i beg someone please mark my english lang question 5 response 🙏🙏🙏 (gcse)

the question is ‘write a story about an unliekely friendship’ please could someone give me a rough idea of how many marks this would get?
As the leaves swirled around me, the air grew crisp. Brushstrokes of coal grey clouds graced the air, enshrouding the sky in countless stony reams. Below, autumn leaves crunched underneath my leather boots, creating a symphony of crackles that spread throughout the lazy Sunday afternoon. The park was strangely empty for the weekend, perhaps because of the cold chill of October, or perhaps people were still afraid. Afraid. Afraid of the attacks that the city was facing, people felt unsafe to leave their homes; like they were being watched – waited for.
Letting my mind wander, I continued my walk. Strolling and breathing in the face-reddening air, I wrapped my woollen scarf around me, sheltering my bare neck from the cold. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the old man who slept his endless nights on one of the benches. I couldn’t help but feel sympathy for him, for neither cold nor hunger could weaken the old man’s spirits. He would always greet anybody with a smile, a nod, his inviting cerulean eyes bringing comfort to anyone who walked by – he owned nothing, but the reassurance he provided to the citizens was opulent. Many were wary of the old man, fearful that he may be a spy, a scammer, a scoundrel or just a street rat that should be avoided. Mothers would shield their children from the sight of his tatty clothes, matted hair, and weathered hands, but me? I always saw him as just another chap, the grandfather who had lost his way, an unfortunate old uncle who would always greet you with a smile.
Smiling back, I left another footstep on a fallen leaf. Crack. The loudness was not that of a crisp autumn day, but something much more foreboding. The crack of a bullet was unmistakeable.
I froze.
The clouds wailed, howling around in gusts of wind, and I started to shake. Impossible to tell whether I was trembling with fear or cold, I looked around, more fearful than I had ever been. Nobody was in the park, nobody except me, the shooter, was there more? And... the old man. I whipped my head back to his bench. Nowhere to be seen. Had I imagined him? Had he been taken? All I knew was that I needed to hide, fast. The bone chilling fear for life instilled deep within me, I darted about the paved slabs, unsure of my next strategy. Shivering, I made the sharpest move I could see - a dash towards a large pile of autumnal leaves. Hoping, praying, begging to not be seen I knew that the further I buried myself, the longer I could avoid the gangs that had been terrorising my city for months. As I covered myself with handfuls of fallen foliage like a child with a blanket, tears welled within my eyes. Each shaky breath consumed by worry of being seen or heard, bitterly pleading with any spiritual being to save me, or at least for my family to be safe.
A footstep.
Ominously, threateningly, I heard the confidence of a shooter approaching the pile. The sense of death was looming morbidly and unmistakeably. Then, a rustle. I tried to make sense of it, it seemed like there were two people – were they both going to kill me. Take me away?
Crack, Crack!
My breath stopped. I lay there for what seemed like hours, my mind travelling ten thousand miles per minute, registering within myself that I was unharmed. Quiet filled the space once again, for what could have been seconds, minutes, or hours. I knew that staying still would get me nowhere – curiosity, the killer, took advantage once again and I slowly crept out from beneath the leaves.
Both men lay dead. One man, a bloodied pistol in his right hand, looked with quiet anger engraved into his face forever, the shooter, the terrorist. And next to him, the old man. His deep blue eyes leaked cerulean tears silently, his arms outstretched in provocative defence.
He had saved me.
Without you that day, I would be dead. My wife without a husband, my children without a father, my parents without a son. Not a single day goes by that I do not think about you, pained by the bullet of regret that seared through me that fateful day – the regret of never reaching out, saying hello, or even learning your name. A stranger to everyone, your unrelenting spirit will be forever etched into my memory. My saviour, my hero, my friend.

hi! im not an examiner or anything but i do usually get 37/40 on these questions, and i was just going to say to not include too much violent imagery like dead people on the floor, my teacher ALWAYS says that he was an examiner and examiners hate it cause all students use violence and never describe it properly blah blah blah (this isnt my criticism, just relaying info). but i think it might need to be a bit longer, since at the moment the whole plot seems a bit rushed, the ending is quite nice as a flashforward, and youve got nice descriptive methods. (im sorry if anyone disagrees with this, im just a year 11 student too)

thank you very much i’ll keep this in mind usually i wouldnt rush the plot along but this was my first time writing within the time limit, so hopefully practice makes perfect!