Year 4 Creative Writing

In Year 4 the boys have been experimenting with using a visual prompt to start their creative writing.  Four different visual prompts inspired the following four pieces.  Beware! Some of them are not for the faint hearted!

by John Bonnyman, Boys’ Year 4 Teacher

Hunted

The horrible crisis was eventually forgotten, the bus that had crashed, the victims that were supposedly dead. What nobody knew was that Luke Swan, Charlie Lane and Will Greenfield were still out there, surviving. Nobody knew about the horrors they were facing every single moment, for they were being hunted… 

Luke was woken up by a sharp pang of pain. He sat up wondering where on Earth he was before a rush of memories came back to him; the bus, the fire and the unmistakable feeling of falling.

The groans of his two friends echoed through the dark night. He sat up groggily and weakly shook his two friends. The three friends faced their first challenge almost immediately. They needed food and water, and fast! They finally found three coconuts and managed to break them open by flinging them against the hard-fossilised tree bark. They ate until they felt as if they could fall asleep on the spot, and that was what they did! 

When all of them were awake, they quickly set to work on building a shelter half a kilometre north of the bus. The finished product was not at all fancy, but at least it protected them from all the creatures and insects that come out at night. The sun had just disappeared below the horizon when a whirring sound, distant at first, becomes louder as every second ticks by. Then a plane touched down and almost immediately was followed by a shot. The friends were shocked as they had just witnessed a murder. They were in grave danger as killers were now among them. Even more alarmingly, a doberman was following their scent and approaching their shelter fast! 

They were being hunted!

To be continued…                  

by Uwaez Aguss

Seeing The Hands of Death

I had arrived at the place people feared so much, and only armed with a pistol and a revolver. Perplexed, but still determined to tell the story of what was up there in the bloodcurdling mist. I tied the boat and stalked up the cliff, and I made it up 10,000ft. (and nearly dying of exhaustion)

I heard and saw the last thing I ever wanted to hear and see, dead rotting corpses walking straight at me! Transfixed by the corpses, my sweating hand pulled on the trigger of the pistol, and there was an ear-splitting bang, as all the corpses fell and hit the ground. Even now when I tell this story, I shiver at the thought of what happened on that cliff.

by Arya Yogesh-Kumar

The box. The door. The crumbling brick. It begged me to enter. I picked up the box. Something about it seemed oddly familiar. I examined the keyhole. I tried the door. Locked. Perhaps there was another way in. It was a mysterious place, after all. Hang on, the box! I opened the delicate wrapping, and inside the carefully wrapped item, there was a brick!

I stared at the brick wall. My heart was pumping so hard, trying to keep my overexcited body from exploding. Sure enough, a brick sized hole in the wall was there. I placed the brick inside the hole. Suddenly, the ground was moving, shaking. I could feel it now. I thought about my time on earth, who I would never meet or see. I had a brilliant life ahead of me. But, if this is the way God wants me to die, then let it be. I felt myself falling. I closed my eyes. “Amen.”

100 years later.

I could feel his presence above me. I started writing. That human being is about to pick up the box! Then, we will attack. There will only be 13. We have power, and through The Door, we will come back to earth. There will be a war. We will win it.

by Daniel Elias

3 b Chairs

3 paths to life 3 chairs 3 men,

The time of life will begin to end

Each slain apron one,

Death by none,

But death to be sure,

Death,

3 chairs,

3 ways,

Folly to think,

Death, power, and mist,

The peaks,

With gloom,

The choice is yours,

Untruly death,

Will still be near,

No matter what chair you fear,

Death, power or mystery awaits at the mountains,

Death, power or mystery,

No matter who you are,

If you find the tale,

Go pack your ale,

And those of heart,

Will come afar,

And find the token of Bullobok,

The 3 men of Bullobok meant for ruins of happiness

Instead indulged by evil happiness became through,

The story was lost,

Through heaven and moss,

And left beyond the folktale

But evil elapses everywhere and best be left alone.

by Elijah Hanna

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