English Horror Story - Creative Writing Coursework I was driving for about three hours when I realised I had taken the wrong turning and was hopelessly lost. I
English Horror Story - Creative Writing Coursework I was driving for about three hours when I realised I had taken the wrong turning and was hopelessly lost. I pulled over to the side and found my mobile phone in order to phone for help. Surprisingly, the battery had run completely low and I began to feel a sense of panic as it was rapidly becoming darker. In the distance, I saw the outline of a house and I thought that I could detect smoke coming out of the chimney. I decided that I had no option but to make my way to the house and ask for directions and for the use of the telephone as my family would be getting worried about me. I drove to the house which was completely isolated and as I pulled up outside, my car engine abruptly cut out. In the car seat, I sat and pondered what to do. I looked up at the house and noticed that the house almost appeared to be normal however the lack of light made the house seem somewhat ghostly and dooming. The house also seemed to be illuminated around its edges, giving it an eerie and unnatural glow. However, I had no choice but to approach the house, because my other option was to stay in my car, where it was becoming increasing cold as I could feel the cold biting through my coat. Trembling, I swung open the car door and stepped out of the car. Surprisingly, the ground was muddy and wet, but I could not recall any rain during my
The Lottery: Free choice, self knowledge and Guilt
FINDING YOURSELF THROUGH THE PAIN Based on the Novel: The Lottery By: Beth Goobie Student: Monique Roopanram Teacher: Ms. Kirshenblat Course: ENG1D5-04 Date: Friday, June 8, 2007 There are many instances in our lives which prompt us to ask ourselves the questions: "Who am I?", "What am I doing here?", "Does anyone know I exist?", "Does anybody care about me?", "Why am I doing this?", and "What was I thinking?". Life is full of opportunities to achieve excellence or failure. Some of us choose excellence, some choose failure, and some are not given a choice. In the novel The Lottery, Sal Hanson is chosen as the year's lottery winner at her school Saskatoon Collegiate (S.C.). This role enables the Shadow Council to take advantage of her by making her do their "dirty work". Not only is the role of the lottery winner demeaning, but it also takes Sal on a journey where she learns free choice, self-knowledge, and guilt. Having free choice is essential for individuals in order to define what kind of person they are, and who they aspire to be. After Sal Hanson is chosen as the lottery winner, the luxury of free choice is taken from her. The Shadow Council has control over Sal's choices that, now, consist of following Shadow Council's orders to a tee or suffering the consequence of receiving demerits. "She felt the leash around her throat, tightening like the silence
Morning of the execution. Within a few hours, her brother would be executed for something he hadnt even done. The injustice of it all! Her eyes prickled and fire burned inside her.
The Moring of the Execution Iris stared in silence at the glowing galaxy of stars she'd got her father to stick on her ceiling when she was a child. One, two, three. The little one was her youngest brother, Dennis. The big one was her. And the meduim-sized one was... She squirmed uncomfortably in her bumpy bed, sick with sorrow. Everything reminded her of him. Everything. Although her father had stopped all the clocks apart from his watch the previous night, the clock inside her head reminded her of what little time her brother Derek had left. Tick tock, tick tock. Within a few hours, her brother would be executed for something he hadn't even done. The injustice of it all! Her eyes prickled and fire burned inside her. The flames leapt higher and higher, louder and louder until she couldn't hear herself think. As quick as a wink, it was gone. A cool breeze swept over her and cooled her down. What was the point in getting angry? Nothing could be done about it. Not one thing. The darkness whispered the horrible feelings she hated to admit: defeat, disappointment and discouragement. Iris turned over in her bed. She hoped that sleep would welcome her into its arms. No such luck. In her head, she saw various images. Images of her nine-year-old brother Derek sitting in a lonely cell, trapped inside his nineteen-year-old body. Images of his scared, petrified
English Short Story Coursework
