One minute into break: Chattering teeth and shivering limbs; the cold air is intoxicating yet enthralling. The yard - full of bodies, all of them wrapped tightly in winter coats, huddling together to keep themselves warm. Fine, white powder descends gently from the sky, leaving snowflakes on the windowpanes and moisture in the air – not a single breath is taken without a pattern of steam rising up towards the clouds. A carpet of gleaming white is laid out on the ground, the buildings and benches painted in beautiful symmetry. The yard is almost silent, struck dumb with awe - quiet jaw-jaw is the only source of sound.

Two minutes into break: The first snowball is thrown. A gaggle of girls jump in alarm and move swiftly away. Whooping and shouting ensues from those most rowdy students, eager have some fun. Soon, snowballs are flying everywhere, hitting everything and anything; windows, doors, people. Commotion breaks loose as the students become detached from their minds and their schooling values, loosing themselves in the excitement of the game.

Seven minutes into break: Teachers descend on the babel like locusts to a cornfield, there to destroy all traces of what was before. They merge themselves amongst the groups of yelling teenagers, barking orders that go unnoticed. Their shrill cries of “STOP!” are ignored as corridors are rapidly filled with snow-covered children – children that run and laugh and play; children that have fun.

Twelve minutes into break: Casualties begin. The younger, smaller pupils of the school start to leave the fray, many having been knocked down by the bigger, more brutal partakers. It’s not a game anymore; it’s a fight to the death. One by one the players are steadily picked off, those that are out retreating to the sidelines to watch the final battle.

Eighteen minutes into break: Only a few survivors left. Cheers and boos from the crowd - frenzy over whom should win. Occasional snowballs, strategically thrown. A few wrong moves and another player is down, leaving just two. A deafening silence as they stand facing each other in the yard, the tension growing and growing and growing, becoming ever more unbearable. One quick move – all that’s needed to win.

Twenty minutes into break: The bell rings. A flex of the wrist and the smaller of the two competitors claims victory. The battle has been won.

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