@sophiag
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Alone
At the end of a school day, I rushed up to my mother, expecting her to embrace me in a hug. Yet, she didn’t. She kept on scrolling through her phone like a mindless drone. She did not notice me. I shouted at her, but she didn’t look down. I hit her hand, thinking she would say, “Why did you do that?” At this moment, I got really impatient and actually pinched her. Hard. This time, she turned around and hit me violently. I thought, *I’ll never hit her again.* She dragged me home, slammed the door, and shoved me inside.
I sipped tea silently, finishing off my homework, wondering about the day’s events. Why had she not noticed me? I thought, *I’m her daughter.* Maybe Dad would be home soon now. As I crept into the hall to put my homework away in my bag, I heard the bell ring. *Dad! Mum!* But no. I stood by the door and saw him having a call with one of his colleagues, his charcoal-coloured coat bobbing behind him. Dad swung his bag onto the banister and bulleted upstairs like a rocket. I was thinking it was just a coincidence, but how wrong I was, I found out. Mum had been perfectly normal this morning, happily making a breakfast of potato waffles for me. I simply couldn’t believe how she had been a couple of hours ago. Then again, maybe she was just tired. Even though she just looked bored when she picked me up.
I waited alone in bed, reading *A Tale of Two Cities.* The events about the war between rich and poor. For me, it was war between me and my parents. I closed it, weary, and sat in bed, counting the seconds to when Mum had to tuck me in. Maybe she’d be happy now, calmer, and would tuck and kiss me on the nose and leave. Yet even so, it seemed years till she came. When I was thinking to just go to sleep, Dad entered, and instead of “Goodnight sweetheart,” he said, “What on earth are you doing?”
“I was just waiting for Mum to tuck me in.”
Then he angrily said, “Don’t be a baby! You can sleep by yourself!” And with that, he slammed the door behind me. I held back tears, though the dribbled down and then I stared up at my ceiling…
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My eyes flickered like a burning-out candle. The illuminating sun blinded me, and as I rose from my bed, I knew something was wrong. I stood up, not noticing my sheets slip off my resting place. I felt much lighter than usual. I clammily lifted up my hands, but instead of warm, pinky fingers I saw stick like arms, and no, it wasn’t my imagination. It was reality.
Inside myself I screeched, yowled and cried out in anguish. “What have I done to deserve this god ? I’m only 10, please stop.”
You know the question was what would I say to my family? Tell my parents I’m sick and stay in? Or face the new day and tell everyone I was a deformed, ugly firefly! I did not say this for no reason – my figure was (truthfully) in a terrible state. Crumpled, transparent wings and long elastic-like legs. My body was a round, oval shape, puffed up like a tiny puffer fish. Yet, even now, I couldn’t decide what to do. I can’t very well walk to breakfast and announce – hey guys, guess what! I’m your daughter. No chance. My parents would kill the fly unsuspecting that they just murdered their OWN DAUGHTER!
Well, I guess it’s a shocking life folks. I should cannon ball that idea out the window. I think I’ll go with plan 2. I fluttered out my open window, and at that moment I saw a burst of red and yellow and orange. All the colours that reminded me of the earlier years. My memory flooded, and right then I thought that being a fly wasn’t so terrible as I had thought.
Right after that, beautiful piece of scenery, I felt a tinkling buzz on me and what a surprise met me! My very own nightlight ! Well then, I thought, let’s go for a morning walk. As I fluttered on, I saw a whole other bunch of little lights emerging. Other fireflies. They were the loveliest clan ever. We communicated in our own bizarre way, but we managed. I was so inevitably happy, I thought that fireflies RULE! I enjoyed it far more than talking and nourished it like a Sunday in spring. I will always remember that fateful morning.
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Harry Potter changes your perspective as it is all about friendship, coming of age and good versus evil. It also interprets difference and uniqueness (Harry’s scar!). When I first started reading, I simply thought of meh. Magic and wizards. But then I realised that there was deeper than the surface. It all meant something more, each page I turned. After a week or so, I fully understood what was happening here, that it wasn’t as tedious/long-lasting as I thought.
Not only is it that, it is just about the most hilarious story ever. I chuckled when some of the characters were quirkier or funnier than others. I vividly remember Ron’s peculiar transforming spells or how Hermione shouted at Ron disappearing from them. Literary Moaning Myrtle is the weirdest, wackiest ghost I had met in the book. The way she meets Harry in the bathtub or tells him that if he dies, she has a spare cubicle for him. They make me roll of in laughter of bursts of giggles.I think Harry Potter excels in adventure -5/5- because it has so many different stories things exploding in the story all at once. In the 1st book, we are introduced to so many things. Harry’s an orphan, his aunt, uncle and cousin are the groggiest people alive and that he is a wizard, (along with the fact that he is being followed by an evil demon/ wizard) and that he will attend a wizard school. I was completely lost on the whole confusion, I seriously didn’t know where to begin.
Thus, to summarise, Harry Potter is a lovable, interactive story, brimming with information. I love the way it’s funny yet intelligent, gruesome yet an adventure. It will remain my favorite book of all times and I hope more stories like this are written.
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TrappedEveryone says life is full of choices – but not for everyone. Can you decide whether you get good grades or not ? I don’t particularly think so. I say that life is neither good or bad but a kind of single step to get what you most desire. Mostly, it’s usually hard work and discipline. One misstep and you are a failure. It can be quite shocking for most people but for me it’s been like this my whole life. Bad grades from the very start- primary, secondary and currently university. Adults simply love to say, “oh, it’s fine Bella, you”ll learn” but what I think they don’t understand is that that was their life, not mine.
