Ernestfordshire

1. Dreams

Do you know what the heart of magic is ?

***

Ernestfordshire,

An especially European name for a small town in the Western Ghats.

But that was its name nonetheless.

Established by the estranged son of the third great king of the French empire, its people lived in complete isolation and secrecy.

If you were to enter the town, you would find it a very unique place- to say the least. Ernestfordshire was the result of the life's work of one Egàlistine Oppreme and had only one purpose-

It was a Haunt of complete openness.

The town had only one rule and this rule was chiseled onto the sprawling Banyan that greeted any who entered its wrought iron gates -

"Judge and you will be judged in return."

Here, people walked, talked and lived as they were. Here, they removed the facade they painted on for the world.

Here, two men walked arm in arm with no fear. Two women raised a child and the only complaint the neighbours had was about a broken window because of too fast a cricket ball.

Here, dark skinned people taught and laughed with blue eyed, fair skinned people. Here, one dressed as whatever one wanted to be and one spoke whatever tongue one wished.

For here, no one judged, simply because no one wanted to be judged in return.

"Kanna, come down. It's late already, we have to leave!"

I hurriedly shut the book, pen still inside and stacked the random sheets on the first page.

In an overwhelming world, this book was my solace.

In it I penned by thoughts. The ink that dried on these pages was just as precious to me as my own blood. In fact, it was probably, no definitely, more precious.

"Coming, amma!" I yelled back as I shoved the book in the groove on the base of my bed. The sheets were fluttering out again. A rough sketch of ornate gates and a Banyan behind them peeked out from one edge.

Eh, I'd put it in after we came back.

I pulled my t-shirt down to my wrists and grabbed my duffel.

Goodbye city life, hello 12th grade vacations!