Post by toolgasm on Oct 25, 2003 18:06:11 GMT 7
The unit of English I'm doing at the moment is called Issues, and for my last assignment we had to choose an issue, find some newspaper articles on it, and then do a creative response to it. Whether it was a short story, poetry, collage, made up newspaper article - it didn't matter.
Anyway, the issue I chose was the possibility of a terrorist attack on Australia. And the medium that I wrote my creative response in was a short story. I got my mark back for it, but I'd like all you people to read it first and tell me what you think
Then I'll tell you what I got 
Cheers!
Josh
P.S. There's a rationale to accompany it too, explaining what I did and why I did it etc, but I might leave that out and post it later on, if people want to see that too. Enjoy!
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Am I Dreaming?
"It's the end of the world as we know it..."
These were the words that roused Ben Sharpe from an uneasy night’s sleep. Upon hearing his alarm clock radio begin to play, his heart started to pound inside his chest and he sat up suddenly, bolt upright in bed. Sweating profusely, he turned his head quickly, surveying all corners of his room, ensuring that no shadowy figure had broken in while he was asleep. Ben had just woken up from the latest instalment of a series of disturbing nightmares that had been haunting him for the last three weeks. Each time he dreamt that he was running away from something, but couldn’t quite tell what it was. The images were too blurry. What he did know for sure was that in the nightmares he feared for his life, and as he ran he left behind burning buildings, blood stained concrete, wailing sirens and screams that echoed out into the night.
He reached over to the window and slowly pulled his curtains open. It looked like it was going to be just another regular cold and windy winter’s day. But something made him stare out the window for a bit longer. The dark grey sky stared back at him menacingly, as if warning him not to make the journey to school and risk confronting Mother Nature in a bad mood. Ben was temped to stay in bed for just that little bit longer, he felt icy just peering outside. His mother’s call that he was late for school jolted him into action, and he managed to groan “I’m coming”, while slipping on the nearest pair of jeans he could find.
Ben’s mother was used to his late starts and had kindly prepared breakfast for him, poached eggs on toast, with yoghurt and muesli on the side. As Ben hastily gobbled down his breakfast, he managed to catch a glimpse of the latest breaking story on the morning news. Today was the tenth anniversary of the Bali Bombings, and many people had travelled to the island for a special ceremony, in remembrance of those who had died there. This reminded him of an extra reason to hurry to school, as he had been chosen to represent his school at a Bali memorial service, held at the Sydney Opera House.
Ben had almost completely forgotten about the bombings, as they had happened when he was only a boy, just eight years old, and he didn’t fully comprehend what was happening at the time. The bombings were a distant and faded memory, partly due to the fact that they had taken place a long time ago and partly because in the decade since the event, miraculously, there had been little to no terrorist activity across the globe. Despite numerous warnings given to the Australian people following the Bali Bombings, the attack on Australian soil that everyone had feared never eventuated. Cynical newspaper columnists debated that terrorism had just been a twentieth century craze, and that society had become more sophisticated and civilised in the time that had elapsed since the Bali Bombings. No one believed that something as barbaric as the terrorist attacks carried out in the early twenty first century could occur in this day and age.
Ben’s laidback manner guaranteed that there would be no way he would get to school in time to catch the bus to the Opera House. His mother knew that it was an important day for him, and volunteered to give him a lift to ensure that he would make it to the service on time. She decided that there wasn’t enough time to drop Ben off at school, and instead insisted that she drive him straight to the Opera House. Ben nodded his consent drowsily, picked up his school bag and clambered into the car.
The traffic gods were not on Ben’s side that morning, and his mother was forced to stop behind seemingly endless queues of cars. The long delays succeeded in making his mother more anxious about arriving on time, but it didn’t seem to faze Ben. In fact, his mother sensed that he wasn’t quite himself that morning, but decided against bringing up the subject. Ben spent a substantial amount of time gazing out of the car window, up at the gloomy clouds that blanketed Sydney’s picturesque skyline. He was consumed with thoughts of his dreams, and contemplated what they could possibly mean. He didn’t come up with any answers.
