I discovered it when I was seven; it was when we first moved here from London. I was curious and wanted to explore the countryside. I discovered a beautiful hedge stretching as far as I could see; I followed it wondering where it would lead. Soon I found a small door shrouded by a curtain of vines; I pushed them aside and found a door with strange patterns and markings engraved on it. Scrawled across the dark timber, I could faintly make out these words:

Dans l’ombre d’un autre monde.

In the shadow of another world.

I traced the words with my fingertips. The door held many secrets. Ancient secrets, that are lost to time.   

A complicated key, made up of blacken metal spirals, sat in the keyhole. I opened the door and stepped into a paradise. Trees of all different shapes and sizes, bearing gorgeous flowers and fruit were thick, creating a beautiful forest. The grass beneath was a gorgeous green, like thousands of sparkling emeralds. Growing everywhere were wild flowers of all different colours:  blue, pink, white, yellow, purple and red. And there, weaving through the forest; was a path. I closed the door behind me and followed, curious. I could hear the sound of rushing water nearby and headed towards it. There was a beautiful green light leaking through the canopy of leaves above me, casting a greenish light on the fruit strewn path. I saw buttery yellow light flitting through the trees up ahead and soon I was standing in a beautiful clearing. Here, the flowers were smiling up at the sun and the grass was vivid and glistening. There was an exquisite stream, the blue water shining like a sapphire in the sun. Butterflies fluttered their glorious wings as they flew past, as delicate as the finest silk. It was beautiful, it was perfect, it was mine. It seemed like something out of a fairytale nothing that belonged to this world. Every day I would disappear for hours to the forest, my little slice of heaven. Even now, 11 years later, I still do.

       The sky begins to darken, the wind howls and whips at the tree tops and rain is starts to dribble down from the churning sky. I can hear the low rumble of thunder in the distance. I reluctantly get up from my spot in the grass. I walk through the darkening forest and with one glance behind me; I shut the small wooden door. I walk home slowly, the rain soaking through my clothes, chilling me to my core. The dark wraps a black tentacle around the earth, gripping it tightly in its hand. Turning the swaying grass to ink. I arrive home and step into the warmth of the house. I can smell lasagne cooking in the kitchen and trudge towards the smell, leaving wet footprints on the tiled floor.

“Bonjour Môn Chéri.” My mum, Aimee` chirps. By now, my mum is used to me being gone for hours, and is no longer bothered by it.

“Bonjour mama” I reply

“Oh, your soaked!” Mum exclaims, “go get changed.” With a hesitant sigh, I do as she says and head to my room. White painted walls frame my room. A desk and bed occupy the shadow-filled corners. One laptop, several books and some photos litter my desk and clothes are strewn like paper all over my bedroom floor. A timber door stands solemn and tall, creating the entrance to my own bathroom. A small TV sits quietly in the corner of the room, waiting for some attention, so I switch it on and let the relaxing sound wash over me, I fling open my wardrobe and stand for a moment, considering whether to shower or not. After a second, I decide against it because the soft feel the rain left on my skin is pleasant and I do not want to ruin it. Instead, I slip into my favourite trackies, a pale grey singlet and a baggy dark jacket. I close the wardrobe door and stare at myself in the full-length mirror. Sparkling green eyes stare at me from clear pale skin; natural red hair flows down to my elbows. My nose dips down to a pair of light pink lips. My body is thin and my legs long, people tell me I am beautiful but I am not sure if I believe them, I stand for a moment longer fiddling with my clothes. Eventually, my eyes fall away from my reflection and I turn my back on the mirror, tie my wet hair back and head downstairs for dinner.

That night I dream of a strange man. Strange but beautiful. His skin is dark and flawless, his eyes the colour of the bluest water, lips the delicate colour of Azalea and hair as black as the night. The next day I wake in the early hours of the morning, with a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. I dress quickly, and head downstairs. Mum is still asleep, so I skip breakfast and slip out the door into the chill morning air. I head towards the forest. The dew on the grass soaks the end of my jeans. The man’s face always in my mind. I come to the door and enter. It is a beautiful sight, the dew is decorating the grass, making the floor sparkle like a diamond, mist hangs in the air, and it strokes me with its damp fingers. I move through the tunnel of leaves and branches, until I am standing in the clearing. I can see the sun slowly rising above the trees, lighting the sky red and orange. Wispy pink clouds float around in the vast beautiful sky; I am captivated by the earth’s flawless beauty. There is an ancient oak tree, growing tall and proud on the outskirts of the clearing. I stroke the trunk; the bark is rough beneath my hand. I circle the tree until I find a foothold; slowly I climb until I discover a comfortable place to sit on one of its many twisted branches. The sun is rising higher and higher, its warm rays shine through the leaves of the oak, warming my face and body. I stare at the clouds; they glide effortlessly through the sky, like ships on water. I think how strange it is that it is not only the clouds that are moving; it is we too. I sit and watch the world unfold before my eyes, watch the flowers open their glorious heads and smile fondly up at the sun. Watch the sun rise above the earth, bathing us in its magnificent, golden light. Watch the fog evaporate and give way to a soft, cool breeze. Finally, I look at my watch; it reads 8:30. I slowly climb down the rough trunk, picking an apple from a nearby tree and biting into it. It is juicy and sweet in my mouth. The grass is now dry, the flowers are smiling up to the sky, and the sun is beating down upon the earth. I walk to the stream, singing a strange melody I have never heard before. It is dark but sweet; it is sinister but enchanting and strangely beautiful. I splash my face and arms, still humming the strange tune. Suddenly the man in my dream comes back to me.

