A View from the Mountain. By Samiha Rahman, N11. As I looked out from the top, I could see so much.

There were two islands, a long flat one closer to us and a small bulging island - distant. Having only such an outlook in films and TV, I was truly mesmerised by the amazing view. From the bottom: a small village, full of the ancient remains of a Canadian Tribe. Suddenly, I took out my binoculars. Closer and closer, I zoomed in. A beautiful pathway decorated with many coloured daffodils came to sight. It was stunning. Flame colours filled me with delight. Seeing if my father next to me was feeling the indescribable sight, I turned. His hat was lop-sided; obviously not bothered by the fascinating view from the mountain. Disappointed, after expecting better, I turned back and let the mountain mysteries astonish me. That was the problem with me and my high expectations. Unexpectedly, the deserted village came back to view. Fragments of my imagination, which I was unable to control, began to work their magic. I could hear cackling of an old woman. At the time, I was not aware that this was just my imagination, and I was scared very scared. What had seemed to be a beautiful vista, had become an ugly sight: full of enigma and the unknown. The beautiful daffodils had become tangled and wilted as they suffocated each other, and the sunlight stopped reflecting against the colour and the whole path was murky. A shadowy blue swamp surrounded the black island with a moat. I was trapped. At least I wasnt alone; I turned right again and saw that my father was dozing off. How could he be feeling sleepy at a time like this? I thought. The lonely island reminded me of nobody but myself. I imagined how, once the two islands were joined. I sorrowfully looked at the rich, thick, overgrown island in contrast to the dried-up one in the middle of the sea. How the distance between them had grown, like the distance between me and my father. I thought. I thought a lot. This trip was made to bring us together, not show us our distance. I laughed quietly at my incompetence to fix relationships. Oh, well. The grey clouds laughed at me as they ran off into the vicinity. I think they agreed with me. I was imprisoned in a glass cage. But what could I have done? After all, it was only my father. Only, it felt as if that I was with a total stranger: the awkward silence and the depressing view just made it worse. A view from the mountain had turned into a creepy reminder of my failed past. It scared me a lot.