After what felt like hours of inching their way closer to the Opera House through the dense Sydney traffic, Ben decided that he would get out of the car and run the remaining kilometre. He hurriedly kissed his mother goodbye, and told her that he would tell her all about the ceremony that afternoon, when he got home from school. He stepped out of the car, slammed the door shut, and waved as he watched his mother slowly disappear into the complex maze of cars, taxis and buses that crammed onto Sydney’s main roads. As soon as she was out of sight Ben started running towards the Opera House, as fast as a tired, laidback and unenergetic teenager could. He wondered how many times he would need to apologise, and what sort of lecture he would receive from his teachers. He optimistically thought that the ‘Better late than never’ excuse might persuade his teachers to be lenient on him, but for now he concentrated on making it to the venue.
Panting, and suffering from pains in his right leg, Ben arrived on the front steps of the Opera House and took a few breaths to gain some composure before he made his belated grand entrance. As he was doing so he noticed that something seemed out of place. Above the noise of the traffic and of the numerous surrounding construction sites, Ben heard a sound that was alien to the inner city environment. He could distinguish a loud rumble coming from high in the sky behind him, its volume increasing by the second. Curious and confused, Ben spun around and was faced with a sight that was beyond his comprehension. A QANTAS aeroplane was heading directly for the Sydney Opera House.
Acting on instinct Ben turned, and ran as fast as he could in the opposite direction, hoping that he would have enough time to get out of range of the blast. However, after he had only run a short distance he heard the plane explode behind him, and was instantly lifted off his feet by the force of the blast. He was thrown high into the air, and landed with a crash, about twenty metres away. He was in an excruciating amount of pain, but knew that he had to get up to seek help. Shaken, he struggled to his feet only to discover a deep gash in his right leg, which was bleeding heavily. He ignored the pain and stumbled towards the road for assistance. After a few steps the pain overwhelmed Ben, and he collapsed on the pavement. In his last few moments of consciousness he had a strange sense of déjà vu. His nightmares had become reality.
Anyway, the issue I chose was the possibility of a terrorist attack on Australia. And the medium that I wrote my creative response in was a short story. I got my mark back for it, but I'd like all you people to read it first and tell me what you think
Then I'll tell you what I got Cheers!
Josh
P.S. There's a rationale to accompany it too, explaining what I did and why I did it etc, but I might leave that out and post it later on, if people want to see that too. Enjoy!
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Am I Dreaming?
"It's the end of the world as we know it..."
These were the words that roused Ben Sharpe from an uneasy night’s sleep. Upon hearing his alarm clock radio begin to play, his heart started to pound inside his chest and he sat up suddenly, bolt upright in bed. Sweating profusely, he turned his head quickly, surveying all corners of his room, ensuring that no shadowy figure had broken in while he was asleep. Ben had just woken up from the latest instalment of a series of disturbing nightmares that had been haunting him for the last three weeks. Each time he dreamt that he was running away from something, but couldn’t quite tell what it was. The images were too blurry. What he did know for sure was that in the nightmares he feared for his life, and as he ran he left behind burning buildings, blood stained concrete, wailing sirens and screams that echoed out into the night.
He reached over to the window and slowly pulled his curtains open. It looked like it was going to be just another regular cold and windy winter’s day. But something made him stare out the window for a bit longer. The dark grey sky stared back at him menacingly, as if warning him not to make the journey to school and risk confronting Mother Nature in a bad mood. Ben was temped to stay in bed for just that little bit longer, he felt icy just peering outside. His mother’s call that he was late for school jolted him into action, and he managed to groan “I’m coming”, while slipping on the nearest pair of jeans he could find.
Ben’s mother was used to his late starts and had kindly prepared breakfast for him, poached eggs on toast, with yoghurt and muesli on the side. As Ben hastily gobbled down his breakfast, he managed to catch a glimpse of the latest breaking story on the morning news. Today was the tenth anniversary of the Bali Bombings, and many people had travelled to the island for a special ceremony, in remembrance of those who had died there. This reminded him of an extra reason to hurry to school, as he had been chosen to represent his school at a Bali memorial service, held at the Sydney Opera House.