                                                       *                

          I drive to school as quickly as I can. The minutes tick by, the man’s face there in my mind, staring at me with intense blue eyes. I arrive at school and park my car. The parking lot is almost full, and I hurriedly get out of my small red buggy, and scurry towards the tall, emotionless building. My school, Blackthorn High is made up of scattered brick buildings and long expanses of bland concrete. I enter into the school grounds, going under the motto, Blackthorn High School:

‘We care about your children and their future’

What a load of bullshit! I rush down the hall full of bustling students, striding towards my locker, my head down, and my thoughts consumed with the strange, enchanting man. That is when something hard hits me; I drop my books in surprise.

“Bugger,” I swear under my breath, I bend down and start to collect my books, another pair of beautiful brown hands starts to help me. I look up to see whom they belong to… A gasp escapes my lips. Crouching there next to me, helping me with my books is the man from my dream. He looks at me with his stunning blue eyes. They hold me fast, completely captivating me.

“Hello,” he greets me with a low, husky voice, which is soft and rough at the same time.

“Hello,” I respond staring into his eyes, he smiles, I swear I stop breathing. His smile is enthralling, captivating.

“I am so sorry,” he apologizes, gesturing to the mess of books around us. It takes me a few moments to reply, my heart beating wildly inside me.

“N...no it’s my fault, I wasn’t paying attention,” I manage to choke out. He smiles and helps me with the rest of my books.

“Sorry,” he says again

“Its fine,” I smile up at him.

“See you around then,” he tells me.

“See you,” I respond. He looks at me one last time with his gorgeous eyes, then turns and walks confidently away into the crowd of people. I let out a stale breath, one that I only now realise I had been holding. I stand there, grasping my books in my hands, staring after him. Who is he? I have not seen him here before. Suddenly I realize the halls are starting to empty and with confusion twisting my stomach, I rush towards my class.  

       I take my usual seat and wait for class to begin. I hear the thud of books on the table. I look up and there he is, smiling down at me.

“May I sit here?” he questions me, my heart pounds, I blush and manage to say “sure.” He seats himself beside me, and looks at me curiously. His eyes wide and his lips curled into a smile. 

“I’m Benjamin, what’s your name?” He asks me.

“Freya.”

“What a lovely name,” he comments. I blush deeply.

“Are you new here?” I ask him.

       “Yeah, I am.”

       “How are you enjoying it so far?”

       “It's nice,” he answers. Then Mrs. Collins walks in, calls the class to order and the lesson begins.

       “Shakespeare.” Mrs. Collins pronounces as she writes it across the board. I groan internally, Shakespeare, again.

       “One of the greatest English writers in history. His collection of works consists of 38 plays, 154 sonnets and a large collection of poems. Today we will be reading some of his poems and over the next few weeks, we will go through his most famous play: Romeo and Juliet.” Mrs. Collins declares as she hands out a thick volume of Shakespeare’s many works. I feel Benjamin shift beside me; I glance over at him and find he is looking at me. I blush and give a shy smile, than I direct my eyes onto the book before me.

       “Miss Green, please read sonnet 29 for the class.”

Lea’s soft voice fills the still air,

 “When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd,
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.”

            “Thank you Lea, that was very good.” Mrs. Collins praises her. Then her eyes scan the class.

            “Mmm... let’s see. Mr. Walker would you be so kind as to read sonnet 115 for us?” I scan the class for a Walker. I don't know that name. Murmurs ripple through the class, but as soon as Benjamin begins to read, the class falls silent and every head turns.

