The Bristol Fiesta

by Helen Sedgwick

The road leading to the gates was greyish in its grandeur, but busy. We were being buffeted by sounds and screeches, the excitement clashing with remnants of our fight the night before. Then we see them across the grass, lying flat and limp like skins of things once full, now empty. Claire’s saying that the tiger one reminds her of a rug in her dad’s father’s house; I smile at her funny way of seeing things, then prickle because I’m not so good at forgetting. But wait, there’s a whirring, flames are jumping out and up and warming the air, people cheer in waves, another one’s about to go, look! Claire slips her hand into mine, and over crowds and trees we marvel at gold-red dragons and champagne bottles, giants and hobbits and hot-air balloons rising up and up and replacing the sky with a collage of extraordinary colour.

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Helen Sedgwick is a writer, musician and scientist who lives in Scotland. You may visit her online here.