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From YouTube: Mistaken Identity by Fiona
Description
In this video Fiona from Southbourne library reads her story about the Summer Solstice. Art work by Katy from Bournemouth library.
A
How
help
mark
shouted
up
into
the
mists
his
voice
shaky
with
a
shock
of
having
slipped
off
the
top
of
the
cliff.
It
was
about
this
point
in
his
favourite
murder
drama
series
that
are
not
fully
seen.
Figure
would
loom
after
the
mist
and
peel
the
victims,
fingers
off
one
by
one,
allowing
him
to
fall
to
his
death
in
what
would
seem
an
accident
all,
but
the
overly
zealous
recently
graduated
detective,
but
mark
reminded
himself
he
wasn't
in
a
Drama
and
he
needed
the
focus
and
saving
himself
and
his
expensive
new
camera.
A
He
pushed
his
booted
feet
against
his
loose
soil,
some
of
which
broke
away
and
fell
with
an
ominous
clutter
bound
to
the
invisible
shore,
far
below
the
branch.
Of
course
he
was
grasping
onto
felt
like
it
was
gradually
tearing
free.
At
least
he
hadn't
slid
far
down
the
cliff
so
far.
It
was
a
flows
of
this
very
gauze,
but
she
had
been
attempting
to
get
the
perfect
picture
of
against
the
atmospheric
mist
when
he
had
lost
his
footing.
A
His
wife
Michelle
had
been
fast
asleep
when
he
crept
out
of
the
flats.
It
was
not
unusual
for
her
to
sleep
longer
than
him
for
this
particular
morning.
Anyone
would
say
he
was
up
ridiculously
early.
It
was
summer
solstice
and
he
had
the
urge
to
arrive
on
the
high
point
of
local
landmark.
Hence
we
heard
and
time
to
welcome
the
Sun
and
got
some
fantastic
photos.
A
It
had
taken
him
longer
than
he
expected
to
cycle
the
roots.
He
knew
so
well.
I
screwed
up
against
the
dark
and
the
sea
mist
that
had
rolled
in
overnight,
leaving
the
bite
locked
to
a
fence
guarded
by
curious
cows
in
the
field
behind
it.
He
had
made
his
way
up.
The
winding
footpath
at
one
point
at
all.
Indistinct
figure
had
startled
him
as
he
approached
closer.
A
He
realized
it
was
not
the
ghost
of
an
Iron
Age
Guardian
to
the
fort,
as
his
imagination
had
suggested,
for
the
newly
erected
sculpture
made
from
multiple
layers
of
solidified
mud.
He
saluted
the
sculpture
and
carried
on
reaching
the
top
he
paused
to
catch
his
breath.
Next,
to
the
sign
that
showed
you
what
you
should
be
able
to
see
in
each
direction.
A
short
laughed
burst
out
of
Marc's
lips
on
a
clear
night.
A
The
lights
of
some
of
the
places
listed
could
be
seen,
but
he
would
have
to
take
its
word
that
the
residents
of
the
Isle
of
Wight
slumbered
somewhere
ahead,
while
still
one
side,
lay
those
a
Christchurch
and
behind
him.
Those
of
Alma
here
was
the
quietest
he
had
ever
known,
the
head,
which
could
be
busy
at
any
time
of
day
or
week
with
the
selection
of
dog,
walkers
families,
kite
fliers
and
joggers.
A
A
So
he
was
now
pretty
doubtful
of
rescue
by
anyone
else
from
his
precarious
position
down
the
cliff.
He
cursed
himself
aloud
how
many
times
had
he
heard
on
the
news
of
dogs
going
over
cliffs
on
the
south
coast
and
exportations
not
destroyed
too
near
the
edge,
whether
he
was
a
local
and
would
never
do
that?
Well,
he
had
just
done
it
and
where
were
those
bugs
now
when
he
needed
one
sniff
him
out
and
raise
the
alarm?
Wasn't
it
always
a
dog
walker
who
discovered
murder
victims
with
the
adrenaline?
A
How
ironic
he
thought
for
once
he
had
safely
stowed
the
phone
away
so
as
not
put
it
down
and
for
as
he
was
prone
to
do,
and
now
it
was
out
of
reach.
