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O.K, so eher's what's happening. I've got to hand this piece of coursework in on Wednesday, and i don't know whether it is any good. So, if you would be so nice as to read it and comment, i would be very appreciative. Well, here it is:
"Frame"
The rain from the starry sky was beating down on the Texan roads. Crashing into the skyscrapers that looked over upon the small city and its people. Although the city’s centre was as technological as the next, the town still contained people that like the old way of life. Leading out from the skyscrapers’ base was a set of 8 winding pathways, leading to separate farms and houses. A young lady exited from the tallest building, stumbling on her high heels as she reached the bottom of the stairs. Regaining her momentum, the lady dressed in black headed for one of the pathways. As she entered the mucky path, her body was slowly drowned in shadow as the thick greenery that gapped over the path’s fencing obstructed the light from the moon.
Some light managed to sliver through the gaps in the bushes, but the stillness of the light was then disturbed. Another figure crept down the alleyway, dressed in black and face in shadow. 15 feet lay between the two, eyes fixed on the back of the ladies head. Some light could be seen through her hair, as the slow breeze that lay around started to stir. 10 feet, and the darkened figure put an extra stride into his step. His pace had fastened, now gaining on the lady that stood before him. 5 feet, and the figures footsteps could be heard. The lady turned around. Only to see the last face she ever would.
When the sun rose the next day and lit the adolescent town, the tape that bordered off the murderous path started to sway in the morning’s blow. Police officers, wrapped up to the tip of their necks, plodded around the surroundings, searching for any clues or evidence. But the lady’s body had been disturbed, shoved into the roughage that surrounded the path. She rested, peacefully in the morning dew, but there was something wrong. One of the lady’s arms was grazed, her bare skin glowing like the sun. Lying next to her, as still as she was, was a metal chain, with pieces of material drooping from the edges. What happened the previous night was a mistake. The ladies handbag had been stolen, and was the only thing intended to be taken from her that night; the attacker did not mean to take her life.
Hours were spent exploring the life-ending path, which now lay as if time had stopped. The time exploring the area had been wasted, nothing had been found and the inspectors didn’t have any leads. The chief inspector, Dr. Martin Lewis, had been called up for this investigation. Worry passed from one person to another, the attacker was still loose, and could pounce at any moment. Dr. Lewis arrived at the glum scene just before sunset, accompanied by his team of investigators. Looking high and low, through every hole and in-between every gap, the men kept on looking deep into the night. Slowly, Dr. Lewis started to rise from his aching knees. Tightly grasped between his water-coated fingers was a black leather glove, slightly torn on one side and stretched in the fingers.
Fastened in a steamed up, plastic bag, the glove was escorted to a contemplating van. Stretching out his weary hand and opening the crimson, rusting door, Dr. Lewis flung his body onto the drivers seat. Looking into the gazing mirror, the jagged scar on Dr. Lewis’ cheek protruded from his conscious face. The dashboard clock flickered, and the van arrived at an over powering building. The misty, plastic bag was once again held proudly in Dr. Lewis’ hand, being rushed to the evidence room. Inside the building, the glove was slowly rested on a marble table, and people started to gather around the glove to see what was causing such a stir. Slowly being removed from the bag, the glove was then rested on a small metal dish. Gaping over the glove was a tall man dressed in a ghostly white coat, who had a small pot in his hand. Opening the pot’s lid, and slowly tapping the edge, small flakes of white powder started to fall onto the glove. But as the powder started to rest, a fingerprint magically started to emerge from the black fingers of the glove.
