THE WHITE RABBIT

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Sunlight, knee-tickling grass, mushy soil and the gut-churning stench of animal farms

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Sunlight, knee-tickling grass, mushy soil and the gut-churning stench of animal farms.

That, summed up the hellhole, or what we call a countryside I was in right now.

My family had just arrived at Amberwood, a countryside with vast, rolling fields dotted with fluffy sheep, never-ending rows of apple trees and no internet connection for Cousin Lydia's wedding after a five-hour drive. How delightful.

We would be staying overnight at Aunt Cath's country house for the wedding next day, and Mum also decided to extend our stay by a week. She was evidently ecstatic, and had been talking about the wedding non-stop since she received the invitation in our mail a month ago.

I just wondered why Cousin Lydia hadn't left the countryside to look for a job in the city and settled for a shepherd's son instead. Mum just said it was "love", giddy with the idea of a "countryside romance". I didn't think Mum realised that Jack the shepherd's son was probably the only young, non-pot bellied, beard-free male within the sea of grass and sheep she lived in.

I lugged my hefty, book-filled luggage along as its wheels bounced on pebbles with grumbling thuds. I trailed behind and took in the view of the house looming over me as Mum, Dad and Elaine reached the front door of the gargantuan country house. I had not been here for nearly three years, but still had haunting memories of family dinner parties too imitate for my liking.

It was quite picturesque, with roses snaking around the arched door, lace curtains peeking out from the sides of its multiple windows and capped with sloping roofs and the triangular windows of the attic.

Just as I reached the doorstep, the door flew open, and Aunt Cath came waddling out wearing a floral apron covered in flour. The smell of dough flooded through the door.

"Oh Lillian!" Aunt Cath squealed as she threw herself on Mum, sending a puff of flour skywards. Mum was laughing as she returned a bone-crushing embrace.

Uncle Max ambled out after his wife, greeting Dad with a firm pat on his back, his mustache moving up and down distractingly as he exchanged pleasantries with Dad.

The Mad KingWaar verhalen tot leven komen. Ontdek het nu