Year 10 GCSE course work Short story Lance eagerly watched the balcony like a hawk which had caught sight of its prey, he was sitting beside the fire place with a rifle clutched firmly in his hands, and he knew they were coming. On the outside he looked calm however on the inside was a different story, his heart was racing and his lungs were suffocating, he knew his life was drawing to an end. Lance sat motionless, not one muscle in his body moved and it appeared as though he had already been killed. Although his expression remained very simple, his brain on the contrary was as jumbled as a jigsaw: he was wracking every nerve and cell deviating plans and escape manoeuvres that might hopefully secure his life but they were nothing more than just theories. Lance remained still keeping his movements to a minimum, the fire place began to crackle and feint sparks appeared as the wood began to singe, he pondered deep into his thoughts almost unaware of his surroundings, so it would appear. A chandelier hung above his head, it shimmered vibrantly in the fire light and it almost created a peaceful atmosphere but Lance knew carnage was just around the corner...possibly closer. Lance had remained in the same position for hours on end, he was sat upon a chair and much like the rest of his furniture it was priceless. The chair had a soft velvet texture, had been embroidered with
Original Writing, Tonight
Tonight we're not seeking applause. Tonight we're not grabbing fame. Tonight we're not here to entertain you. Tonight we're not something old; yet, tonight we're not something new. Tonight we're not selling out. Tonight you will change. Tonight, we are the entertainers. The advert is quite enticing you know. They seem like they might be worth a visit, it was only down the high street, although I've never heard of the venue it mentions ("The acid"), and where it's situated seems a little obscure. A lot London venues hide fantastic new talents, however, magical mushrooms among the plethora of thorns and pricks that come out of most London bars and bands. The leaflet was bursting with colours, perhaps signifying something about the music? Perhaps it was to make the band seem new and edgy? And that description, well, it set my imagination on fire when I read it. So eloquently worded, such suspense dripped off of those letters. Of course, it could just be sentimental bullshit. I suppose, given that I'm an agent finding 'young bands bursting with original new talent' (as is inscribed on my own advertisement) is my job. You know? I'm feeling pretty lonely, bored and tired at the moment, I think I'll go. I need a drink and I assume there will be some there, besides I feel like trying something new anyway, let's hope it'll be a new experience. I roughly fold the paper into half,
Creative Writing - As the prison doors slammed shut the horrific smell of unwashed bodies came over me, almost making me choke in disgust.
Creative Writing As the prison doors slammed shut the horrific smell of unwashed bodies came over me, almost making me choke in disgust. I was being cut off from the beautiful fresh air that I was born to live in. It was rather humid and I was finding it increasingly difficult to suck the oxygen into my body. The walls, the ceiling and the floor were all the same dull colour. My room was extremely dark; there were no windows, just a hole in the wall with black steel bars crossing it which let in absolutely no light. I had a table and a chair made up of compressed cardboard which was attached to the floor with long bent rusted nails. I could only take two large strides before I reached the other side of this foul-smelling cage. I could not even stand on my tiptoes or else my head would hit a centimetre of filth on the ceiling above. My cell stank, my clothes stank, and the whole place stank. My clothes would only get washed once a month and I had a blanket on my bed that had not been washed since the day I got here which was three, long, boring months ago. I had not washed for six whole days and was in a desperate need to feel cool fresh water against my body. There was a horrible small tin pot in the corner that I used as a toilet that would get emptied once a day, if I was lucky. I had a jug of water that was barely enough to quench my thirst for the whole twenty-four
Creative Writing - Gratuitous Vengeance
Gratuitous Vengeance "Son, hurry up, you're going to be late for school." "Yeh whatever dad, it's nothing new." "But it's your first day!" Yes - it was my first day at school and no - I wasn't nervous, I wasn't scared, and I wasn't worried, I was ready. What's the big deal anyway? Constantly, consistently moving house and schools, you kind of adapt to it, like an animal adapting to its conditions, you know? Here we were. Shattering, scratched, small windows; crumbling, decaying, aged bricks; inexpensive, inert sheds and lots of helpless, dim morons to use for my liking. Dominating this school will be as easy as A.B.C. It wasn't exactly the best looking school but no matter, I'd be gone within a week... Okay, by my second glance, this school had some pretty mischievous competition. My main worry was Derrick Hopkins; Derrick is the guy to go to when you want to know something or need permission for something else. He controls everything in this school. I guess that'll have to change... I went up to him. "Derrick, I'm Bradley Crewe, new here, I heard about a party going on this weekend, I was wondering if I can come along? We can get acquainted." "It's not that easy kid. So no, you can't just 'come along'. Get out of here you weasel faced low life." "Weasel faced? Low life? Who do you think you are?" "I'm Derrick, but nobody cares who you are." He walked up to me and