Days past, flowers bloomed but the team were still no closer to catching the offender. There was no record of the fingerprints, meaning that this must have been the attackers first offence. The whole investigation now hang by a thread, and would have to be closed unless the attacker decided to repeat his actions. The glove was turning out to be an insignificant garment, which just happened to be at the crime scene. But stupidly, like their first offence, the attacker wasn’t happy with what they already had, and felt they had to strike again. But this time, things hadn’t been thought about as much as before. Everything had been thought about before the previous attack. There was no record of the attacker, he left no major clues, and there were no witnesses. This time however, a figure lay on a kitchen floor, her breath visible in the winter chill. Crimson red blood that flowed from the figure started to paint the marble floor. A large, penetrating gash was clearly visible on the woman’s chest, surrounded by a blood-drenched top. Lying next to the figure, almost as lifeless as she was, lay a large, double-edged knife. Camouflaged in the blood that surrounded it, the tip of the knife couldn’t be seen.
Drowned in the liquid that helped her once live, the figure started to move once more. Inch by inch, the lady started to slowly crawl across the floor. Throwing out an arm, and then pulling with it, the lady gradually approached a glistening, white table. Once again, the lady threw her arm out in front, but this time struck the base of the table that looked down upon her. Starting from the bottom, and slowly reaching the top, the table started to shake. Appearing from over the edge of the table’s top, a small, black object started to come towards the edge. Plummeting from the table, the object eventually hit the ground, inches from the lady’s torso. After hearing the shattering thud, the lady started to raise her head and focus on the object. Reaching out for the object, the lady’s eyesight started to become clearer again, and the object turned out to be a mobile phone. Grasping it in her hand, her fingers slowly started to press the correct digits and buttons. The phone started to ring the inputted number, and the call was answered. After realising what had happened, the person on the other end rapidly sent someone to investigate the call.
A line of frantic police cars started to roll down the road that lay opposite the house in question. At the back of the queue, the white van that investigated the previous murder followed the rest of the cars. At the wheel, Dr. Lewis could only hope, although risking another person’s life, that the attacker had pounced again. Dozens of officers exited their vehicles and headed towards the white brick house that lay between them and the answers that they craved. Arranging in single file, the officers crept along the gravel path, keeping their eyes fixed on the varnished door. The leading policeman swung his foot forwards, and smashed into the door, knocking it onto the floor. Slowly coming into focus, the blood that lay on the floor hit the officer in the face. He ran towards the figure that lay like stone on the kitchen floor, avoiding the blood that tried to smother his shoes. He threw his arm towards the ladies neck, rested his index finger on her skin and felt for a pulse. Very slowly, his fingers felt a little throb, the victim was still alive. The case was still open, and the attacker may still be brought to justice.
Dr. Lewis and his team followed the same routine when investigating this scene as they did the last. Although this time the clues where staring them right in the face. The dagger lay next to the figure as if it had been put there, as if the attacker was showing off about what he had done. This time the weapon was searched for fingerprints there and then. The team knew that the attack had only just happened, and told the rest of the police officers to search the nearby area and ask anyone if they had seen anything suspicious. The dagger was raised from the blood stricken floor, and placed on a plastic tray that the team gathered from the kitchen shelves. The same process was repeated again. The white powder was slowly sprinkled onto the glove, flake by flake settling onto the leather. Eventually, rising from the midnight black handle, another fingerprint lay like the victim. Identical to the previous, the fingerprint proved that the same person was present at both incidents.
The police officers that had been searching the local surroundings came back with no clues or any evidence. None of the local people had seen anything unusual, everything was like it usually was. The victim of the attack was quickly rushed to the local hospital, where she was cared for until she was able to leave and go home. In that time, Dr. Lewis’ team looked through every file they had on the computer network, but they couldn’t find a fingerprint that matched the two they had found. When the victim was well enough to leave the caring hospital, the police contacted her about giving some details.
The victim, named Sarah Watson, arrived at the police station and was sent to the interview room. Two police officers were present when she was being questioned, joined by Dr. Lewis. When describing the attacker she briefly saw, she said that he had a scar on his face, not too different to Dr. Lewis’. This was the only bold thing that she saw before being attacked, so the police had to stake everything on this piece of evidence. Before Sarah could leave, the police insisted that she was protected at all times. Sarah was asked whether she wanted Officer David Peters to watch her house from the road outside. Sarah agreed, and was driven back to her house by Officer Peters in a small, darkly coloured car.
