River Orwell 

My favourite place is no tropical, exquisite country or luxury.  It is simply where I learned one of my greatest skills – sailing – on the waters of the River Orwell. 

          Faster, Faster, Faster!  We raced in the thunderous wind.  Floating out of the water with swan like grace.  The vibrant lush trees bordered the edges of the canvasless aquamarine sea and sky.  

         Tilly and I had been racing for awhile now, slicing the rivers surface into an abundance of zig-zagged lines.  The smell of fresh – yet tangy – salty air rushed into my nostrils. Seeping into my body, absorbing itself among my blood and bone.  

         Sudden gusts of wind lifted the tips of our boats out of the water, just enough to send electric shivers down my spine.  When the gust died out our boats would cascade back down, as if it’s invisible wings disappeared. Adrenaline erupted throughout me – making me buzz with joy.

         The water gleamed in the sunlight – blinding me at certain angles.  The 

         We sailed calming to our favourite spot and moored our boats together.  We always go to the same secretive spot – a buoy strong enough for two small and streamlined dinghys.

         Every summer, Tilly and I would come out to this buoy.  Away from the murmurs of the land. We would lie in our boats; soaking ourselves in a mixture of silence and sun.  Peacefully talking about our life’s recent events with no interruption. After i had toasted myself in the rays – it was time…

         I stood on the ridge of the boat.  Balancing like an acrobat on a tightrope.  I stepped forward with one courageous leap and I was submerged in the refreshing in the refreshing glassy-green waters.

        GASP!  Splashing, squirming, wriggling for dear life – I clasp the edge of the boat as the images of large tentacle infested jellyfish swarm my head. OUT. MUST GET OUT.

        Transparent rounded blobs, drifted below out boats – innocently pondering in the current.  Nonentity. Tilly slipped her hand into the water and lifted a minute jellyfish into my palm.  It lay there, its large jelly layer staring through me. Peculiar objects. We placed the sporadic creature back into the undulant waves.

         Lap-lap-lap.  The sound of the tireless waves slapped gently at the flanks of our boats – hypnotizing us like a clock.  The sun morphed into the horizon and we returned back inshore from our clandestine hideaway.

  • Avery
  • : First time published
  • : youth_(12_–_18_as_of_31st_december_2019)
  • : This is the first time this story has been published.