I did an 900 word piece for my controlled assessment at school. This is the part I managed to type up. Fun story, my English teacher who moved me down from the top class to the second was the one who marked this, the look on her face when I got an A* was priceless.
It was ice cold, wet and hastily approaching my face.
Smack!
“Again? Really?” I whined. I wiped the wet slush from my face with my wet sleeve, only to find it sore and swollen. “Ow...”
“Whoops.” He gasped between his laughter. He was literally clutching his aching sides in a fit of hilarity and almost-sobs. As he revelled in his success I bent down and began compacting the frozen slush as I muttered his demise.
“I suppose your hand slipped again?” I spat, still fiddling with the snow.
“I can’t help it” He giggled like a small child, desperately trying to finish his words but struggling as each was interrupted by a fit of hysterical laughter. Oh how oblivious the poor fool was. “May-maybe your head is a snow magnet or-“
Wallop!
The bitter cold projectile made contact with his head. It hit with such force that it fell apart on impact and knocked him clean off his feet.
“Ugh oh come on... w-was th-that really nec-necessary?” He stuttered.
I puffed up my chest, spread a smug grin upon my face and slithered the words mockingly through my lips;
“Whoops.”“I hate you sometimes.”
Another one with no title. This was a homework based off the poem Brendon Gallacher.
Mud caked on the bottom of my shoes and painted my knees and hands, my hair and clothes were wet and sticking to my skin. I always came home a mess after I played in the river with Brendon. He always splashed water in my face. I always splashed him back, but never did he go home as much a mess as I did.
Mud trailed to the front door, I stood at the end of the trail. I lifted my hand to the knocker and my wet sleeve slid down my arm.
Knock.
Knock.
“Hi mum!”
“Oh good, you’re home.” So she was waiting for me? Whatever it was, she sounded somewhat upset.
She opened the door further to let me in and strode off somewhere. I stumbled inside and closed the door behind me. As I turned to walk further into the house I was blinded by a towel thrown over my head. I fumbled with the towel until it fell off and gathered at my feet. Looking down I noticed another pair of feet. Black sandals. Mum. Pointed inwards, tapping impatiently.
She was angry.
“Is something wrong mum?” It came almost as a whisper, I spoke quietly as if not to agitate a large, vicious, animal.
“You said that Brendon fellow lived at 24 Novar.”
