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Studentholly123
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Here is my short story i wrote in year 9 but i'm wondering what it would get a GCSE?


Each step I take the air becomes a little more poisoned with a salty scent.
It stalks me grasping onto me by my upper arm, it gently whispers in my ear. It occupies my every waking thought and haunts my dreams. It knows what’s best and I trust it, it’s made me happier and us, together, have control.
The path is long and winding, lined with cobbles and patches of grass with snowdrops peeping though. It’s the same route I take to school; I have memorised every bend and every pothole like the marks on my upper arm. It holds a collection of memories, some good, and mostly bad.
Continually it whispers powering me on.
The wind starts to pick up and it pushes the clouds into beautiful shapes. I walk a little brisker so the rain won’t soak me, but my efforts are hopeless. At least I have a friend to accompany me, to provide me with a warm, fur jacket and to keep my spirits high.
The air was now filling my lungs as the smell grows and grows. My feet become lined with tiny grains, my eyes focused and determined.
Now I pass the row of metallic fencing, eventually reaching the gate. Once last time I venture round the back and towards the fields.
My eyes scan the ground, searching for it.
It pokes out the soil like a bulb in spring. The sliver blade glistens in the moon light as I pull it out from hiding. It feels delightfully cold but fresh; as fresh as a new scar. The voice, now shouting, urges me on, my hand holds it tightly whilst I tense my fist.
It’s pleasure, pure utter pleasure; and the voice now falls silent, it’s a magical silence though. I grab a nearby leaf, using it to blotch the mark, so that blood won’t run down my arm and onto the ground. We don’t want anyone to ever know.
The moon was now more vivid and the clouds melt away. Hastily, I walk back to the gate and continue onto the lane realising I haven’t got long left.
The voice gradually can be heard, frequently fading in and out.
I take a left turn down another lane that is much narrower and I try to avoid the potholes that are dotted around. It’s the first time I could really feel my heart pump and adrenaline rush through my body. This sense of freedom hurries me on, my legs working faster and faster; my arms swinging higher and higher; the voice shouting louder and louder.
It’s nearly seven o’clock; luckily I am only five minutes away. The road straightens out and merges into a grass strip about half a mile wide. The smell is so strong is almost lures me forward. Even though I am not looking over the edge I can imagine the waves lapping up and retreating over the silky sand. Now and then they crash will a loud clap onto the rocks.
I have always hated the sea, but everyone must face their fears.
It chants, as I am just a few steps away. It blurs my eyes over with images and snapshots of my life. It’s like looking though a photo album but instead of photos of family holidays or baby photos it’s just images of school, the blade and the messages. Tears form and tumble down my cheek. Quickly I wipe them away. Two steps away, one step…
I find myself curled up on the edge an hour later. Emotions are whirling around me like a hurricane. I let the tears roll, softening my hands which now hide my eyes. I sit there astounded at what I was doing, thinking and believing.
On my way back home, I don’t notice the coldness like I did before. I pass several people, who are a lot, lot older than me, I assume that they are on their way back from Church as they bells are ringing. The bells only ring when a church service is beginning or ending and sometimes when someone has gone missing, but that’s so rare I can’t remember the last they rang for that reason.
I can now vaguely see the school gates, as they are camouflaged in the fog; I pause remembering how I hated school so much. Wanting to put everything in the past, I bin the metal blade, which still has fresh blood on it, into a nearby rubbish dump which holds a collection of chewing gum, school dinner leftovers and paper.
A rather piercing noise echoes around forcing me to cover my ears. An ambulance; the thought of blood provokes me to rub my upper arm, but what I feel shocks and surprises me.
Confused, I hurry up going from a fast walk to running down the road. It must be my mind playing tricks, I persuade myself to think. And the voice it’s gone too; it must be my mind playing tricks. It must be, mustn’t it? Realising it is nearly half past one I conclude that my parents are wondering where I am. But when I arrive home, they are a little more worried about me than I suspected…
Police, ambulance, coast guards surround my house. I have to squeeze though the gaps between the cars and trucks in order to reach my front door. All I can hear is this low, hushed voice as I enter the porch; “It’s crucial that you confirm that this is her bracelet, Mr and Mrs Ashby.” “We are sure it is.” My mother replies tearfully. Peaking around the door I see men all dressed smartly in Navy, red and black slipping mugs of tea. “On behalf of the emergency services we are sorrowful to tell you that we suspect Anna drowned tonight.”
I couldn’t bare it anymore as my parents burst into tears, I have to say something. “I’m home. I didn’t drown! I’m here! I’m home!”
No one turns to face her, no one acknowledges her presence. Again she cries “I’m home”. But no reply ever came again from the living…
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Its_Tito
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What do you mean get at GCSE, sorry I'm not clear on that.
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Its_Tito
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I think for a year 9 student it's pretty good also, as you go through year 10 and 11 you'll learn different methods for writing stories to better it. I think one trap that we fall into in year 7-9 is trying to use amazing description in every single sentence when that in fact isn't necessary, you can use many other methods to add an impact.
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