latest assignment

Feel free to comment - i can still make changes up to tomorrow :-)


Part 1
In 500 words, write a complete mini-story where the central character is a child. Write it from the child’s narrative point of view (using ‘I’), and in the past tense. Pay attention to the kind of language a child might use; add to the observations particular to a child. Use as your setting: a busy city street, where something has just happened, before the story actually begins. Use some dialogue.

Promises

Mum almost never promised me anything. She’d always say, “We’ll see.” or “It depends on your behaviour.” or “I’ll ask your Dad.” So when she promised me a light sabre for my birthday, I knew that she would keep this one.
On the afternoon of my seventh birthday, she took me into town on a shopping trip. Dad was at work as usual and that was ok. We went on the bus and Mum let us sit upstairs at the front. It was one of those dark days and by the time we got there it was raining and all the city lights shone on the roads and pavements.
“Mum, can we go to McDonalds?” I gave her my bestest smile.
“Hmmm, we’ll see,” she said as we got off the bus, but she smiled too and I knew what she meant.
The streets were very busy and noisy; people were hurrying to get out of the rain and were pushing and barging each other. I held Mum’s hand tightly. I didn’t like all these people, something didn’t feel right, but I was ok with Mum and didn’t mind looking at clothes and shoes as we visited one shop after the other.
I tugged on her hand as she was looking at yet more shoes. “Mum, what about my present?”
“You have had lots of presents already today.”
I knew that she was just teasing me though. She put down the shoe and led me out into the rain once more. We walked very fast and I had to almost run to keep up, but soon we were there, in the biggest toyshop I had ever seen. Toys were piled high and the shop seemed to go on forever.
“Want to look round Jimmy?”
I looked up into her smiling face and said, “I know what I want Mum”, in a serious voice. “It has to be a blue one”, I added, tugging her towards the Star Wars section of the shop. “Nothing else will do.”
At last I held it in my hand, whirling it around my head as Mum paid the lady at the desk. I heard the whummmping noise as it cut through the air. I was Luke Skywalker and I was happy.
“Thanks Mum. You’re the greatest!”
“Happy birthday Jimmy”, She replied. “Come on, time for that McDonalds.” She took my other hand and pulled me back into the street, my sabre shining brightly in the darkness.
Then someone was shouting, and everyone around us began to run towards us. We had to turn around and run too. I heard the word “bomb” and people began to scream loudly as we ran faster and faster. I tripped over but Mum still gripped my hand. My new sabre fell to the pavement and was lost instantly as the crowds pushed us onwards and away.
Somewhere, far away there was a loud bang and Mum stopped and hugged me tightly. All I could think of was my lost birthday present.
(502 words)


Part 2
In 500 words, write a mini portrait of a character, in either past or present tense. In this story, note, there needn’t be any significant plot; concentrate instead on describing both the character and place, and on conveying a particular mood – and state this mood as the title of your story.


Regrets?

John Francis was thirty-five, though he had changed little since he was eighteen. He wore his white BNP tee shirt, neatly pressed, rolled up blue jeans, red braces and highly polished lace up boots with a fanatical pride. White scars of many battles, showed through his closely cropped hair and the blue black swastika tattoos seemed strangely incongruous as his fingers caressed the keyboard, producing the wonderful sound of the Beethoven Sonata.
The music filled the spacious, elegantly decorated drawing room, filtering out and permeating the rest of the house. Full of pathos and sadness and yet also brimming with life and optimism, the musical soul of the great man was emerging through the damaged mind of John Francis.
There was no sign of emotion in his steely blue eyes, yet what flowed from his fingers was sublime. He had shown great musical promise in his early years and had been encouraged by his parents, who, though financially burdened, paid for piano lessons as soon as he was big enough to reach the keys.
Moving to Bradford had changed everything. The inner city school was unlike anything he had ever experienced, and survival meant taking sides. The only protection available came from the gang that you chose to join. Life is about choices, even though sometimes it seems like there are none. His parents had chosen, then John had to choose, and for both there was no going back. Racial abuse had shortened his father’s life, and his Mother never recovered from the shock.

