Yearning to Fly

"I am flying!"
yelled the daughter to her mom.
A fawn passing by muttered, "It's called jumping bozo. You are not the crow".

Mom was washing the utensils busily by the wooden creek. "The Brunt" cottage seated chic and cosily in the meadows of Riverdale. A bright light streaked through the cosy cottage. Fireflies echoed the songs of the woods. A stream of azure water streamed by to the Riverdale Forest. It twirled, galloped, pranced, and ultimately flew down the cliffs of Riverdale as the Riverdale falls. The ethereal rosewoods draped the forests. Tiny blossoms were sprouting from the earth. The dew-dipped grass fluttered among the alluring woods. It was an ethereal evening.

Daughter finished dancing with tall grasses. She bade farewell to the fawns as they left to meet the mare standing at the edge of the woods. She then ran hastily towards the cottage, took a pail of water, ran by the stream and washed her legs. She rushed to the cottage where Mom was cooking cabbages. They ate by the fireplace and after reading a book or two, they both tagged along to play midnight charades. Mom was languid while daughter was exhilarating. The day ended when daughter yelled "Good night" to the redwoods and went to sleep.

It was her daily routine. She would soon wake to the songs of the forest birds. They were tuneless. She would often be to yell at their incessant music and correct their pitch.  After correcting the pitches of the birds, she would then proceed to fetch water by the stream and get ready for school. Sometimes the bear cubs would come. They liked warm hugs. Daughter loved the cubs but hated their parents, for they loved to scratch their backs along the benevolent trunks of the redwoods.

School was down the hill. She would run along the hidden trail through the woods. It is characterised by a unique variety of blue pansies. School is tiring. Daughter always looked ecstatic and dreamy. Her heavenly presence was a subject of tease among the pupils. They would through twigs and various berries at her. She never minded outwardly. Deep down she felt an urge, a powerful urge to punch them. The teacher was of no use. She would blame the fault on her mother, and her upbringing.

"Children should not be filled with such fantasies"

Feeling hurt, she would run up the trail with her tiny feet. She would run uphill. She never felt tired. Pain is a good motivator. Her limp legs never hurt the grass. She would then enter the woods and lay on a cushion of mosses and lichens by the redwoods. The teenage rabbits would come by to comfort her. But they failed miserably by their analytical yapping about foxes. She would then shoo them off and seek solace in the woods. They were the guardian of the Earth. They knew the ways of nature. They are difficult to understand. They speak in winds.

"Some wounds are too deep to be seen,
They pain more and take time to heal..."

Daughter could trust the woods more. Their words are like the breeze.
It was a warm day. Daughter found herself in the middle of trouble. A group of boys were teasing her for wearing slippers of rock and anklets of flowers. She tried tolerating it. But it exploded. She stormed over one of them.
"HOW DARE YOU! HOW DARE YOU HUMAN!"
It was not long until the teacher intervened and jostled through the crowd to her room. Her hair was twigs. Her eyes, berries. And legs, rocks.

The teacher called Mother. She came huffing and puffing to the school. Daughter stood out while there were shouts of the teacher and Mother inside the room. The voices quietened. Daughter was asked to come to the room. She went in, meekly.

Mother looking down, devasted yet trembling, "Your world is not real. It is imaginative. You are living in fantasy. You should leave it all back and think sensibly."

Daughter took a step back. She started to fumble. Her fingers clattered. How can my own mother not believe me? No. That is not my mother. This is not the world I will live in. No. It is not imaginative!

Daughter could not gather her senses. She took a step back to the door. She twitched and turned. She ran. Faster than those legs could dare to imagine. She ran up the trail. Not believe. The grasses were flat. The fawns started to sprint along with her. She could not hear their muffled screams. She ran across the stream, through Brunt cottage. Not believe. She ran amidst the horrors of the Riverdale forests. The redwoods danced tepidly in their mighty winds. The veil of clouds started tearing up.

Daughter approached the cliff. A familiar sound of feet followed suit. It was calling out to her. Mother ran. The cubs ran. Daughter stood by the cliff. The tides looked warm. The air is turbid. Isn't it odd? Turbid air and calmer seas? Daughter turned back at the world. She glanced for the last time. And she flew, quite joyously. She flew down to the crypts of the oceans. The darkest depths. The world became bluer and blurred.

All the while, the voices of her jolly screams filled that night…

"I am flying"

Feel free to comment your thoughts ... Any better ending... Any lack of depth ... Any ideas for upcoming stories or any ideas for improvement... I'm always open for suggestions, this is my first Wattpad story :)

Thank you for reading...