Ficly

Spring

Outside the yellow sun swims in a sea of sky, casting light through the cherry blossom and into my window in streams of gold. In the trees I can hear birds singing chirpily as squirrels jump from branch to branch. The grass is green, replenished by Winter’s snow, and the daffodils have just started to grow along the sides of the road, and children stare at them in awe from their car windows as their parents comment on the first blooms of spring.

Inside the air is stuffy and stale, making my eyes water. With the swaying of leaves outside, comes the piercing light of the sun through their dancing forms. The computer’s glare stifles all happy thoughts, and the only sensation that runs through my mind is a need to kill those bloody birds.

It’s hard to appreciate the Spring when English coursework is the entirety of your existence.

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