eir tea in the kitchen. Last night was one of the longest waits I had ever experienced. The house was silent until about 2am when the front door closed softly, and the

tally forgotten about it. Did I want to go? I wasn’t sure. If I did go then that would mean I wouldn’t have to think about schoolwork for the day. Another added bonus would be that I would get home an hour l

, I craned my head to peer as far into the kitchen as possible. As predicted, there sat my parents, staring silently into the ocean of tea in their mugs. My breathing qu

red. I stood awkwardly by the fridg

le

poured it into my water bottle as fast, but calmly, as I could. It spille

hey know it was exactly what I needed right now. This was in fact a reward. With the anxiety of last night leaving my body, I grabbed my rain jacket a

of students waited impatiently to take their seat and get the show on t

t! How did you conv

ion slip.” I glanced over my shoulder

standing with us gave a nervous

ldn’t know the politics of field trips. “My parent

why you are home

on the walk over to school. If they asked me anything then this was the best reason. However, there was a chance

must have been an hour before we arrived in Bloomsbury. The coach circled the block a couple times and then dropped us off in front of a large, dated building that reminded me of

s angle, I could see that the museum was at least twenty times larger than that wedding hall I had in mind. I was excited to get inside and see a little bit of the world’s history. It was my secon

or. From the outside, the building seemed like a one-story affair. Eager to leave the group of students, I checked to see where the teachers were. One of them was busy giving out instructions on what to look out for

s. “Guys, if you don’t mind, I’d rather do this

are supposed to stick together. You kno

will be fine. You guys go ahead!” I began to

ounded interesting and I headed off in the direction of the exhibition. The museum was quiet, with each passing step a peculiar feeling overcame me. There was a flutter in my chest and a spring in my step. The f

displays. Upon, further inspection, I saw that not all the pieces were that well-protected, some were within touching distance. I wondered around the room and paused at a large tapestry that illustrated several men on

erpiece over 500 years ago when the first great war raged against the unknowns. I looked back up at the painting. Who w

e lay a bronze coloured sword with the most intricate detailing along its handle. It was stunning. The creator must have spent hours chiseling and filing the fourteen-inch weapon. I scanned the description and learned that I wasn’t looking at a weapon as such. It

a little boy called

but I didn’t notice. Time crept away but again I didn’t notice. I was in heaven, floating in the peace and tranquility and surrounded by history. So