The Embarassing Aeroplane Experience.

I'm on board a luxury aeroplane, from the outside it just looks like a normal aeroplane, but after checking in and boarding, I see that this is far from the truth.

Inside, there are escalators, a shopping mall, food halls and glass partitions, just like a massive space station you would see in a movie.

I have my ticket in my hand, and I'm staring at my seat number. There are no signs on the aeroplane as to where the seating area is and a sense of panic starts to rise in every sinew and vein of my body.

I walk over to a lady who has her baby in a pram. The lady just stares straight through me as if I am not there, but the baby points at me and laughs, a sinister, calous laugh.

A single tear rolls down my cheek.

I decide to head upwards, and board one of the escalators. As I'm being transported up to the next level, the hem of my skirt and my jacket start to rise very slowly, i feel the material creeping up my leg. Another sense of panic hits me, and I start to perspire.

I reach the top, and the skirt and jacket cease to rise, thank goodness.

I'm standing next to an old jamaican lady who is manning an old fashioned tea trolley. I look at her in despair, and as I start to ask her the way to the seats she stops me in my tracks, saying "Hush my dear, no need to speak, have this magical teabag, this will make it all seem better", handing me a small silver case which is open to reveal an ordinary looking teabag. I smile at her, while tears roll down my face, and then i turn and run in blind panic, and as I run, the skirt and jacket start to rise again, and I clutch at them, trying to pull them back down to normal length, to cover my now exposed buttocks.

Bam! I bump into an old friend that I haven't seen for ages, and now live far away from. She takes my hand and calms me with her voice. She takes me through a glass door, past airport type lockers and luggage racks that are spilling over with opened suitcases and personal belongings, and into the space that holds the seating area. She points to my seat and says, "There look, it's got your name on it." Sure enough, the seat has my name embroidered into the fabric.

I turn to thank her, but she isn't there, and then the other passengers point at me and laugh.

Black Dog.

I'm about 10 years of age, I'm alone in our small council house, but I'm uneasy.

I feel tension in the air. I'm hungry, so i go into the kitchen. I wish I hadn't, there's a huge black dog, crouching as if ready to pounce, he's baring his teeth and snarling, saliva foaming and dribbling from his yellow teeth and rubbery jowls.

Adrenaline kicks in immediately, and with the strength and speed I didn't know I had, I jump up onto the work top and press myself as far up against the wall as I can, hoping against hope that this beast cannot reach me , but a dog of his size and strength beats my hope down with and iron bar, of course he can reach me. With one swift movement, he lunges into the air and clears the work top with ease, landing about a foot away from my trembling knees.

I'm running, round and round the kitchen surfaces, the cooker top, the dining table, even atop the ironing board mum was using earlier in the day, and back onto the work top, with the beast on my tail, only inches away at any given moment.

My heart is pounding, and increasing speed by the second, I feel like it's going to explode, and then he's gone! Where is the beast, is it some kind of trick? Silent and motionless for a minute, I wait. Then thinking it safe, I jump back down onto the kitchen lino, it's cold against the bare skin of my feet. I slump to my knees in relief, and then those yellow teeth, and rubbery jowls, they're at my face, saliva and foam splattering onto my face, and as that mighty jaw is about to snap shut onto my cheek, I'm awake again, glowing in perspiration, shivering and shaking in shock.

WITCH!!!!!

I'm a young child, I'm standing in a field of vibrant red poppies, they are tall and swaying in the wind, their petals nearly covering my head.

In the distance I can see a black tattered pointy hat, poking out above the sea of red.

The hat starts to move, slowly at first, then gaining momentum, travelling towards my increasing heart beat.

I know she's a witch, and nasty, but I can't imagine her face, my heart is pounding in my chest, and yet I cannot move, as if my feet are anchored to the soil below.

Perspiration is trickling down my forehead, my nose, my cheek, finding a channel in my neck into which it dissipates.

Then BAM, her contorted face is there, millimetres away from my face, breathing her acrid breath into my eyes, nose and screaming mouth.

I'm sitting bolt upright in my bed, shaking, perspiration rolling across my skin. Why are my dreams so vivid, and where the hell do they come from?

Solace Amidst Chaos.

I'm sitting on a wooden chair, the quiet is my haven, my place to lose myself in tangled thoughts and mixed emotions. With walls of glass and cooling air, this room of solitude protects me from the outer turmoil, the hyperactive state of children, whirling, squealing, racing round my inner sanctum. I see their faces, contorted in chaotic delight but I hear not a whisper, my box of glass serves to shield me from the ensuing chaos that is life.