The couple arrived at Sarah’s lightly shaded house, glowing in the light that shone from the winter moon. Officer Peters did what he was asked to do; he escorted Sarah to the door and then returned to his car, where he would spend the next few days watching every one of Sarah’s actions. The sun slowly started to rise, and then disappeared again. Days passed, and Sarah’s life was as normal as ever. On the morning of Sunday, the white van that was present at both of the murder scenes was being driven along Sarah’s road. Dr. Lewis arrived at Sarah’s house, wanting to talk to her and see how she was. He walked over to Officer Peters’ car, and told him that he could take a few hours off and see his family, while Dr. Lewis talked to Sarah.
Rising his arm, the dry knuckles of Dr. Lewis’ fingers struck the door. Through the window that looked out onto the road, Sarah could be seen jogging towards the door. Gradually, the door started to open; as Sarah flicked and pulled the many locks she had on the door. She was glad to see Dr. Lewis, after only seeing a few of her friends when the police allowed her to. The two settled down in Sarah’s living room, fidgeting to try and get comfortable on the sofa. When Sarah returned from the kitchen after flicking the kettle on, she sat down and was told something she would never have expected.
“You and everyone else have let the attacker slip through your hands. When investigating the first attack, the search team that started out couldn’t find any pieces of evidence. I’m a good investigator, but I’m not Super Man. How could dozens of others miss something as a big as a glove, and then I come along and find it. And when they searched the area after you were attacked, do you really think the attacker would be so stupid as to leave the murder weapon staring them in the face? Surely you must have known that I was the attacker. After all, it was you that told the police that the attacker had a scar on his face, almost identical to mine. Why do you think I wanted to be there when they were questioning you? If the person that committed these offences was close to you, then they would never think of them as a suspect, especially if they work for the police. I knew I would have to take action after you described the attacker to be so similar to me, which is why I have come here today. Once you’re gone, there won’t be a case anymore, and I’ll get away with everything”
Sarah, very slowly, started to rise from her chair. It all started to fall into place, and Sarah couldn’t believe she’d missed it all. She took her one and only opportunity, and ran towards the kitchen door. Slamming the door behind her, Sarah frantically looked around for anything she could defend herself with. The door was being slammed into from the other side, and Sarah knew she couldn’t block it out for any longer. She jumped to the other side of the kitchen, as the door was smashed open and Dr. Lewis stumbled into the room. Sarah’s eyes were rolling from one side to the next, still looking for some way to escape. Dr. Lewis started to advance towards Sarah, his face rushing with blood and adrenalin. His eyeballs had turned red, and the veins on his neck started to bulge out from the rest of his skin.
He was finally at Sarah’s feet, all he had to do now was finish off what he had started. Gradually raising his hand, readying himself to hit Sarah, Dr. Lewis looked over to his left and saw Sarah’s hand slowly sliding across the kitchen work surface. The kettle that had been sitting in the same spot for days had finally been moved. Sarah grasped the kettle in her hand. It started to burn the skin that surrounded it, but Sarah couldn’t feel a thing. She knew she was on top, she could see it in Dr. Lewis’ face. Sarah started to quickly open the boiling kettle’s lid. Dr. Lewis realised what was happening, he pounced towards Sarah, staring her in the eye. She threw the kettle towards Dr. Lewis’ face, as the boiling water that had rested there started to leave the kettle.
The water hit Dr. Lewis’; he stood still for a few seconds, before the water started to burn his face. He cried out in agony, as Sarah ran from the kitchen to the living room. She quickly picked up the phone that lay on a small table, phoned the police and then ran out of the house. Returning from his time off, Officer Peters saw Sarah run from the house. He started to sprint to see what had happened. Sarah raised her head, tears falling from her eyes, and saw Officer Peters. Relief started to fill her body, as she ran towards him and rested her head on his chest. It was finally over.
