She was tired of sitting back and watching, tired of being told what to do and when to speak, and tired of not being allowed to stretch her muscles, both physically and mentally. It seemed harsh and cruel that she was forced to suppress her natural instincts--all because she was born into this passive role. She itched to be free. The idea of controlling her own destiny was intoxicating, but still she understood the demands her title held. So try as she might, she could not bring herself to openly defy the expectations laid at her feet. Truthfully, there was only one pleasure she ever indulged in. When she felt her world begin to suffocate her, she steal herself away to the stables. Under cover of a night, draped in a cloak, she slips in amongst the horses until she found her mare. The first brush of her hand across the beautiful coat always brought a smile to her lips. There was an unspoken bond between the two. With one swift movement she’d find herself astride the majestic creature and they’d ride out towards the open fields. Then once the ground opened up in front of them, they would break into a full run. At that moment, when her hood flew off and the wind caught her hair so it billowed behind her like a flag, she felt free.
i find myself with this week's Three Word Wednesday [3WW=>flag, might, passive] once again exploring prose--short and brief, but still pushing myself outside of the poetic thoughts i seem to get sucked into.