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Original Writing - Prose: A Day In the Past

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Josh Jenner A DAY IN THE PAST September 2nd 2002, House of Mike "Bring" "Get up Mike!" his mother shrieked up the stairs. "oh no" groaned the reply because today as he knew all too well it was Monday, and not any Monday it was his first day back from the summer break. Gone were the days he could relax and enjoy the sunshine, He was now back to the real horror of life, the shocker of the year: School! He stood up wearily and yawned, stretching his long, thin arms out wide and then rubbing his freckled face. He then dragged himself still asleep into the bathroom which was through the jungle of books, clothes and litter out into the hallway which was no bigger than the length of a car. Turn left out of his room, go past his younger and very irritating sister's room and then at the end of the hallway there is a white door which has paint chipped off it and the hinges are broken. This is the bathroom, As you step into this room you are greeted by a green toilet which has faded in colour and looks well used. Above this there are three windows. All of which you can't see through to give you some privacy whilst washing. Left on the toilet there is a matching faded sink. To make the complete set, on the last wall there is a small rickety bath leaning carefully against the wall. All four sides of the room are decorated with oddly shaped tiles which look like they have been slapped onto the wall without much though or care. The mortar is cracked and there is plaster everywhere. Anyone would think a small child had done this bit of DIY. The bathroom is dimly lit by a single bulb which has been neglected and without any sort of covering. ...read more.


September 2nd 2002, School The school bus pulled up outside the front gates at about half past eight. I gathered my things and told Susie I would see her tonight at home. We walked into school together past all the other pupils walking around minding their own business or deep in conversation. I waved goodbye to my sister at her form room and started to walk towards mine. As I have no friends there is no point in me talking to anyone or more to the point no one bothers to talk to me. I don't see what is wrong with me I mean I try to dress well and talk politely but everyone just laugh at me and calls me hand-me down boy. I carried on walking past large groups of sniggering teenagers and boys rapidly talking about last nights match and what is on TV tonight. I can't help but notice that everyone is staring at me and whispering. Oh well I'm used to it. All I have to do is keep focused on succeeding gin my education and keep my self to my self. I am now in my form room. It is a large room in the bottom of a modern block. The block consists of four stories and five rooms on each floor. As I am on the bottom there is not need to pass any more people. In the room there are filing cabinets at the back and lots of tables and chairs all over the room. At the front there is a chalkboard and a new whiteboard. This is primarily a maths room but can be used for any lesson. It also has the usual overhead projectors and board markers n our form there is no designated area for each place to sit so I just sit at the front because that way I am away from all the naughty people at the back and am closer to the teacher if I need help or someone to talk to. ...read more.


September 3rd 1942, Front line trenches It's so cold here. The sky gets lit up every few minutes by the shells that fly over towards us and their explosions - I daren't fall asleep otherwise I could be the next victim of their destruction - just like the young man who was blown to pieces only minutes ago - it was terrible this whole place is terrible. At the moment I'm sitting gin a trench full of mud and sludge - I haven't washed in days and the place is crawling with rats. The gas is one of the worst things - I've seen men struggle to breathe almost drowning in the gas and coughing up their lungs as they writhe in agony and terror, as the green mist moves toward our trenches - this place must be the closest place on earth to hell. The stench of death lingers in the air, and the cries of terror as young men are sent over top and whole regiments blown away in a matter of second by the marauding shells and constant flow of bullets or the silent advancement of the gas. Incomplete bodies are taken back to the trench and thrown into a wagon - without any ceremony or even a prayer and a shell holes are littered with half dead bodies groaning in their disturbed sleep. Today a young man, only sixteen years old who had lied to the enlistment sergeant in order to join-up lost his mind. After the orders to charge were given he ran back to the trench with the shock of the shells and was shot by the sergeant: how could he have done that? He shot one of his own men. There is no glory in this war at all, the fact of the matter is that we've been tricked into enlisting. This battlefield isn't glorious, our country lets us lie here in sludge and mud, be gassed and shot and blown up by shells - we're fighting a politicians war and we are the pawns. ...read more.

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