My Secret Hideaway
My Secret Hideaway I have been driven up the wall many times in school and at home; I sometimes feel that I am surrounded by horrible human beings. At times like this, I thank God I had discovered my secret hideaway. My secret hideaway is actually an abandoned hut about 3km in the jungle behind my home. Whenever I have the urge to go on my therapeutic trip, I usually leave in the morning. After packing my haversack with bottles of water, some food, books and other essential items such as a machete and torchlight, I set off with a spring in my steps. I like the early morning walk through the jungle; the air is crisp and invigorating. The gloom provided by the jungle canopy is punctuated by beams of sunlight. I have often stopped and stared at the magical vision that has never felt to me in awe. By the time I reach my exalted hut, I am pumped with energy. The hut is partially covered by wild creepers that----- if one were easily spooked----- gives it eerie, haunted look. As I open the door to let the air and the sun rush in, I am careful to see what rushes out, squirrel has scampered, snake has slithered and some birds have flapped out. My heart is relatively easy. There is a mat, an old cupboard and some cooking utensils left behind the former lodger. I have kept the place clean, spartan though it may be.
I spend a lot of my time outside the hut. Many a time, I have screamed like a screamed like a banshee and howled like a demented werewolf. Every time I feel a need to release my tension and every pent-up anger then I have foolishly retained the whole week.
Not too far away from the hut, it’s a stream that has always seemed inviting on hot days. As the sun rises in the sky and the humidity of the jungle gets to me, I discard my clothes and take a cold dip. Algebra and History seem like million miles away. I clamber up a rock under a shady tree and let the drowsiness suck me away into oblivion.
I have always regarded the hut and the immediate vicinity
I spend a lot of my time outside the hut. Many a time, I have screamed like a screamed like a banshee and howled like a demented werewolf. Every time I feel a need to release my tension and every pent-up anger then I have foolishly retained the whole week.
Not too far away from the hut, it’s a stream that has always seemed inviting on hot days. As the sun rises in the sky and the humidity of the jungle gets to me, I discard my clothes and take a cold dip. Algebra and History seem like million miles away. I clamber up a rock under a shady tree and let the drowsiness suck me away into oblivion.
I have always regarded the hut and the immediate vicinity