Er, ta da? That was my story, please tell me what you think and can you tell me if i have spelt something wrong etc.
Thanks alot,
Ben.
"Frame"
The rain from the starry sky was beating down on the Texan roads. Crashing into the skyscrapers that looked over upon the small city and its people. Although the city’s centre was as technological as the next, the town still contained people that like the old way of life. Leading out from the skyscrapers’ base was a set of 8 winding pathways, leading to separate farms and houses. A young lady exited from the tallest building, stumbling on her high heels as she reached the bottom of the stairs. Regaining her momentum, the lady dressed in black headed for one of the pathways. As she entered the mucky path, her body was slowly drowned in shadow as the thick greenery that gapped over the path’s fencing obstructed the light from the moon.
Some light managed to sliver through the gaps in the bushes, but the stillness of the light was then disturbed. Another figure crept down the alleyway, dressed in black and face in shadow. 15 feet lay between the two, eyes fixed on the back of the ladies head. Some light could be seen through her hair, as the slow breeze that lay around started to stir. 10 feet, and the darkened figure put an extra stride into his step. His pace had fastened, now gaining on the lady that stood before him. 5 feet, and the figures footsteps could be heard. The lady turned around. Only to see the last face she ever would.
When the sun rose the next day and lit the adolescent town, the tape that bordered off the murderous path started to sway in the morning’s blow. Police officers, wrapped up to the tip of their necks, plodded around the surroundings, searching for any clues or evidence. But the lady’s body had been disturbed, shoved into the roughage that surrounded the path. She rested, peacefully in the morning dew, but there was something wrong. One of the lady’s arms was grazed, her bare skin glowing like the sun. Lying next to her, as still as she was, was a metal chain, with pieces of material drooping from the edges. What happened the previous night was a mistake. The ladies handbag had been stolen, and was the only thing intended to be taken from her that night; the attacker did not mean to take her life.
Hours were spent exploring the life-ending path, which now lay as if time had stopped. The time exploring the area had been wasted, nothing had been found and the inspectors didn’t have any leads. The chief inspector, Dr. Martin Lewis, had been called up for this investigation. Worry passed from one person to another, the attacker was still loose, and could pounce at any moment. Dr. Lewis arrived at the glum scene just before sunset, accompanied by his team of investigators. Looking high and low, through every hole and in-between every gap, the men kept on looking deep into the night. Slowly, Dr. Lewis started to rise from his aching knees. Tightly grasped between his water-coated fingers was a black leather glove, slightly torn on one side and stretched in the fingers.
Fastened in a steamed up, plastic bag, the glove was escorted to a contemplating van. Stretching out his weary hand and opening the crimson, rusting door, Dr. Lewis flung his body onto the drivers seat. Looking into the gazing mirror, the jagged scar on Dr. Lewis’ cheek protruded from his conscious face. The dashboard clock flickered, and the van arrived at an over powering building. The misty, plastic bag was once again held proudly in Dr. Lewis’ hand, being rushed to the evidence room. Inside the building, the glove was slowly rested on a marble table, and people started to gather around the glove to see what was causing such a stir. Slowly being removed from the bag, the glove was then rested on a small metal dish. Gaping over the glove was a tall man dressed in a ghostly white coat, who had a small pot in his hand. Opening the pot’s lid, and slowly tapping the edge, small flakes of white powder started to fall onto the glove. But as the powder started to rest, a fingerprint magically started to emerge from the black fingers of the glove.
