Choices: A Metaphor For Life, For My Life

929 words - 4 pages

The little girl is dragged by her big sister and friend into the forest, stumbling over broken twigs and rugged tree roots concealed beneath the multicoloured leafy ground. Her older sister grasps her hand tightly, so as to prevent her from wandering astray. Rich aromas swirl around the forest; the tantalizing smells of the berries and fruit, teasing them, trying to tempt them to make wrong a turn. The little girl’s hair, tangled with the branches of the undergrowth, which she and her sister have just climbed through. Wind tugs wildly at her once white, now damp and muddy brown dress. Golden emerald light streams down, through the forest, filtered by the leafy canopy above.
The trees are dressed in green, bronze and honey coloured leaves, with the odd sprinkling of springy emerald mass. They are swaying softy to the rhythm of the forest which is teaming with life and the atmosphere of adventure. Leaves whisper tales of lost travelers and adventurers, lead astray by their mystical powers.
The path is cloaked in greenery with only the odd patch of worn, grey tarmac to be seen. The sun shines down generously; and warmth spreads across the forest floor. Flowers are littered around it, seemingly glowing all the colours of the rainbow; crimson, tangerine, lemon, lime, blue, violet and indigo.
‘Hurry up, come this way,’ her sister calls, whilst she and her friend giggle in excitement
‘Look there’s a path ahead, it’s clear and there are not many obstacles in the way.’ They giggle once again, pleased with their luck on this journey. Beaming at each other the two older girls jump up and down ecstatic.
‘I want to go home,’ whines the little girl, tears streaming down her face; she was obviously not enthusiastic about the adventure as her sister and her sister’s friend.
‘I don’t like it here,’ she whines once more.
‘Find your own way home then,’ calls the sister’s friend, who is a little way ahead the little girl desperately tries to keep up hiding from the monsters in the darkness behind her sister. Not wanting to be left alone in the woods, yet not wanting to follow her sister she lets out a sob of anger and self pity.
‘Don’t be a cry baby,’ the older girl calls, looking extremely annoyed with her little sister’s lack of co-operation. The young girl sniffs and huddles against herself, for protection against the furious wind which is beginning to cloak her in an invisible shield of cold. Her hair blows in her face, which is swamped by the stolen leaves, cavorting angrily around her; silver stallions of wind and wind in a filmy breezily substance a mixture...

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