The beginning of a serial that I might continue...

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I've been thinking of writing a serial and switch between writing that and my novel. I had this idea brewing in my head. The plot revolves around a young boy called Shawn who wakes up underneath a blossom tree in London with no memories whatsoever. He only knows his first name and that's it. I was thinking of calling the serial Dancing Summer Snowflakes.

I really want to hear your opinions as to whether I should continue it or not. I'll be very grateful and happy to hear opinions! This is an excerpt taken from what I've written so far.

Episode One: Underneath The Blossom Tree
London Bridge is falling down,

Falling down,

Falling down,

London Bridge is falling down,

Down,

Down,

Down?

***

Shawn!

Patchy golden sunlight stabbed through his eyelids, flooding his vision with a harsh bright light. He frowned and squeezed his eyes shut to shield himself from the jabbing and knife-like light that sent small jolts of pain racing through his skull with each pulsating wave of sunlight.

Wake up, Shawn!

A rough material dug sharply into his back, the miniature ridges blades against his body. The ground beneath his bare legs felt scorching, even through the soft and silky material of his shorts. He could hear the faint sounds of laughter and high-pitched shrieks of small children, filled with content and joy.

Sobs echoed through his mind, slicing through his brain and rebounding against the inside of his skull. In the distance, lost amidst the chaos of the sobs and wails and somehow still tinkling through, were the ringing and faint notes of a music box.

His hands brushed gently against the soft and velvety blades of grass, the ice cold droplets soaking into his skin and sending small shivers running through his fingers and along his arms. The sun beat down upon him in relentless waves, robbing the air of moisture and filling it with a dry and fiery heat.

Shawn!

His eyes snapped open with a gasp that riveted through his body and jolted his limbs. His breath came in short and shallow gasps as his heart began to hammer agonisingly at his ribcage, each beat sending a sickening wave of pain through his body. He sucked in air and his nostrils flared as his breath hissed through his teeth.

Around him, the world pulsed with dazzling colours that descended upon him, threatening to crush and suffocate him beneath their fury-filled bodies. Nausea bubbled in the depths of his stomach, a poisonous brew that steamed and stewed. Each yell, each scream and shout from the little children had become knives to his ears, hollering through his ear canals and stabbing at his ear drums, each stab sharper than the last.

Then he could no longer take it.

He leaned over to the side and retched, squeezing his eyes shut and his stomach twisted and heaved, ridding itself of the toxic brew. He clutched the ground, feeling the tremors run through his body as each wave of nausea hit him, threatening to drown him. The waves of nausea faltered and weakened with each hit until they finally came under his control once more. The tinkling of the music box in the distance had stopped, as though someone had closed it, leaving it for another person to open and discover its notes. The rebounding wails and sobs had stopped too, no longer slicing through his mind. He gulped, swallowing back the nausea and banishing it to the pits of his stomach and spat out the foul taste of the vomit and slowly opened his eyes.

The sunlight fell upon the floor, broken and jagged by the outstretched limbs of the tree. Small rainbows flashed in the raindrops for a fleeting moment as shadows danced and swayed across the emerald green grass. He found his eyes widening in astonishment at the scenery in front of him, pushing himself upright.

Around him, white petals twirled in the air with the same grace as elegant ballet dancers, teasing him and challenging him to catch them for himself. These petals were the summer snowflakes, although they did not burn with the same fiery iciness that always arrived in the winter. He looked up and sharply sucked in his breath. They rained down upon him, leaping from the branches of the tree and spiralling downwards, settling on the ground. They were?

His hand shot out with surprising speed and deftness for someone who had just woken from their dreams. As quick as a flash, he caught several of the dancing summer snowflakes in his grasp. For a few moments, he held his arm out straight as though he were holding a trophy aloft. Then he slowly brought to his fist his face, gazing intensely at his tightly clenched hand. Slowly, with a burning and strong curiosity that only a child could muster, he carefully unravelled his fist to reveal three of the dainty and now crumpled white petals. With his other hand, he gently pinched one of the petals between two fingers and rubbed the summer snowflake onto his top lip, closing his eyes.

?so soft and silky against his skin. A smile tugged gently at the corners of his lips. This was a feeling that he would never forget and the first moment that would embed itself in his mind. He found his worries dissolving into nothingness and the sounds of laughter and screams fading into the silence. Hours could have passed as he immersed himself in the beauty and tranquillity of nature, surrounded by the sweet calls of songbirds; and the rustling of the blades of grass as the refreshing breeze gently caressed the tangles of flowers and grass. He had become lost within time itself, swallowed in its endless depths and another to fall prisoner to the dimension of never ending ticking seconds and passing minutes.

Nice imagery. Would enjoy more dialogue. Reads like a prose-poem.