Page 3 of Lost Summer
After paying some guys with beers to haul our mountain of luggage across the muddy terrain, we finally arrived at the campsite.
“Seriously?” I laughed, hands on my hips as I surveyed the chaos before me. “Oh my God.”
A vast green-brown field lay ahead of us. The landscape was utterly consumed by an explosion of vivid colours—tents of all shapes and sizes crammed together like mismatched puzzle pieces.
The scent of wet earth and damp grass filled the air, promising a summer storm. Despite the distant gloom, the festival was alive with light and sound—the pulse of excitement throbbed in the breeze.
“Uh, I think we’re late,” I muttered, sceptically glancing at Orion.
Orion pursed her lips and shaded her eyes from the glaring sun, which burned stubbornly beyond the gathering clouds. Her electric blue hair glimmered with vibrancy against the sea of people.
“Bollocks. We just need a little patch—a scrap of space. Come on.”
“Oz…” I groaned in return, feeling every muscle in my body protest from the weight of my bags. My shoulders ached mercilessly, and my back screamed “What were you thinking?!”as I heaved my holdall higher.
Was I here for two nights or a month?!
“Just think,” Orion panted as she dragged her trolley through the thick sludge that passed for mud beneath our boots. The wheels churned miserably, caked in layers of filth. “Within the hour, we’ll be sipping beers, watching the sunset, and singing our hearts out.” A childish grin spread across her face.
I screwed my eyes shut, imagining I could hear the distant hum of guitars blending with the rhythmic laughter of people ahead. The smell of fried food wafted faintly through the air, making my stomach growl.
“I admire your optimism,” I said through gritted teeth, trudging like a half-dead mule behind her, “but I think I’ll be found face-down in the mud within the hour.”
“Oh, there,” Orion called out, pointing with one hand while yanking her trolley with the other. Before us, a small clearing emerged near a group of girls in sequins and faux fur jackets, their eyes darting to us as they sat cross-legged in a semi-circle.
“Ugh, it’s near the toilets. Keep moving,” I hissed, cringing at what I’d read about in preparation for the festival. The toilets loomed like little blue boxes in the distance—promising smells far worse than death.
The thought alone was enough to churn my stomach. Images of one hundred and fifty thousand people squatting in those tiny plastic boxes…vomiting, or worse, the aftermath of the morning.No thanks.Fresh hell awaited only the brave—or the desperate. “Just keep going,” I managed to mutter, pushing forward.
Orion grumbled but trudged on, still determined. After a few minutes—and what seemed like miles—through the maze of tents, she bounced on her toes and jabbed at the ground again. “This will do,” she declared, satisfied.
I stared blankly at the patch of ground that would be my bed for the next two days. “It’s barely big enough for a picnic blanket, let alone a tent,” I mumbled, my brow creasing as I eyed the tent bag weighing down Orion’s arm.
“It’s a two-man tent, Dell!” She winked.
Once we dumped our bags on the squishy ground, I stretched my aching muscles, groaning loudly as I straightened my back. Orion began setting up our tent. As if possessed, her hands worked swiftly, and before I knew it, the tent was up and somehow standing tall. She paused, biting her lip and glancing proudly at her handiwork.
It was a tight fit. The duvet she brought would cover our sleeping bags, but onlyjust. And as for space?
Ha!
I wondered how we would turn without elbowing each other in the ribs. But still…
“It’ll do,” I sighed.
“We’ll take turns to get ready,” Orion commented with a snigger. “But yes, it will do.”
The sound of faint, distant rumbling—drums, voices, the earth vibrating with human energy—seeped into the air around us. The festival was right there, calling us towards it.
“Let’s put our stuff in the tent and make our way to the stage,” Orion suggested, handing me a beer from her seemingly bottomless stash. “Start as we mean to go on, chick.Cheers.”
“Cheers,” I echoed, cracking open the can and taking a long sip. The warm, bitter liquid slid down my throat, and I realised our drinks would be warm unless we bought them from the pop-up bars, but that would be expensive.
I better get used to this.
We snaked our way down to the stage area about thirty minutes later, the slope ahead slick with fresh mud. I watched with faint amusement as random people slipped and clung to one another like pairs of drunken penguins, collapsing into laughter as they slid.
The cool breeze brushed against my skin while the music surged around us—a gentle hum that would soon become electric as the festival came to life. The atmosphere swirled around in a dizzying mix of floral perfumes, metallic tangs of sweat, and unmistakable notes of spilt beer. It was raw, unrefined energy. It was alive.