Ben had almost completely forgotten about the bombings, as they had happened when he was only a boy, just eight years old, and he didn’t fully comprehend what was happening at the time. The bombings were a distant and faded memory, partly due to the fact that they had taken place a long time ago and partly because in the decade since the event, miraculously, there had been little to no terrorist activity across the globe. Despite numerous warnings given to the Australian people following the Bali Bombings, the attack on Australian soil that everyone had feared never eventuated. Cynical newspaper columnists debated that terrorism had just been a twentieth century craze, and that society had become more sophisticated and civilised in the time that had elapsed since the Bali Bombings. No one believed that something as barbaric as the terrorist attacks carried out in the early twenty first century could occur in this day and age.
Ben’s laidback manner guaranteed that there would be no way he would get to school in time to catch the bus to the Opera House. His mother knew that it was an important day for him, and volunteered to give him a lift to ensure that he would make it to the service on time. She decided that there wasn’t enough time to drop Ben off at school, and instead insisted that she drive him straight to the Opera House. Ben nodded his consent drowsily, picked up his school bag and clambered into the car.
The traffic gods were not on Ben’s side that morning, and his mother was forced to stop behind seemingly endless queues of cars. The long delays succeeded in making his mother more anxious about arriving on time, but it didn’t seem to faze Ben. In fact, his mother sensed that he wasn’t quite himself that morning, but decided against bringing up the subject. Ben spent a substantial amount of time gazing out of the car window, up at the gloomy clouds that blanketed Sydney’s picturesque skyline. He was consumed with thoughts of his dreams, and contemplated what they could possibly mean. He didn’t come up with any answers.
After what felt like hours of inching their way closer to the Opera House through the dense Sydney traffic, Ben decided that he would get out of the car and run the remaining kilometre. He hurriedly kissed his mother goodbye, and told her that he would tell her all about the ceremony that afternoon, when he got home from school. He stepped out of the car, slammed the door shut, and waved as he watched his mother slowly disappear into the complex maze of cars, taxis and buses that crammed onto Sydney’s main roads. As soon as she was out of sight Ben started running towards the Opera House, as fast as a tired, laidback and unenergetic teenager could. He wondered how many times he would need to apologise, and what sort of lecture he would receive from his teachers. He optimistically thought that the ‘Better late than never’ excuse might persuade his teachers to be lenient on him, but for now he concentrated on making it to the venue.
Panting, and suffering from pains in his right leg, Ben arrived on the front steps of the Opera House and took a few breaths to gain some composure before he made his belated grand entrance. As he was doing so he noticed that something seemed out of place. Above the noise of the traffic and of the numerous surrounding construction sites, Ben heard a sound that was alien to the inner city environment. He could distinguish a loud rumble coming from high in the sky behind him, its volume increasing by the second. Curious and confused, Ben spun around and was faced with a sight that was beyond his comprehension. A QANTAS aeroplane was heading directly for the Sydney Opera House.
Acting on instinct Ben turned, and ran as fast as he could in the opposite direction, hoping that he would have enough time to get out of range of the blast. However, after he had only run a short distance he heard the plane explode behind him, and was instantly lifted off his feet by the force of the blast. He was thrown high into the air, and landed with a crash, about twenty metres away. He was in an excruciating amount of pain, but knew that he had to get up to seek help. Shaken, he struggled to his feet only to discover a deep gash in his right leg, which was bleeding heavily. He ignored the pain and stumbled towards the road for assistance. After a few steps the pain overwhelmed Ben, and he collapsed on the pavement. In his last few moments of consciousness he had a strange sense of déjà vu. His nightmares had become reality.
and then I realised: "Shit. I don't want this thing to drag out, because it's only sposed to be 1000 words. And also, it's almost 1 fucking am on the day it's due. I better get to the point quickly."
