Fantastical fiction

Charlie Williamson takes us on an adventure with fairies through a child’s eyes

Looking back on that time I pushed through the little door in the bottom of the tree trunk, I remember feeling rather lost as to how I got there.

I had been repeatedly warned against wandering o on my own until one time they relented and I skipped on my jolly way to the trees and flowers and freshness beyond my own room. I could easily walk, I wasn’t too young as to stumble. But whilst I wasn’t very quick, the trees loomed up much faster than I’d expected. The ground still seemed to rush beneath my boots and suddenly the canopy enveloped me in a secretive green wonderland.

The trees each had their own name as I ran past. It gave them life I felt, and a story like in the books I had been reading. One particular tree, that I now know to be an oak, looked particularly interesting. Bathed in a rare pale glow, the bark was softer to touch than others.

enough for a rabbit – or me.

The old saying, “curiosity killed the cat” is one that I have avoided repeating during adulthood, knowing full well my hypocrisy is cemented in the pushing through that rough door.

There was little change on the other side besides pure bewilderment: the trees were still steadfast in their grandeur and the sun still shone far above in the blue.

But there was a certain feel in the air, an enchanted music that rang through every fibre of the land and thus myself. It felt as though I had deserved a place here by finding that door.

it scuttle o into the swathes of grass and wildflowers.

Her pre-Raphaelite-like dress floated gently on the breeze

The music of angels floated upwards and my gaze followed the trail of heaven. I need not have stumbled in quick desire for that flicker, for there were hundreds of them. I do not think they took much notice of me in the beginning but my eyes widened to fit all the little fairies in my vision. Several flew to my height in greeting and they could not have been much more than the size of my head.

My hand reached out and she dropped down, so light I could barely feel her tiny feet. Her pre-Raphaelite-like dress floated gently on the breeze, so transparent I could hardly see the purple hue that enveloped her. Dragonfly wings slowed to a stop as others kept the rest buoyant on the air in front of me.

She looked at me with such a sincerity I felt everything slow. The musical voice rang one long, everlasting note still etched into my imagination. I suppose I was accepted by them, for I remember dancing in a way I never had before, my heavy feet rarely touching the ground. I was independent and myself and also existing as one of the many, shedding any loneliness I had possibly felt in my short years. I swung from the blades of grass reaching higher and higher with the fairies. I said nothing. I simply laughed.

Their homes were the trees and I could not forget it

Their homes were the trees and I could not forget it. Round and round the toadstools and the forest I went, a dizzying excitement where only an adventurous satisfaction eventually brought me back to my home.

stage@palatinate.org.uk