The Teachers Dream

A Story by Emma

It's my favourite type of day. The sky is an endless tie dyed sheet, mixed with the blue juice of a billion freshly squeezed bluebells and intermingled with the knotted white ever decreasing squiggly shapes of clouds. The sun is playing hide and seek amongst the racing billows of white, causing my pupils to adjust swiftly as it leaps in and out of sight. A cold chill fills the air, catching my breath in its invisible vapour like creeping finger, drawing my breath from my lungs into the fresh crisp air.

I'm sat on a beach. The course damp sand trickles through my fingers as I watch them play. They Leap over the rivers of tide, hand in hand, side by side, three as one love. Running from the relentless crashing sea monster as it leaps, mouth open wide, sharp teeth biting at their toes, but it’s always a fraction of a second too slow. I can see them laughing, but it is not what I can hear. The sound which fills my head is the thud, thud, thud of the wind turbines out across the sea, but they are so far away how can that be? Then I realise the sound is mine, my heart pounding as a dark shape looms over head, blocking out the light. Toes creeping like talons through the end of her shoes stand to my side.

I look up towards my loved ones. Their figures seem so far away now as the torrent of small sheets of white and buff whisk out from the grains of sand. The familiar rectangles begin to circle me, trapping me in their flurry. They snip and scrape. Their stinging, slicing paper cuts burn against my skin. There is no time to play in the sun. Scrawled with red they bury me.