Not
only
there
was
the
no
chance
of
ringing
999,
but
more
than
likely
that
was
one
of
his
Facebook
friends
wishing
everyone
a
happy
solstice
than
the
warm
sanctuary
of
their
bed
as
Marc
wriggled
in
a
generally
upwards
direction,
trying
to
dig
in
his
elbows
to
haul
himself
along,
like
some
demented
caterpillar,
his
phone
shrilled
again
from
inside
the
layers
of
clothing.
A
Did
you
hear
that
noise?
He
heard
a
man
say
from
above?
Oh
that
would
be
the
voice
of
goddess
mother
earth
mourning
the
turning
of
the
yar
applied
a
woman
in
hushed
tone,
one
in
Cora
the
power
of
the
spiritual
world,
how
how
Marc,
shafted
again
as
loud
as
he
could
startled
eyes,
surrounded
by
a
head
full
of
long
dreadlocks,
appeared
over
the
edge
of
the
glare
pass.
A
Me
that
hand
raven
tibetan
blanket
hold
on
to
my
ankles
and
be
ready
to
pole,
said
the
woman
turk
opinion
in
a
rather
commanding
voice,
in
stark
contrast
to
her
earlier
tone
not
transferred
his
grip
to
one
end
of
the
blanket
which
he
was
happy
to
find
out
was
stronger
than
he
had
imagined.
The
fake
ethnic
item
would
be
with
two
people
pulling
and
mark
continuing
to
push
with
his
feet.
He
soon
pops
over
the
top
the
london
a
crumpled
heap
on
top
of
his
rescuers.
A
They
rested
a
while
watching
the
mists
begin
to
thin
out
over
the
sea
as
I
swapped
explanations
and
phone
numbers
and
solstice
wishes
a
shot
of
wheatgrass
juice.
To
help
you
get
over
the
shocks
of
the
man
holding
out
the
small
glass
of
virulent
green
liquid.
He
had
poured
from
a
flask
you're
lucky.
We
brought
this
along
to
toast
a
solstice
sunrise
with
mark
decline,
a
kind
offer
I'd
rather
get
on
home
and
recover
there.
He
fibbed
taking
his
leave.
He
hobbled
down
to
the
cafe
legs,
still
wobbly
with
the
after-effects
of
adrenaline.
Thank
goodness.
A
A
You're,
not
the
guy
who's
been
living
like
a
hermit
on
the
head.
Are
you
ask
the
young
waitress
eyes,
lowered
and
fiddling
with
a
serviette?
Only
we've
been
told
not
to
serve
anyone
who
looks
like
they
can't
pay
mark
blinked
a
few
times
and
looks
slowly
down
at
himself.
His
boots
were
coated
in
soil
and
mud
was
smeared
on
the
whole
of
his
front
and
deep
under
his
fingernails
one
trouser
pocket
had
ripped.
A
There
are
a
few
stray
horse
twigs
attached
here
in
there
and
if
he
had
any
hair
left,
it
would
have
been
in
severe
disarray.
He
could
see
her
point.
Maybe
I'll
go
to
the
toilet
and
freshen
up.
He
said
he
could
get
back
to
ready
for
when
I
get
back.
Here's
the
money,
looking
more
like
his
regular
self
mark,
sipped,
the
hot
tea
cradling,
the
mug
in
his
hands,
I'm
feeling
happy
to
be
alive
and
not
in
a
heap
at
the
bottom
and
the
cliff
right.
Now
it
was
a
miracle.
His
camera
survived
intact.
A
He
thought
he
let
go
the
tea
reluctantly
to
review
his
photos
with
scant
hope
of
anything
decent
appearing.
Yes,
there
was
mist
light
amidst
a
circle
of
light
that
could
hardly
be
recognized
as
a
Sun
in
the
mist.
But
then
the
final
picture
was
of
the
most
beautiful
array
of
bright,
yellow,
gauze
flowers,
defying
the
goal
grimace.
He
punched
the
air,
what
a
picture
and
what
a
story
had
told
to
go
with
it.