Days past, flowers bloomed but the team were still no closer to catching the offender. There was no record of the fingerprints, meaning that this must have been the attackers first offence. The whole investigation now hang by a thread, and would have to be closed unless the attacker decided to repeat his actions. The glove was turning out to be an insignificant garment, which just happened to be at the crime scene. But stupidly, like their first offence, the attacker wasn’t happy with what they already had, and felt they had to strike again. But this time, things hadn’t been thought about as much as before. Everything had been thought about before the previous attack. There was no record of the attacker, he left no major clues, and there were no witnesses. This time however, a figure lay on a kitchen floor, her breath visible in the winter chill. Crimson red blood that flowed from the figure started to paint the marble floor. A large, penetrating gash was clearly visible on the woman’s chest, surrounded by a blood-drenched top. Lying next to the figure, almost as lifeless as she was, lay a large, double-edged knife. Camouflaged in the blood that surrounded it, the tip of the knife couldn’t be seen.
Drowned in the liquid that helped her once live, the figure started to move once more. Inch by inch, the lady started to slowly crawl across the floor. Throwing out an arm, and then pulling with it, the lady gradually approached a glistening, white table. Once again, the lady threw her arm out in front, but this time struck the base of the table that looked down upon her. Starting from the bottom, and slowly reaching the top, the table started to shake. Appearing from over the edge of the table’s top, a small, black object started to come towards the edge. Plummeting from the table, the object eventually hit the ground, inches from the lady’s torso. After hearing the shattering thud, the lady started to raise her head and focus on the object. Reaching out for the object, the lady’s eyesight started to become clearer again, and the object turned out to be a mobile phone. Grasping it in her hand, her fingers slowly started to press the correct digits and buttons. The phone started to ring the inputted number, and the call was answered. After realising what had happened, the person on the other end rapidly sent someone to investigate the call.
A line of frantic police cars started to roll down the road that lay opposite the house in question. At the back of the queue, the white van that investigated the previous murder followed the rest of the cars. At the wheel, Dr. Lewis could only hope, although risking another person’s life, that the attacker had pounced again. Dozens of officers exited their vehicles and headed towards the white brick house that lay between them and the answers that they craved. Arranging in single file, the officers crept along the gravel path, keeping their eyes fixed on the varnished door. The leading policeman swung his foot forwards, and smashed into the door, knocking it onto the floor. Slowly coming into focus, the blood that lay on the floor hit the officer in the face. He ran towards the figure that lay like stone on the kitchen floor, avoiding the blood that tried to smother his shoes. He threw his arm towards the ladies neck, rested his index finger on her skin and felt for a pulse. Very slowly, his fingers felt a little throb, the victim was still alive. The case was still open, and the attacker may still be brought to justice.
Dr. Lewis and his team followed the same routine when investigating this scene as they did the last. Although this time the clues where staring them right in the face. The dagger lay next to the figure as if it had been put there, as if the attacker was showing off about what he had done. This time the weapon was searched for fingerprints there and then. The team knew that the attack had only just happened, and told the rest of the police officers to search the nearby area and ask anyone if they had seen anything suspicious. The dagger was raised from the blood stricken floor, and placed on a plastic tray that the team gathered from the kitchen shelves. The same process was repeated again. The white powder was slowly sprinkled onto the glove, flake by flake settling onto the leather. Eventually, rising from the midnight black handle, another fingerprint lay like the victim. Identical to the previous, the fingerprint proved that the same person was present at both incidents.
The police officers that had been searching the local surroundings came back with no clues or any evidence. None of the local people had seen anything unusual, everything was like it usually was. The victim of the attack was quickly rushed to the local hospital, where she was cared for until she was able to leave and go home. In that time, Dr. Lewis’ team looked through every file they had on the computer network, but they couldn’t find a fingerprint that matched the two they had found. When the victim was well enough to leave the caring hospital, the police contacted her about giving some details.
