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It was winter and it was as cold as ever.

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English AS level Coursework It was winter and it was as cold as ever. The leaves from the trees lay scattered on the floor, turning a crisp brown and they crunched as we stepped on them, pushing their remains deep into the brilliant white snow. The crunching of the leaves was the only sound around us. The forest we were walking through, looked romantic and beautiful, just like it had done every other winter the two of us had walked through it. But this time, it was different. It wasn't the same. There was something wrong with the mood and you could have cut the atmosphere with a knife. There was no romance in the air; there was no sincerity, there was nothing. I gripped his hand, tighter, looking at him from the corner of my eye. He was looking straight ahead of us. He didn't turn and look at me like he used to; he didn't grip my hand back. His face remained emotionless. There was no look of happiness at the fact that we were together, just us, alone and away from all of our friends. There was nothing. We walked further, our hands still entwined, his looser than mine and mine gripping like I was never going to let go, until we reached the frozen over lake. The lake, which we had spent many summers and winters by, the lake, which held more memories than any other part of the tiny town we lived in. He led me towards the old oak tree, where we had shared our first kiss and he lent against it, the harsh wind blowing his hair, making his cheeks red. I studied him, waiting for him to speak, still knowing that something wasn't right. He didn't speak. He refused to meet my fixed gaze. His eyes remained staring at the floor. "What's going on? Why does everything feel so wrong?" ...read more.


I walked over to my seat, my hands shaking nervously at the thought of being so close to him. How was I supposed to start a conversation with this guy, if I couldn't even handle being this close to him? I was carefully thinking of the right words to say to him when Katarina strolled over and gave me the eye that said, 'you need an ice breaker and that's what I'm here for.' I watched as she slung her mane of curly red hair over her shoulders and started to speak, animatedly to the boy who I had just promoted to the position of God. "Steven, I don't think that you've met Melody Powers. Melody, this is Steven Thomas. He's just moved here from Cornwall. Steven, this is Melody Powers, she moved from Florida about three months ago and is now our very own journalist. Anyway, I better go. See you later." And with that introduction, she was gone. I wanted to kiss the ground that girl walked on. She knew what I was like when it came to talking to guys; I always froze up. I made a brief mental note to thank her. "Florida, huh? That explains the tan." Steven said to me, his blue eyes glistening like a waterfall in the sunlight. "Yeah. It's nearly faded though. I guess that's what British weather does to you." I replied, smiling at him. He smiled back at me. My heart started thumping even harder and I was certain that he could hear it. I studied him, carefully; he was so nice looking. He was obviously tall; I could tell that by the way his long legs were stretched out underneath the table. Then there were his broad shoulders. They were the type of shoulders that you could rest your head on and fall asleep on. His eyes were intense and they watched every move I made and I could tell that he was listening to me, just by gazing into them. ...read more.


I wanted our last moments together to be special and ones that I would cherish for the rest of my life; the life which I had planned out so carefully; the life which included Steven in each and every chapter. The fairytale life was just not meant to be. That was the last intimate moment Steven and I spent together. He died a few hours later, in my arms, smiling. Leukaemia had robbed him of his life. It struck him down before he had really ever had a chance to live. He was only eighteen when he died. Eighteen. There was no justice to it. I had always believed that it was only old people who died and that it wasn't possible for someone so young to die. I was wrong and stupidly na�ve. I've always lived in a fantasy world. So, here I am, on August 26th, sitting beside the lake, which Steven had claimed as ours, by his grave. Steven was buried right next to it because it was his favourite place to be. I come here all the time. It's the only connection I have left with him. People avoid the lake now. Once upon a time, it used to be everyone's favourite hang out, now all it has become a place of respect and memories. It makes me think, sitting here, about life and whether it is really worth what people say it is. I just want to be back with Steven. I want him to hold me close and be with me again. And I am going to make that happen. How, do I hear you ask? Well, whilst sitting here, cross legged, the sun beating down on my hair and back, Steven's grave in front of me, the writing on the headstone glaring at me, I hold a knife in my hand. The question being, do I have what it takes and does being back with Steven, who I belong with matter to me that much? After telling you my story, I think that the answer should be pretty obvious by now..... ...read more.

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