"Describe Your Home" by Silvannen Mystic Dragonrider Gerrard

    Have you ever wandered through and alien world, full of deep and dark secrets? No? Then read on. I have, and I know what it’s like. Shall I tell you? Are you brave enough to hear?

    The house we come upon looks normal enough – well apart from the overgrown front garden that is home to tribes of Aborigine gnomes. To an unsuspecting passer by nothing of any value, or priceless artefact commanding an archaeological dig could lie in there; the old Victorian building, with its mahogany painted oak door adorned with the gleaming brass lion door knocker, its eyes ever watchful. But to you and me there is a whole new world waiting to be discovered by brave and fearless warriors.

    This world of untold wonder lies within the teenager’s bedroom. The drawers overflowing with myriads of odd socks – of which no two will make a pair. The socks are held captive, doomed to the dark. Those few that have escaped have reverted back to nature and live together in savage tribes.

    As I walked through this alien jungle I saw a mountain of toffee wrappers rise ominously before me. Their shiny surfaces glinting in the sliver of light that came from the cracked window, which was obscured by the treacherous and mountainous terrain of unwashed clothes. The smell was so pungent that I nearly fainted.

    I carried on, determined to reach the exist. A low hissing sound drifted towards me on the contaminated air. I was not alone it seemed. As I reached the summit of a toffee-wrapper mountain a plateau was spread before me. My eyes could not believe what they saw as I stood stone still as if petrified by the shocking scene I witnessed.

    At the centre of the plateau was a throne made out of lost pocket money and jewels – my jewels. Sat regally upon the throne was the Old School Tie, now to be known as the barbaric overlord of my bedroom floor. His cold expressionless eyes glared at his secretary, a broken calculator, his buttons smashed in a teenager’s rage, whilst trying to complete the algebra homework set by the evil, plotting maths teacher.

     The calculator was reading from the hieroglyphs on an ancient – purposely lost – scroll. My English literature homework that I had claimed to have been eaten by my homework-eating fish when under interrogation. How could this be? I fled from the plateau, terrified at the idea of having to face THAT again. Surely the death sentence would be more merciful than having to laboriously make out my illegible scrawl that I dare the call handwriting!

    I came to the bed; a giant’s citadel. The hordes of forgotten soft toys that lived here would strike the fear of God into even the bravest, most experienced army. The steel frame forebodingly tall, its turrets reaching high into the cobweb-clouds of the ceiling. Underneath was a place where even spiders dare not tread, dark, unyielding, panic striking; my only way out. I had no choice but to enter the black abyss and courageously do battle with whatever creature of the underworld dwelt there.

    Somehow I am compelled by an invisible force to enter the perpetual twilit world of under-bed. Perhaps I may find the lost pencil case of Henry VIII. Who can tell if I may come across the unwanted, demon present from my aunt? Whatever the outcome, I bid thee farewell.