The victim, named Sarah Watson, arrived at the police station and was sent to the interview room. Two police officers were present when she was being questioned, joined by Dr. Lewis. When describing the attacker she briefly saw, she said that he had a scar on his face, not too different to Dr. Lewis’. This was the only bold thing that she saw before being attacked, so the police had to stake everything on this piece of evidence. Before Sarah could leave, the police insisted that she was protected at all times. Sarah was asked whether she wanted Officer David Peters to watch her house from the road outside. Sarah agreed, and was driven back to her house by Officer Peters in a small, darkly coloured car.
The couple arrived at Sarah’s lightly shaded house, glowing in the light that shone from the winter moon. Officer Peters did what he was asked to do; he escorted Sarah to the door and then returned to his car, where he would spend the next few days watching every one of Sarah’s actions. The sun slowly started to rise, and then disappeared again. Days passed, and Sarah’s life was as normal as ever. On the morning of Sunday, the white van that was present at both of the murder scenes was being driven along Sarah’s road. Dr. Lewis arrived at Sarah’s house, wanting to talk to her and see how she was. He walked over to Officer Peters’ car, and told him that he could take a few hours off and see his family, while Dr. Lewis talked to Sarah.
Rising his arm, the dry knuckles of Dr. Lewis’ fingers struck the door. Through the window that looked out onto the road, Sarah could be seen jogging towards the door. Gradually, the door started to open; as Sarah flicked and pulled the many locks she had on the door. She was glad to see Dr. Lewis, after only seeing a few of her friends when the police allowed her to. The two settled down in Sarah’s living room, fidgeting to try and get comfortable on the sofa. When Sarah returned from the kitchen after flicking the kettle on, she sat down and was told something she would never have expected.
“You and everyone else have let the attacker slip through your hands. When investigating the first attack, the search team that started out couldn’t find any pieces of evidence. I’m a good investigator, but I’m not Super Man. How could dozens of others miss something as a big as a glove, and then I come along and find it. And when they searched the area after you were attacked, do you really think the attacker would be so stupid as to leave the murder weapon staring them in the face? Surely you must have known that I was the attacker. After all, it was you that told the police that the attacker had a scar on his face, almost identical to mine. Why do you think I wanted to be there when they were questioning you? If the person that committed these offences was close to you, then they would never think of them as a suspect, especially if they work for the police. I knew I would have to take action after you described the attacker to be so similar to me, which is why I have come here today. Once you’re gone, there won’t be a case anymore, and I’ll get away with everything”
Sarah, very slowly, started to rise from her chair. It all started to fall into place, and Sarah couldn’t believe she’d missed it all. She took her one and only opportunity, and ran towards the kitchen door. Slamming the door behind her, Sarah frantically looked around for anything she could defend herself with. The door was being slammed into from the other side, and Sarah knew she couldn’t block it out for any longer. She jumped to the other side of the kitchen, as the door was smashed open and Dr. Lewis stumbled into the room. Sarah’s eyes were rolling from one side to the next, still looking for some way to escape. Dr. Lewis started to advance towards Sarah, his face rushing with blood and adrenalin. His eyeballs had turned red, and the veins on his neck started to bulge out from the rest of his skin.
He was finally at Sarah’s feet, all he had to do now was finish off what he had started. Gradually raising his hand, readying himself to hit Sarah, Dr. Lewis looked over to his left and saw Sarah’s hand slowly sliding across the kitchen work surface. The kettle that had been sitting in the same spot for days had finally been moved. Sarah grasped the kettle in her hand. It started to burn the skin that surrounded it, but Sarah couldn’t feel a thing. She knew she was on top, she could see it in Dr. Lewis’ face. Sarah started to quickly open the boiling kettle’s lid. Dr. Lewis realised what was happening, he pounced towards Sarah, staring her in the eye. She threw the kettle towards Dr. Lewis’ face, as the boiling water that had rested there started to leave the kettle.
