A Catalyst For Creativity

The emerald ropes dangle down from the sky and now the explorer is trapped within the depths of the humid jungle whilst unknown creatures chatter and foreshadow the dangers she is destined to meet.
She takes a deep breath, inhaling the fresh air and perceives a pleasant scent accumulating however, she is cautious of how this odour could jeopardise her chances of survival.
THUMP.
The young explorer turns and finds the poisonous vines wrapped around the neck of trees. She senses danger. With her tiny legs, she sprints, tearing vines apart, desperate to escape this treacherous jungle. But it was useless in this jungle with endless arrays of plantations. The only choice is to go up. She examines the thick green ropes, tugs it, then ties the vines together.
Clinging onto the sturdy vines, she commences her journey at a steady pace until...
“AAHHH-” she shrieks as her hand slips! With only one hand remaining, gripping onto the vines, she attempts to pull herself up but to no avail. Slowly, the vines permitted her to be dragged down by the malicious gravity-
“MAMMA MIA!”
The girl detects the scream, followed by another thump!
“What are you doing?”
Her grandmother drops the batch of freshly washed clothing which, instead of the robust odour of tomato sauce artistically painted on the white tee the young girl, had an intense fragrance of lavender. At this moment, she paused and came back to reality, realising that she was hanging from the hills hoist, surrounded by clothing that was dripping wet.
“I asked you to hang the clothes, not yourself!” she says, accompanied with extravagant hand gestures. The girl replies with a giggle, knowing that her granny was not scorning her. Following a pinch on the cheek, the woman continues complaining.
Aware of her grandchild's lack of concentration, she shakes her head, deciding that this was a job unsuitable for a child at such a young age, and reaches for the clothing herself as the summer wind blows the hills hoist. The clothes dance under the rays of beaming light like spotlight shining upon them. But once the grandmother hung the clothes, the hills hoist is no longer motivated to spin. Instead, it waits for the lady to utilise it.
As the sun sunk into the earth, the calm colours of the sun set bleed away. The tree tops glisten with the final rays of pure sunlight, the overlapping leaves endeavour to hold onto the warmth of the light but ultimately sway to wave the light goodbye, then wait for the artificial light to reappear and light up the dark, empty street.
“Let’s go in now.” The grandmother’s delicate, loving voice calls as she grins seeing her grandchild’s evocative behaviour.
The imaginative girl, anticipating her next adventure, nods and they return back to their house. Her head is filled with ideas and excitement, only requiring a catalyst to activate it all.

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