My fingers floated across the page, painting stroke after stroke of colour on to my canvas. I looked at my work. The sky needed a bit of purple to add the night effect. I thought to myself, and dipped my brush in the purple paint. I sighed, content for the moment. Oh how I loved art. It was the only lesson I could escape and be totally myself. Every other lesson I was competing to be the best, or just totally sick of putting effort in full stop. Either way, no lesson made me feel as good as art did. And I had it for two periods straight.
The bell went, and class was dismissed for lunch. If art wasn’t right before lunch, I would probably be sad the lesson had ended. In a way I was, but the excitement of lunch was far too much fun for me to dwell on lack of learning?