“Those lines that I before have writ do lie,
Even those that said I could not love you dearer:
Yet then my judgment knew no reason why
My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer.
But reckoning time, whose million'd accidents
Creep in 'twixt vows and change decrees of kings,
Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp'st intents,
Divert strong minds to the course of altering things;”

His voice fills the room. Every sound spoken so tenderly, caressing each word with his soft voice. Bringing every phrase to life, painting a picture with every line he speaks. I find myself listening to the voice of an angel. I close my eyes and imagine, let his voice carry me to another world. Every word playing gently on my ears, every line a different story, a different picture.   

“Alas, why, fearing of time's tyranny,
Might I not then say 'Now I love you best,'
When I was certain o'er incertainty,
Crowning the present, doubting of the rest?
Love is a babe; then might I not say so,
To give full growth to that which still doth grow?”

For a moment, time stands still, every human waiting with baited breath, enchanted by the soft lullaby of words. Then time once more resumes, the stale breath released from their cages. Everything remains deathly silent until Mrs. Collins finally speaks with a husky voice.

“That was beautiful.” She murmurs, her voice full with emotion, suddenly an applause breaks out and soon the entire class is clapping loudly. When silence once more falls, Mrs. Collins voice fills the room.

“You have quite a talent for words, my boy. Would you gift us with another sonnet?”

He glances at me and I feel his leg brush against my knee. My heart jumps and accelerates.

            “I’d be happy to.” He smiles. “Which one, Mrs. Collins?”

            “Whatever one you like best.” He nods and begins to reading, once again putting us under his spell.

“Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this and this gives life to thee.”

The whole time his leg rests against mine and his arm sits dangerously close to my skin. Making my hairs stand on edge. The poem drifts to an end and the class is left in silence. When the bell slices through the noiseless air, it almost deafens me.

            “Class dismissed. Mr. Walker, would you please come here.

“Yes ma’am.” He obeys. I leave him there, chatting with Mrs. Collins. 

I exit the classroom and go and meet Claire, my best friend. Her pale freckled skin shines out from beneath her mess of blonde hair. Her eyes big, blue and questioning.

“Have you seen the new guy?” Claire asks me on our way to the cafeteria.

“Yeah, he sat next to me in class...”

And I dreamt about him the night before I met him.

“Isn’t he gorgeous!” she babbles. “His eyes are stunning.”

“Mmm,” I agree but I am not really listening, I am in some kind of a trance, only thinking about him, his gorgeous eyes framed by those long dark lashes, his flawless skin, his faultless beauty. His voice has cast a spell on me. We go and get our lunch. The food looks as revolting as usual and I can’t help but wonder if it’s legal to feed us these substances. We stride through the buzzing cafeteria and find our usual table.

All my friends are talking about him.

“He’s is so gorgeous,” I hear Delilah say.

“I know he is just delicious,” Amelia agrees, licking her lips.

“His eyes are electrifying,” Claire puts in.

“His skin is like…” Amelia trails off. I follow her gaze and there he stands, in his full glory.

“Freya, Isn’t it?” he asks with a smile, my heart accelerates and my breath catches in my throat. Everyone at the table is staring up at him.

“Yes,” I grin back.

“May I sit with you?” he questions.

“Sure,” we all say together. He comes and sits in the empty chair next to me.

“What did Mrs. Collins want?” I question.

“Well, she praised me and said that we had to do something with my voice. She asked me to join the schools English group, but I kindly declined.”

“Why? You have such an amazing talent,” I blurt out before I think. He looks at me and begins to laugh. I can imagine how my face looked, very red. He finally gets control of himself.

“It’s not really my thing.” He replies, a smile still painted across his face.

“What is your thing?” I ask curiously.

“Drawing.” He states simply. He takes a bite of his sandwich and chews leisurely.

“Have you been here long?” he asks, putting his sandwich down and nibbling at his muffin.

“Most of my life, I moved here from London when I was seven.” I tell him.

“London is nice, I went there when I was younger,” he claims, not meeting my eyes.

“Did you enjoy it?” I question.

“Yes, but I like it here, in Dunberry, more.”

“So where are you from?” I enquire.

“New York,” he announces, avoiding my eyes. I can see he is lying to me.

“Have you lived there all your life?” I ask.

“Yes,” he answers. But I have already found the hole in his story, where is the accent?  

“Where did you live in New York?”

“Manhattan.”

“I would like to go there one day; you know, travel the world.”

“We are going to be late,” he states. I glance around and realize the cafeteria is nearly empty, I had not noticed.

“I’ll see you at lunch,” he smiles.

“Ok,” I reply with a grin, he looks at me one more time then turns and walks away. I stand there and just stare blankly after him. My heart is beating wildly in my chest, my head is spinning, I cannot stop thinking about him. What is happening to me? I look around and realize I am alone in the cafeteria. I collect my things and run down the empty hallway to my class.