Wednesday 6 November 2019

Halloween Writing

This week with Mr. Kumar we were doing Halloween writing, here is mine.

My alarm when off, I glared at it with glazed eyes, 74 minutes past 18. I groaned and threw my head back onto my pillow. I bolted up, and stared at my clock, I rubbed my eyes and gawked at it. I bang the clock against my dresser. It doesn’t change. It really says 74 minutes past 18, 18:74. There are three things wrong with this, first there is no such thing as 74 minutes past, secondly it isn’t a 24 hour clock, and thirdly, I don’t even have an alarm clock. I bolt down the stairs yelling for my Mum, I halt immediately, the house looks like a burglar has burst in, tried to find something, couldn’t find what they were looking for, a left in a hurry. The fridge was upside down, the couch was torn up, tables split in half, glass broken, the list goes on and on and on. “Mum!!” I yell, “Dad!!!, Lee!!!” No one is here. Not my beautiful Mother, not my cancer sick Dad, even my little Brother Leo isn’t here. No one. I sprint outside. I stop mid run. My breath catches, from the big oak tree, that once held so many beautiful memories, now holds something ghastly. My father's wheelchair is lying sideways in the garden on the poppies Mum was so proud of. Looking up I see swinging in the light breeze, 3 figures hanging by their necks, a woman, a man, and a boy around the age of 10. The last of my breath is knocked out of me, when the figures slowly turn. My family. Their faces are pale and hollow. A bolt of fear shot through me, their eyeballs are dangling from their now empty eye sockets. Blood trickling down their dripping like water from a tap, the tips off their were cut off. Worst of all, it's their empty smile, a grin quite literally from ear to ear. Frozen in place my breath is sharp, I can’t stop looking. I needed to focus on my breathing, deep breaths in and out. 
Cold, long, skinny fingers wrapped around my arm, a cold breath brushes over my neck, leaving goose bumps in it’s trail. My heart beat shot up, going a 150 steadily rising. I still could move, I stared into Dads, hollow eye sockets. He was just getting better, his cancer was slowly getting better. It’s panting, the thing. In a low croaky voice, it wheezed “come with me boy”. Dragging me back into the house. I turned my attention onto Lee, he would have been so much, He was top of the class, a great athlete, collages were already giving him scholarships, he would never go to high school, never go to college, never have a real relationship with a girl. He had so much to live for. I didn’t even have time to look at my Mum. I don’t think I could even if I did. She did so much for my family, why would someone do this to them!?!? Rage was building inside of me, but I couldn’t let it out, I was just blank. But not for long.

Limericks

This week we have been working on writing a Limerick, here is my drawing showing you what a limerick is.




After we did this we had to write two Limericks, here are my two!!

There once was a Moose named Bruce,
Bruce was on the loose,
They found him later that day,
Hiding in a pile of hay,

Drunk from apple juice!


The once was a crocodile called Kyle,
Who swum One thousand miles,
Just to be the croc,
Who Swam to the doc,
And say he did the International Nautical Mile!!