The forest was a fantastic thing,a place I felt I belonged in,free from the judgement of the other world,a place which,although make belive,felt like a home.I came there when I wanted to clear my head and forget the every day worries by which we are all bound.I never realised how many years I had burried within it's soft soil.

[School quote thing...you see we were given a quote and voala thus this exists...I have not written this part!]

I'd never in my life needed a break so badly.My airless writing roombegun to seel suffocating;so hard the frustration of my undying writer's block.I gave up,threw down my pen,and went for a walk.

My irratation evaporated almost immedietly into the crisp autumn air.Buyed by the hope of finding some inspiration amongst the fiery leaves that surrounded me.I ambled contently through the silenced golden wood.

[And here's when I come in again why hello there]

I had forgotten  that I was still just sitting in my plain black arm chair and surrounded bu four dismall walls,each bearing the colour of innosence,white.But every paint has a layer beneath.Paint,much like innosence is the illustration of a mad man.

The more I explored my dear forest,the more interesting it became and the less I wanted to leave.The people had become boring and the sky became dull...and the more I neglected that stupid world.Everything was just a joke to my ignorant peers and that irrotated me...Thenagain I am not the one to complain,they were the ones who got me to my forest in the first place.They helped me find this utopia with in the void,untouched by the human hand,uncreased by the human voice.