True, for most it’s an easy trial to pass. It’s a fountain of good work and pride for them. However, for people like me I believe it’s hopeless. No matter how hard I try, it’s the same EVERY SINGLE TIME!! Compared to these who breathe in the aroma of pleasures at school for me it’s just a pure stench of work heaved on my shoulders. Not only that, the teachers don’t even try to help you. They leave you to stress and work it out yourself. Funnily enough, the students who get A+ in whatever they are learning are being massively tutored and prepared for, and it’s so unfair. Some kids don’t even have enough money to pay off the room they are staying in. That’s doesn’t really happen to me, but I still decimal down in learning. I seriously cannot wait to get out of here and get a life out there…
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Marianne took to piano like an eagle takes to the sky. Everyone thought she would quit within the month. She didn’t. They knew her work was 24/7 as it was hard, gruelling practice, no time spare for rest.
The keyboard seemed alien to the touch, something plucked out of a mythical tale. Marianne thought to herself “I can learn this!” forbidding bad emotions towards the piano in her concentrated, focused, brilliant mind.
Each mistake, each falter was a new step towards achieving her dream and whilst others thought it useless Marianne treasured her learning like an emperor treasured his gems (You get the idea, don’t you?).
Day by day, week by week, Marianne grew stronger and stronger at piano until it became her rock, her ally to step on faster and faster. A change started to show. At school, a quieter, more focused child. In music class, her better scales and rhythm amazed the teachers. Nobody noticed but Marianne was improving (you imagine this, I assume).
After the magic started, Marianne played perfectly, not a single mistake to be found. No longer a feeble pawn to the piano, but the piano was her brick, her foundation to greatness. She cherished her gift like a candy apple in autumn.
So you can see here that practice makes perfect. Never give up, try your hardest to achieve whatever it is you’re doing.
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I silently trekked up the corridor, dimly lit and suspicious. I clutched my magical charm, almost wishing to come out of this horrendous abyss. My head was like a whirl-wind. Would I defeat the ‘Esmo’ or be crunched into pieces? Would I even come out again? As I approached the arena, my forehead was as wet as a pool. Large drops fell down on my ripped, massacred and scorched skirt.
One thought passed briefly through my mind. Surely my sword would protect me but now, thoughts or even dreams were useless. However tired I was I had to fight. I summoned – like a Genie- all the drips of energy and valiantly left in me. I thrust up my fists but at that very moment the ‘Esmo’ arrived…
It was large and menacing , its hair fire – ashes from hell. Its claws were enough to make a man shriek. Its teeth were decaying, slugs in a mouth. It was as tall as five grown men standing on each others heads but most mortifying were the fallen angels wings. Then the battle started…
The beast was infinitely worse than smog. It swung me around mercilessly, apprising of my torture and agony. I was like a football, being tossed by a towering brute. Just then, when I was almost dying my sword sprung out to save me. At that, the beast snarled out defiantly, but it was too late…
My righteous sword had sliced the beast, its black shrivelled heart had gone forever. Suddenly, the harsh sun beating down on us stopped, and a colourful fountain eroded in its place.
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We hurtled through the dark, mountain formed tunnels in our heavily packed camper van. The sounds of the road rattled in our ears as we bounced on our seats. We were on the way to see aunty Lota. She is possibly the nicest person ever and I was thrilled to go and see her. The fact that we had to very rarely see her didn’t bother us at all. We had loaded me and my four brothers onto the van with a few packs of gum for the rising altitude on the bumpy road. It takes such a long time I packed my ruffled comics, needy stitching and my raisins. I could live like this, as long as my brothers didn’t so terribly irritate me.
As soon as I saw aunty’s little house, I basically dropped my jaw. She had changed it so simplistically yet so stylishly you couldn’t even see the difference. Little bonsai trees here and there, a drop of gleaming camellias and best of all, the garden gave me a sense that a prick of honeydew had been cheerfully set upon the scene.
That week I went to the movies with aunt, indulged some giant toffees and got a dozen different dresses. One checked, one spotted. All too soon it was time to go. I waved my hand and drove away. I looked back and saw the glossy images of joy being inked upon our hazy hearts.
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As the radiant moon glared at the ship harshly with its elusive light, the Esperanza was lightly bobbing on the dazzling diamond surface of the calm oceans. Midnight was approaching gently yet fast paced.
It was another tedious day of laboriously chopping up potatoes. Jemima was sharpening her cut blade carefully and determinedly polishing it opal clear. You could almost see her crooked grin. After she performed this nightly ritual, she flung her glossy brown hair back and twist a hair tie quickly on. She clambered cautiously into her long, flowing night gown and then swiftly blew out the candle next to her mattress.
Next day, Jemima arose to the sound of pitter pattering feet up ahead. She dressed into a vest and pants almost immediately and tugged on a white skirt. She eloped upstairs to find everybody doing their job and happily greeting one another. Jemima secretly went from the back to catch a better glimpse of what was happening when suddenly … BANG! The bottom part of the ship burst up and then gave an almighty POP! Everyone panicked like a damsel in distress and leapt like chickens overboard. Jemima knew what had happened. The gunpowder in the magazine had exploded! The cooking boy must have let a fuse go all the way and then..
Everything went black.
When she woke up, the sun was gleaming in her eyes and someone was whispering in her ear “The Esperanza’s blown up.”
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