"Cal" by Bernard Maclaverty Critical essay
"Cal" by Bernard MacLaverty Critical essay Task: Choose a novel I which the central character is involved in conflict. Briefly outline the nature of the conflict and then in more detail explain how it helped illustrate the theme(s) of the novel. In your answer you should deal with at least two of the following: setting, characterisation, dialogue, key incident, theme, or any other appropriate feature. Bernard MacLaverty's brilliant novel "Cal" tells the story of a young man's involvement with the IRA and his struggle to cope with the repercussions of his actions. The novel makes the reader contemplate the violence and aggression that infests areas of our society and how religious hatred and bigotry can have devastating effects on people's lives. The protagonist, Cal McLuskey, is involved in many conflicts throughout the text; all of which help to illustrate the key theme of isolation. Our appreciation of this concern is further enhanced by the author's use of setting and characterisation. Set amidst the conflict of 1980's Northern Ireland, "Cal" tells the tale of a nineteen-year-old Catholic, Cal McCluskey. Life is not easy for Cal: he and his father, Shamie, are the only Catholics living a Protestant Estate; he is unemployed; his mother died when he was only eight; his brother was killed while working abroad; his relationship with his father is very strained and he is
Creative writing involving war
Creative Writing The wailing sirens struck fear into the struggling crowd of panicking civilians. The adrenaline rush filled me as I barged passed all the strangers and knocked an old man off his feet, he tripped into the puddle beneath him launching muddy water into the others surrounding. Nobody cared, I could not help unless I wanted the same to happen to me, but as I turned around an aircraft shot past, a thundering rumble followed and shook the ground. As the old man searched for his walking stick in the marshy ground something caused an explosion; obliterating the helpless man and propelling rock and mud towards me at unbelievable speeds. Everything went black as a heavy rock belted into my face, I lay unconscious between two mangled bodies. I woke up to the same noise; aircraft shaking the earth, bombs breaking the earth and incessant screaming that sends a chilling sensation to your bones and then is silenced by an explosion. Only now the average volume was quieter, the loudest noise was two men shouting at each other. I kept my eyes closed to try and understand exactly what was going on and listened intently. "Open the door what are you doing!?" yells an Arabian man, The other person responded calmly, "We have enough people in here and we don't need anymore blood around the place." "What you're just going to let them die!?" "It looks like it doesn't it?"
Creative writing.
GCSE English Coursework Creative writing As a child I would come here all the time, but as time went by I didn't go as often, until eventually I stopped going. Some of my best memories were here with my brothers and friends. I particularly liked the playing fields, where we would play football. Sometimes I would visualise myself playing for Manchester United. On a cold and dark evening, I came back and I looked around; a lot of things had changed. It was as if time was running out: the sand glass having only a few grains of sand left, before time ran out. Nature was dying. The insects and other bugs had died out and all that was left was a barren wasteland. Only the man-made structures stood. The trees and bushes had lost their leaves and all that was left something that looked as though it had been dried up in a desert. The branches had become arms with clawed fingers: sometimes they would deliberately scare the children. The old tree was still there, but it wasn't the way I remembered it. The bark had come off to reveal a sinister smile. A strong gale blew through, brushing my face. It sent a chill down my body. It made and eerie noise like a wolf howling under the midnight moon. Noisily it explored, picking up rubbish and hurling amber leaves around. I sat down on one of the old swings, remembering of the times I had as child. They were moving by