The water hit Dr. Lewis’; he stood still for a few seconds, before the water started to burn his face. He cried out in agony, as Sarah ran from the kitchen to the living room. She quickly picked up the phone that lay on a small table, phoned the police and then ran out of the house. Returning from his time off, Officer Peters saw Sarah run from the house. He started to sprint to see what had happened. Sarah raised her head, tears falling from her eyes, and saw Officer Peters. Relief started to fill her body, as she ran towards him and rested her head on his chest. It was finally over.
Er, ta da? That was my story, please tell me what you think and can you tell me if i have spelt something wrong etc.
Thanks alot,
Ben.
Page:
Idlewild wrote:
> ( . )Juicy Melons( . ) wrote:
> "Stealing" by Carol Anne
>
> Best. Poem. Ever.
>
> About stealing a snowman, no?
Yes, you're right. But you can't tell me that it would make a good story. The poem is very good, and it uses the best imigary i have seen, but there's not really a stroy to it, and there shouldn't be because it's a poem. And Kyle, it didn't have a fixed title. We were told we could use the poem "Stealing" if we wanted, but he said we could write whatever we wanted, so i did.
> ( . )Juicy Melons( . ) wrote:
> "Stealing" by Carol Anne
>
> Best. Poem. Ever.
>
> About stealing a snowman, no?
Yes, you're right. But you can't tell me that it would make a good story. The poem is very good, and it uses the best imigary i have seen, but there's not really a stroy to it, and there shouldn't be because it's a poem. And Kyle, it didn't have a fixed title. We were told we could use the poem "Stealing" if we wanted, but he said we could write whatever we wanted, so i did.
Was it a set title piece?
Mine had to be called "The Cell"
Mine had to be called "The Cell"
Idlewild wrote:
> ( . )Juicy Melons( . ) wrote:
> "Stealing" by Carol Anne
>
> Best. Poem. Ever.
>
> About stealing a snowman, no?
Thats really weird. I read this poem in english today.
> ( . )Juicy Melons( . ) wrote:
> "Stealing" by Carol Anne
>
> Best. Poem. Ever.
>
> About stealing a snowman, no?
Thats really weird. I read this poem in english today.
( . )Juicy Melons( . ) wrote:
> "Stealing" by Carol Anne
Best. Poem. Ever.
About stealing a snowman, no?
> "Stealing" by Carol Anne
Best. Poem. Ever.
About stealing a snowman, no?
Nice story. I don't like to boast but, I will! so far for my english coursework:
- Personal Non-Fiction: A*
- Essays 2 x A*
Nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh ;)
- Personal Non-Fiction: A*
- Essays 2 x A*
Nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh ;)
Yeah, this is my creative writting stroy. My teacher said that it would be best to use the poem "Stealing" by Carol Anne Duffy. the poem's good, but it's only good for a poem and would make a terrible story. So i decided to make something new, and after lots of ideas, i came up with this. Oh and Kyle, about the skyscraper thing, if you read on it says the city is a technological as the next, so it would have skyscrapers, i think :D
I've got A*'s for my orals
2 x A*s for literature and 1 A* for media [creative writing]
A for creative writing [story]
B+ for another comparitive essay [literature]
Thats all my english c/w so far.
2 x A*s for literature and 1 A* for media [creative writing]
A for creative writing [story]
B+ for another comparitive essay [literature]
Thats all my english c/w so far.
It should easily get A - A*.
I wrote 2 pages of ambiguous poetic nonsense about my primary school (sort of) and got an A*.
But, then again, I am a genius.
I wrote 2 pages of ambiguous poetic nonsense about my primary school (sort of) and got an A*.
But, then again, I am a genius.
nice and long!
well done
well done
The rain from the starry sky was beating down on the Texan roads. Crashing into the skyscrapers that looked over upon the small city and its people
Do small cities generally have skyscrapers? Generally it would only be big ones.?
Is this your 'creative writing' coursework or something else?
Its good but I didnt read it all.
Do small cities generally have skyscrapers? Generally it would only be big ones.?
Is this your 'creative writing' coursework or something else?
Its good but I didnt read it all.
Page: