Creative writing for my last assessment. I thought is was appropriate.

I Will Travel.

I felt sleepy watching the lines skip past the car. Mum said it helps, but she also said that winding down the window a little would help and the little grey wrist bands with the plastic dots would help too. But when I opened the window the cool air would scream through the car, and the little grey wrist bands always made my hands turn pink and feel funny. The lines on the road changed colour and shape, and you could try to guess which line would come next. But the sillies in my stomach kept on turning and I'd have to grip the blue plastic container.

When the twisty-turnies ended I'd try not to fall asleep again. I didn't want to miss it; the beach, the air, the sun, the tiny people on surf boards and boogie boards which cut into the waves and dragged shiny blades through a foamy tide. But you couldn't watch that for very long because the car would pull across a thick curtain of trees which swept the doors making scratching a tapping noises against the glass. Mum helped me find the toilet 'cause I'd be busting to go ever since Whango… Whangu…Whanga…. What was that? Whanga…Tanga…Para.,.. The name was on a big bright green sign anyway which made it look important.

When we arrived, we would attempt to carry our bags which weighed gazillions of kilos and still warm from stewing in the sunny afternoon. The heat always made my eyes feel heavy with thick salt and sand, and the smells are always the same from summer to summer.Tomato and salt sandwiches for lunch along with the fatty sausages that melted on the barbie. Kiwi holiday, dad said. Ka pai!

One day we will all die and our ashes will fly from the aeroplane over the sea. We could cross the Indian, the majestic Atlantic or over the wonders of the Pacific and look below. The clouds may swim, float, ashes, dust. The sky will always be falling. I would be quite pleased to tell a story of an aeroplane, embarking on a journey to a destination of which I have never been. I would in fact be overjoyed to tell the story of how the sky is falling but I know that would be useless, pointless, because no one would believe that stuff anymore.

Aeroplane, her winspan sweeps the sky and her beak cuts clouds. The four-wheel drive country roamer is a beetle that scurries and stirs up dust. Its feathers are platinum and claws a titanium alloy.

There are people and noises, you would never find familiarity from the childhood journeys to Whanga-Tanga-Para; a name which you will never hear again. The beach is miles below, there is no hope of hearing shrubs knock and tap against the side windows, and if you hear a piece of gravel ping up against the body, it would probably mean that you are in trouble. The journey is much longer and we don't 'stop for the toilet'. Mum will not be driving. Dad won't be sitting next to her listening to Jewel on cassette. This crowd of people, they're all thinking something different, in a different language, and you might as well be alone. Here's to something which, this time, I don't even know how to toast, farvel.

I lied a little bit. Convection currents: The sky is only about fifty percent of the time falling, because on the other fifty percent, after finding a satisfactory source of warmth and life, will excitedly soar back up. On a cool low, after floating too high, we fall again. My Albatross; she will land and take off, land then take off, the sky is falling. An ultimate high soon becomes an ultimate low, and a loss of inhibitions will chain react to become a loss of warmth in which the inevitable reaction will cause us to fall again.

A destination which I have not yet seen; my story is limited. Aeroplane, she has not yet been boarded and my seat is not yet placed. The family van is somewhat retired and I may need to find a new blue plastic container. Journey long haul or journey to Whanga…. I will travel and the inevitable reaction will cause us to fall again. Ka Pai.