Fairyland

‘Have you ever seen anything magical? No, I don’t mean someone pulling a rabbit out of his hat or miles of colourful scarves from his sleeves. I mean magic, real magic...something so marvellous and miraculous that it makes you look twice?

‘Children are excellent at spotting magic. Maybe it’s their ideals of the world, their unwillingness to believe in anything but the truth. Something, which I’ve found, doesn’t exist in adults. They build a world of false pretences, hiding under thick clouds of ignorance. Not like children.

‘Once upon a time...no, I shan’t start my story like that. Such a beginning deserves a happy ending.

‘Ever hear little girls swear they have just had a tea party with the fairies, and their brother say that the mess in the bedroom was caused by angry dragons on a rampage? No? Then maybe you don’t know any children.

‘A long time ago, I knew this little girl - she was about six when she saw her first fairy. She had a fairy-hunting set, and she loved it more than anything. Because when she was playing with it, scurrying around the backyard, all the problems she had in her life would disappear, and instead, there’d be a magical land, filled with wonder and amazement ...

‘Remember how I said before that adults resist even recognising magical happenings? And children can’t seem to get enough of them? Well, yes, I know adults were children once too. But the thing is, children grow up. They become adults, and so, immune to the magic that is all around them - because it is still around them. They just forget how to look.

‘Anyway, this little girl, she started to get older. Ten, twelve, fourteen. But she didn’t grow up - not like other children did. Because she still saw the magic. I don’t know why - maybe she needed the magic, to survive her life at home, her older brother and stepfather. Whatever the reason, she still believed in magic and mystery, and wouldn’t say otherwise. Because she knew (one of the few things she really did know) that if she started to say that, she would grow to believe it, and then she would really and truly grow up.

‘They were adults who analysed her, declared her crazy and locked her up. For forty years she’s been there; she’s still there now. All she has to do is declare she doesn’t believe to be free. But she does believe. And she always will.’ She paused, taking a sip of water.

The reporter watched her, sympathy in his eyes.

‘I’m sorry,’ the nurse said, taking the interviewee by the arm. ‘But it’s time for her medication now. You’ll have to go.’

He nods his head, and gets up to leave.

‘Forty years. I’ve been here for forty years!’ She clawed at the nurse, pushing her away, and staring at him. She was shaking violently; he was afraid she was having some sort of fit.

‘But I believe! I STILL BELIEVE!’