The Never-Seen Wonderland

The Never-Seen Wonderland

Pitter…Patter…Pitter…Patter… The casement window sits lustrelessly beside the battered pillow which always carried the weight of my flamboyant thoughts and still does. I see the delicate sprinkles gradually falling against the glass which denotes condensation, embarking at a faster, more swift pace, and in excessive amounts. I humbly haul my ponderous self to scrutinise the anomalous drizzles of rain further. As the desperate, fragile filaments of the “grass” encircle and perfuse the so-seemed boundless farm- the same farm that my family has been tending to for centuries hasn’t evoked the sentiment of a moist, wet substance in years. I sigh, patently knowing my foolish self was probably undergoing so-called hallucinations.

I attempt to doze off unhindered, resting my eyelids on my sparse but lengthy eyelashes. But the insistent rain just wouldn't tolerate it.

My enervated eyes adjust to the contrast of lighting and my body adjusts to the bracing temperatures confining the superficial of my limbs. I gasp, exhilaration, elation and jubilation are the notions that I retain.

The much-needed rain, the verdant, healthy grass, and the energising animals. I indisputably portray it as a wonderland. One I wish dreadfully is within my palms reach.

I can’t wait to tell everyone about this! I envision the farm flourishing with fertile soil primed for cultivation and the tallest trees bearing the loftiest fruit. I peer up, tensing the ligaments that comprise my neck. I am

fortunate to witness the bluebirds singing tranquil tunes, sheathing the appealing, winsome sky.

The flare of orange is setting. In realisation, I halt anticipating my vicinity would be obscured by blankets of darkness promptly and stars will soon secrete the night sky.

The lakes illustrate such beautiful portraits of the gleaming stars, art I’ve never rested my eyes on formerly. I repose my exasperated eyes and allow myself to genuinely experience the moment. While my environment is dark, I notice an abrupt change in my surroundings. I keep things dark because I'm afraid of allowing colour to return. It's as if the air itself has altered.

So here I am. I'm lying on my bed. Looking up at the ceiling. The cows are bleating. The dog is howling. Chickens squeaking. My mother summoning us to breakfast. Everything appears to have returned to normal.

I guess the wonderland was never seen.


23 was established in 1997, and since then we have successfully completed numerous short story and poetry competitions and publications.
We receive an overwhelming positive feedback each year from the teachers, parents and students who have involvement in these competitions and publications, and we will continue to strive to attain this level of excellence with each competition we hold.


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