon casted looming shadows across the field. Not a man made light was in sight. I brushed my hands across the blades of grass. Towering trees stretched up with their branches interlocking and twisting around each other. Water bubbled in front of me, the trees sheltering the hidden lake.

Birds chirped and played hide and seek in the trees. The most harmless field mice scattered around in the grass, scavenging for any fallen fruit. The small lake in Summer was as warm as a heated pool. Pinecones and fruit hung from various trees spread all through the forest.

You could sing a million songs through a megaphone in the centre of the forest and no one would hear you.

This is my place.

This is where I belong.

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⏰ Last updated: Apr 09, 2014 ⏰

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