The Spring Tale

Tap, tap, tap dripped the water on to the pane as the snow continued to steam hazily into the chilly warm air, and as a ray of light shone into the dusty wooden classroom, Anna wacked her paintbrush anxiously against her easel simply begging for the first clang of the bell. It was not that she did not enjoy the day-to-day conversation of topic after topic; the wonderous world of reading, the joy she found within scribbles of writing, but the fact of being enclosed behind the grey, grey walls of school did not compensate well to the lustrous colours flowing within fruit. Nevertheless, only a minute remained, and the simplicity of the wait began to really excite her.

"Oh, the things I could do when the day ends" she wondered, "Perhaps a nice stroll through the woods will do me some good, the sooner I get away from here the be..."

Slap! Clapped the teacher's cane as he marched ferociously like a soldier down the classes gritty wood.

"Remember..." Mr Haig warned, gruffly, "If I catch a single eye away from a painting, a red hand will be waiting".

Thank God it was only a minute and thank God the bell clambered its golden roar. It was a most joyeth noise for Anna, as she dashed to collect her books, and pile in with her fellow school mates exiting their lesson.

Finally, she was out of that dust infested learning box.

She can be free, free as much as she wanted to be free as the very birds tweeting in the trees, that had yet to regrow their shimmering green leaves, free as the clouds far up in the air, swashing lazily against the sunny cool breeze, free as the butterflies, fluttering oh so gently as they landed with ease on rain pattered blossoms.

Perhaps it was why she enjoyed the forest. Her forest.

The realm that was her own.

For it was here she had always imagined herself queen, her-majesty, mother nature herself.

A monarch with no rules let alone the shackles of a classroom to hold her back.

Of course, this was merely the tip of the ice burg, if she had ever seen an actual ice burg.

For it was the stories of pirates and his-majesties soldiers that blasted the excitement of conflict abroad. How the fear of the French adapting to a New World that relished her sleep alive with fiery hot colours, but above all the language of natives. The culture of earth water fire and air that collected the power she had within sticks.

"HEYA!! HEYAAAAA!!!" she cried mighty roars. Begging wishing dreaming to be there, as she swished fallen branches left and right.

"For nota' single bone to be boardin' this ere' ship!"

Swish, swish, swosh, snap, snap, clunk, it was never enough for Anna.

"MAKE READY! MAKE READY! PRESENT! PRESENT!... FIRE!" And off into the air, fluttered the bread as she fired her wheat sewn ammunition to a whole fleet of ducks.

"Frigates incoming!" she warned "STARBOARD SIDE!" she turned to the right and a whole armada of geese came flocking towards the bank of the pond.

"FIRE AT WILL!" and she chucked last bits of bread over the heads of the amber beaked ships, shaking out the crumbs before charging deep into the forest.

"RETREAT!"

She ran, ran, ran as fast as she could, not a single glance backwards as she collected her books, and right before the turning towards the encampment,

"ANNA!"

Her foot caught on to a root, and she fell face first. Her books like apples dropping hard out of the sky and as she picked herself back up, a swelling drip of heat dripped from her caps.

"Anna!" her mother came running, grabbing firm on to her hand picking her back up.

"Wha... What did you do to yourself?" she shook, but Anna simply smiled, beaming brightly before exalting with great triumph "Fighting Pirates!"