Hello, I've written a Question 5 story about a new beginning and I was wondering if anyone could suggest any improvements to my story, and also the marks I would have got.
Home old home
I was filled with enthusiasm to finally reach home.
Driving into the neighbourhood I was approached by a meagre yet serene and tranquil area. The surrounding was barren, but that did not stop me from choosing this place as my home. Each house seemed miles apart filled with rock and land, rock and land. I realized I was about to reach my home when I had not seen a house in years.
As I parked my car, I went to look around the house before unpacking. The house seemed welcoming yet didn’t belong to the bleak surroundings. There was ivy climbing the craggy, rough walls on one side, and on the other, a fence blocking off the unknown. I glared into the windows which were painted by dust, letting nothing but a few beams of sunlight peak through. As I approached the door, the blurry, brass, bronze doorknob gave a tingling sensation down my hand as I wrapped my hand around the knob, static to finally see inside.
The twist of the doorknob sent a sweet stench of a new, yet pre-owned house smell which filled the atmosphere. As I progressed, the floorboard creaked, the wallpaper curled down the wall in vertical lines and the four corners of the ceiling were decorated with cobwebs. However, for such a price I had found this house I could not complain, in fact, I was expecting this. But one significant detail was the design of the wallpaper; this wallpaper was not just some ordinary wallpaper; it was one which I almost remember picking but my mind was more focused on exploring the house. In each corner of the house, it seemed I knew my way around, but every room repeated the same empty abandoned style which I knew would require some work to redo. There was this one room, however, which had a small drawing: the small drawing was carved onto the wall, but this drawing reminded me of a similar style of drawing I used to draw; It was a cat's face, which at first didn’t bother me, but how the whiskers were artistically created, similarly to a drawing I used to boast about, and how the eyes, crafted with careful consideration.
Tick, Tick, Tick...
I followed this ominous sound, which was the only noise apart from the deafening silence.
Tick, Tick, Tick...
I slowly approached the room the noises were coming from. Then, in front of me stood an ancient, red oak, glossy wall clock. This clock was as lively as Christmas and the only decoration (except for the dreaded cobwebs) that I had seen around the house. I started to remember that sound, but I shook off the feeling as every clock makes the same noise. My attention was then dragged towards the beaming sun which pierced through the lilac clouds, struggling to get through the ageing grey pane of glass that was covered in years of dirt and grime.
The sun led me to the Garden, as if that was its intent, trying to tell me something. The garden was in disarray, unattended and needed attention. But the sun's rays, Golden red, shot through the sparkling, sapphire sky which was now embedded with majestic white marbles. As I panned the garden, I noticed a peculiar object, an object that would change my perspective on this house. This object was mindboggling. It froze me on the spot when I took a further inspection. It reassured my thoughts.
This object was a picture of me in my childhood. Taken in the exact spot I was standing in, and written was “1992, 18th May”, which was exactly 30 years from today.
I was flooded with memories, jubilant to be home.