The brightness of the sun made my eyes ache and the distance I still had to go made my already sore feet throb with bitter anticipation. I cast my gaze down to the map in my hand and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the shade of the small tree I had chosen to shelter me from the cruel sun.
A thin line, drawn in fading blue ink, directed me towards my destination. Away from my previous life. Away from the expensive dresses, the mansions, the ostentatious cars and the real red carpets.
I closed my eyes, drawing in a breath that turned the inside of my mouth to paper as I reminded myself - not for the first time - where I was going and why I had to go there. And why I had to go alone.
My family had never understood my obsession with finding this place, the place I'd heard about only in musty old books in the family's extensive library. It was my Atlantis. My Narnia. My Neverland. The only difference was that this place was real. Nobody believed me, except my grandfather, the one who had lost his right leg on a trip to the Amazon more than fifty years ago.
I smiled at the thought of him. He was an adventurer: a real explorer. There were even faded pictures of him in khaki shorts and a matching pith helmet to prove it. I knew he had suffered far more than I could ever imagine – his missing leg was proof of that – but I could not help wishing for an off-road vehicle to save my aching feet and to carry more food than the dry bread and can of beans I had in my backpack.
I checked my watch and calculated the remaining number of kilometres I had to cover. I was elated to find that if I walked at a steady pace into the night, I would reach my destination before sunrise.
Before I could waste one more second, I stepped out of the shade of the tree and began to walk, keeping my head high. If I used my heat-enhanced imagination, I could almost see the lush woven fabric rolling out into the distance, livening up the landscape with rich scarlet.