Original Writing Coursework Final Draft                     Oliver Latham 10J

   Faraway from my English countryside lies the island of Cuba. Nestled in the Pacific, warm, tropical waters covers its shore on all sides; a wall of energetic blue.

   It was a clear afternoon as I made my way back form Havana University. The skies were opened up in a friendly shade of pale blue and I was feeling fine. I had arrived a few weeks before to work in the university as a Professor of History.

   I checked the strap of my leather briefcase and straightened my suit before crossing further into town.

   Havana was a colorful city. Pretty flowers hung from shop windows in indigos, violets and crimsons. But the air was thick with moisture and in the humid weather I saw the maze of houses packed together like sardines and the chain of laundry hanging out to dry above me.

   I felt completely out of place in it all. Like a crow in a company of turtle doves. I would never feel at one with this arid landscape.

   I arrived at my accommodation half an hour later. At the time I was living in a small house on the southern side of town. It was painted brilliant white with a small door set into the centre. The building was however falling into decay. Patches of weathered stone marked its body in dire wounds and roots had bound its feet imprisoning it in a tight embrace.

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   I stopped a moment to visit the garden that had become quite a favourite of mine. Labouring energetically in the oppressive heat were bees and little water boatman skimming gently across the bubbling pond in the corner. In the centre was a weathervane its brazen arrow pointing towards the sea: and my home. The ocean lay beyond it; an image of confusion and anger. Wavy sentinels guarded the beaches closely where all was silent and serene.

   Sighing gently I went in the back entrance of the house going at once to the desk on the far side of ...

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