English Coursework-My first day at school
At a snail's pace, I stumble towards the door as my heart beats faster and faster beneath my chest. My stomach rumbles as it churns and squeezes the cereal I had for breakfast. As I draw closer the chattering of the boisterous student's rings in my ears and the bland relish of the strong mint gives me a sick feeling in my stomach. Beads of sweat trickle down my forehead and I can feel my cheeks flush deep shades of scarlet. I twiddle my fingers anxiously and a sense of anxiety fills me with perpetual agitation. I am a few metres away from the door and I begin to walk even more sluggishly, counting the steps as I move on. My legs begin to feel paralyzed as they begin to move slower and I gradually reach the door. As I edge near the door, the monotonous sign labelled 7A patterned with flowery designs on both sides caught my eye. I glance towards the sign and observantly, I notice the miniature pictures surrounding it. Surrounding the sign was a picture of each student with a short, messy hand-written, description -supposedly the descriptions of the student. I squint as I try to read the diminutive details of each student but my attention is lost as the door opens before me.
A plump petite woman emerges from the room -the class teacher I guess. I eye her up and down as she briskly struts towards me with her stiletto high heels echoing behind her. As I observe her dress code, I can't help but feel a sense of humiliation as her clothing is similar to the fashion trend of the 18th century. In other words, she is clothed trampy with her Bushy, blonde hair hiding half her face. The other half (the apparent half) is lifeless her eyes hanging with shallow, purple bags. They completely spoil her appearance I thought to myself but I utter not a word of disgust as I know she will be my future form tutor. She is dressed in a white outfit covered with food stains with her buttons half undone. Her short sleeves reveal her hairy arms- maybe she's never heard of waxing I thought to myself. But her unique dress code is so hideous that my excuses are not good enough to cover her ghastly fashion sense. Her trousers are way too short for her height but they conceal her stout thighs-which in some sense is a good thing. She lifts her hands an inch forward and shyly shakes my hands, as she does this the smell of body odour escapes from beneath her armpits and seeps its way through my nostrils. Seeing the state of my teacher makes me feel a bit better as I know she'll be a pushover.
At a snail's pace, I stumble towards the door as my heart beats faster and faster beneath my chest. My stomach rumbles as it churns and squeezes the cereal I had for breakfast. As I draw closer the chattering of the boisterous student's rings in my ears and the bland relish of the strong mint gives me a sick feeling in my stomach. Beads of sweat trickle down my forehead and I can feel my cheeks flush deep shades of scarlet. I twiddle my fingers anxiously and a sense of anxiety fills me with perpetual agitation. I am a few metres away from the door and I begin to walk even more sluggishly, counting the steps as I move on. My legs begin to feel paralyzed as they begin to move slower and I gradually reach the door. As I edge near the door, the monotonous sign labelled 7A patterned with flowery designs on both sides caught my eye. I glance towards the sign and observantly, I notice the miniature pictures surrounding it. Surrounding the sign was a picture of each student with a short, messy hand-written, description -supposedly the descriptions of the student. I squint as I try to read the diminutive details of each student but my attention is lost as the door opens before me.
A plump petite woman emerges from the room -the class teacher I guess. I eye her up and down as she briskly struts towards me with her stiletto high heels echoing behind her. As I observe her dress code, I can't help but feel a sense of humiliation as her clothing is similar to the fashion trend of the 18th century. In other words, she is clothed trampy with her Bushy, blonde hair hiding half her face. The other half (the apparent half) is lifeless her eyes hanging with shallow, purple bags. They completely spoil her appearance I thought to myself but I utter not a word of disgust as I know she will be my future form tutor. She is dressed in a white outfit covered with food stains with her buttons half undone. Her short sleeves reveal her hairy arms- maybe she's never heard of waxing I thought to myself. But her unique dress code is so hideous that my excuses are not good enough to cover her ghastly fashion sense. Her trousers are way too short for her height but they conceal her stout thighs-which in some sense is a good thing. She lifts her hands an inch forward and shyly shakes my hands, as she does this the smell of body odour escapes from beneath her armpits and seeps its way through my nostrils. Seeing the state of my teacher makes me feel a bit better as I know she'll be a pushover.
