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Fair Game

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English Coursework 1 Personal Writing - Fiction Fair Game The heat of July smiled on Billy, as he presented the small boy with his last ball. The simple sphere was very smooth and extremely hard. It was bursting with energy: just yearning to be launched. He observed the innocent child's eyes narrow in concentration. The nervous coconuts at the end of the tent seemed to quiver in apprehension on their pathetic poles; the boy raised his arm unforgivingly behind his head. He paused; the coconuts shut their eyes in terror. Suddenly, the boy whipped his arm forward and the solid projectile screamed through the air and annihilated the brown shell that was dead centre. The boy leapt up in ecstasy and hooted with joy. Billy loved watching people win. There was something about the coconut shy that always made them jump; probably the waste of tuppence if they missed. He loved it too. As the contented boy strolled toward the next stall, Billy remembered himself twenty years ago. ...read more.


Billy had been fascinated by the ornament ever since his father removed it from his own waistcoat pocket. He was intrigued by the craftsman's immense attention to detail and obvious effort. It was perfect. That was how he had always tried to keep his fair. Times had changed since then and things now were radically different. Decimalisation was the most noticeable; it was more like decimation for Billy. He gave up properly looking after the fair after the children were no longer innocent and handsome, but ugly yobs. It was the end of the day and the end of another failed fair season. The December dusk was drawing in and the wind was picking up, flapping the coconut shy's tent about like a sail at sea. Being dark and damp outside, Billy had hidden himself between the coconuts at the far end of the tent, sheltering from the bombardment of the storm. Howls of irresponsible youths faded into the hissing of the rain as Billy looked out on his fair through the rips in his treasured tent. ...read more.


He frantically rushed about and attempted to salvage one undamaged horse from the dilapidated carrousel. Alas, there were none. They all had eyes or saddles missing; they were all rough and stripped of their dignity. Billy slumped against one of them, shut his eyes and covered his ears. Then he remembered he still had one horse left. Fumbling hastily in his sodden jacket he managed to pull out his silver treasure once more. Carefully checking it over again, he realised something he had never realised before. Right in the middle of the horses back he saw a thin, deep scratch. It was a scar in his most prized possession. The noise of the hissing rain increased; distant thunder began its low rumbles. Billy stood up in disgust and pulled his coat closer. He drew his arm back behind his head, paused, grimaced in fury and then whipped his arm forward and banished the small horse into the wet, sticky mud. Without looking back, he paced away towards the bright lights of the town leaving the horse sinking and struggling for breath as the mud consumed its flawed body. ...read more.

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