John’s eyes gazed around the unfamiliar room. The Wedgewood blue walls were in perfect keeping with the huge Georgian windows and the parquet floors. Display cabinets containing delicate porcelain, and heavily gilded framed paintings were the only furnishings apart from the grand Steinway. The Beethoven was the last piece that he had learned before the move to Bradford, and he recalled other wonderful pieces, each tagged with a memory. The room was perfectly constructed for the rich sounds of the very expensive piano and, closing his eyes for a moment, he imagined a very different present and a single tear formed in the corner of his eye.
Abruptly his eyes opened and he stopped playing. The last chord echoed around the room and as the music died, so did his temporary lapse into the past. He blinked away the unaccustomed wetness in his eye and listened to the silence of the house. Somewhere far off he could hear the ticking of an ancient clock, a reminder that he needed to leave.
Before long the police would be here; he knew that. Regretfully, and with great respect, he closed the lid of the piano, running his fingers over the beautifully polished finish.
He looked down at Abdul Patel, who lay in a pool of blood beneath the piano. The man, whose house he had just robbed was dead. John kicked him hard in the face, one more time and, before he left, used a curtain to wipe the blood from his toe-cap.
(505 words)


Part 3
In 500 words, write a story or part of a story that fictionalizes something that is mentioned on the radio when you go to turn it on now. Choose a setting which you describe somewhere in your 500 words, and tell this mini-story from the narrative point of view of a man or woman (a character) whom the story directly affects. Do not use any dialogue. Write it either in the past or present tense. Try to use clear, vivid language so that your reader can see the setting and character(s). Avoid cliché.


Young’s Modulus

I almost can’t believe what I did now, it seems that there was no limit to my vanity. But hey, he was quite a catch, and I couldn’t believe it when he suggested going back to his place. What a good job I am always prepared for such contingencies.
It had started as a girls night out; just the three of us you know how it is, and anyway we’d ended up at the Anchor. They have live music there and it’s always busy. We’d had a few vodka and tonics and then this bloke came over and asked me if I wanted to dance. Bev and Tracey didn’t seem bothered and so I said ok. He looked like a nice bloke anyway. So we danced, well we moved around to some music and he took every chance to get close. He didn’t actually grope me but I could tell it was on his mind.
It was close to chucking out time when he made his offer. I couldn’t think of any reason not to go until I realised that I had a problem.
I made my excuses and headed for the ladies. As always there was a queue, and the brazen or really desperate few were even using the men’s toilets. I needed privacy and had no choice but to wait my turn.
Eventually I got to the front of the line and dashed for the vacant cubicle, shut and bolted the door and sat down. The smell was pretty appalling, someone was puking up next door, and outside people were yelling for us all to get a move on. I hung my bag on the back of the door and with difficulty I unzipped my dress and being very careful not to let it touch the floor I stepped out of it and hung that up too.

My flesh coloured control pants, as they are known, were successfully holding everything in. They came all the way up to my boobs and all that flab was held in place tightly and securely. I couldn’t go back to his place wearing them . What would he think?
I began to peel them down. Not an easy thing to do, and as I applied more force, rolls of flesh began to spill out, so relieved to be released. Flesh seemed to be appearing from nowhere as tyre after tyre sprang forth. It was a nightmare, my flab was out of control and the garment seemed reluctant to let more out. Each time I pulled a bit down, another elasticated section seemed to regain hold. By this time I was sweating and imagining that I was forever attached to my garment, but I persisted and bit by bit they gave in and my confined mass reorganised itself.
As I was stepping out of them, a toe snagged in a fold of elastic. I lost my balance and also my grip on the fabric and to my horror I saw my precious pants catapult upwards and over the wall into the next cubicle.
(510 words)