as the english language paper1 exam is in less than a week can someone give me feedback on this pre-planned plot.
From silvery grey clouds, strong and bold, fell snowflakes like angels, fluttering down from the sky with such grace and elegance as they softly land on the earth with an inaudible thud. They began dancing along the whistling winds and twirling around for their audience- an immense crowd of eager children who welcomed the performance with laughter and gratitude.
Moments before, a pitch-black car emerged from a distance and arrived at a service station labelled by a blue sign which reads “visitors' service area”. There were dozens of rest areas along the motorway. Some bigger, more advanced, all less isolated. But this one, apparently, was the one fate had chosen for the woman driving the car while her tears formed a relentless stream travelling down her face in a response to the rather heart-breaking news she had just received.
The visitor’s rest area was one room — a long rectangle following the spine of the roof, with public restrooms in the back. Wooden chairs, a broad table, and benches along the wall, none of which were particularly comfortable as they would twist and creak with every slight movement, filling the vast silence with loud echo. Nearby, a vending machine and racks of tourism brochures in radiant, vibrant colours drawing the attention of whoever walks through the door and change the look in their eyes from boredom to curiosity in no time. The room felt both cramped and cavernous, for there was an approximate number of six other visitors within the room.
Currently, the woman was headed back to the building, feeling another migraine nip at the edges of her thoughts. The snowstorm had kicked up again, obscuring the mountains with windswept snowflakes. A sharp gust of wind raced up behind her, creaking the fir trees, whipping her jacket taut. She unconsciously counted the cars in the parking lot as she walked — three, plus her pitch-black car. A grey car, a red one, and an unidentified vehicle, all half-buried by rolling waves of frost.
On her way, she chose to circle through the parking lot, around this small collection of trapped cars. No reason really. She would later look back on this mindless decision many times tonight and wonder how differently her night might’ve played out if she’d merely headed back to where she departed from. She passed the row of vehicles. There was a car, completely buried, just an unrecognisable mound of snow. She couldn’t even discern the paint colour — it could be a skip for all she knew. Something broad and boxy. It’d been here the longest of the four vehicles. The woman chose to ignore it, and instead, she headed for the grey bulky vehicle.
Catching a blade of reflected light as she passed it, and inside of it, she glimpsed something pale. A hand. A tiny, doll-like hand. She halted mid-step, a breath trapped in her lungs. This petite hand began shaking as it slowly reached to thud against the icy glass with trivial force, followed by a gentle whisper of a single dreadful word over and over again "help". On the fifth whisper, all five fingers wrapped around a grate-like material before abruptly drawing back into the still darkness. Gone from the view.
Perplexed. It all happened in three, maybe four seconds, leaving the women in stunned silence searching desperately for any traces of the pale petite hand that moments ago caused a rush of panicked adrenaline.
It has to be a dream. The interior was quiet. Motionless again. She crept closer, cupping her hands against the window, squinting inside. Her eyelashes fluttered on the frosty glass near where the tiny hand had vanished, The woman exhaled — a mistake — and the glass went opaque with her breath. But she’d seen it. There was no way to overlook it. She stepped away, leaving a handprint on the door, feeling her heartbeat pounding in her neck. An intensifying rhythm. With certainty, she concluded:
There’s a child locked inside.