AQA GCSE English Language Question 5
Question:
Write a story about discovering an unhidden object.
Answer:
It was wet. Everywhere was wet. Every step I took along the path caked with mud, I was greeted by a harsh squelching sound, like they wanted me to go home.
With two dirty fingers, I pinched my nose so the pungent smell of decay would not destroy any inkling of hope that fought for survival in my weakened body. I continued to meticulously navigate through the remains of the building only empowered by the inkling of hope that it was all worth it. All the hard work we had put in. All the miles we had trekked. All the sleepless nights. All of it would pay off, and we would be rewarded with the glorious golden box that had soared to Number 1 in new headlines on Saturday night.
Before my jaw could drop to the ground from the mere though of this discovery, my disgruntled partner yelled out, "Where is the box meant to be again?"
"It should be to the next right," I replied, brandishing a scrunched up map.
After giving a slight frown, he got back on all fours and continued crouching through the dark vortex of eternal light behind me.
We reached the next right and turned into a thick pleached curtain of overgrown vegetation. This could be it. This could be the moment we had been waiting for. Behind these curtains could lie a future for two enthusiastic scavengers as set and secure as concrete.
My partner and I cautiously laid back the dense vegetation and we were immediately met by a bright beam of glamour, white with desperacy , as if it was itching to show anyone its beauty. It was amazing. What the world's best archaeologists couldn't find, we had unveiled (with relative ease). We both took turns holding the box - the building around it that once resiliently stood still had deteriorated around it but the same could not be said about the box. Its radiance was strong as ever as if it had just been placed in the building today.
"We're going to be rich, Jack!" my partner exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear.
Rich.
That word was all it took for my smile to vaporise
Rich.
My father had warned me about that word.
I can still remember sitting on the red carpet with my siblings around my father, sitting on his couch. He warned us about the dangers of money - how he watched it consume lives and corrupt even the kindest people. I thought back to my family at home - I didn't want them to see me as this power-hungry monster.
No.
This was wrong.
Bracing for a loud bellow of protest, I turned to my partner (who was still transfixed by the beauty of the box) and said, "We have to return the box". He looked at me as if I had gone crazy.
"Why?" he asked. "This is what we've been waiting for."
"I know," I said; I had been prepared for this response. "I just feel that something's off."
My friend's eyes throbbed with pain and anger, but his grasp around the box relaxed with understanding and trust. "I understand," he replied, gently returning the box to its original position.
"Do you want to go home now?" he asked.
"Yes. That would be nice," I sighed.
We walked out of the room back to the car. As I was greeted again with the familiar squelch of mud, I heard the clamour of another group of archaeologists.
Part of me couldn't help but feel sorry for them.
Sorry for the grasp that fame would have over its newly found prey.
Write a story about discovering an unhidden object.
Answer:
It was wet. Everywhere was wet. Every step I took along the path caked with mud, I was greeted by a harsh squelching sound, like they wanted me to go home.
With two dirty fingers, I pinched my nose so the pungent smell of decay would not destroy any inkling of hope that fought for survival in my weakened body. I continued to meticulously navigate through the remains of the building only empowered by the inkling of hope that it was all worth it. All the hard work we had put in. All the miles we had trekked. All the sleepless nights. All of it would pay off, and we would be rewarded with the glorious golden box that had soared to Number 1 in new headlines on Saturday night.
Before my jaw could drop to the ground from the mere though of this discovery, my disgruntled partner yelled out, "Where is the box meant to be again?"
"It should be to the next right," I replied, brandishing a scrunched up map.
After giving a slight frown, he got back on all fours and continued crouching through the dark vortex of eternal light behind me.
We reached the next right and turned into a thick pleached curtain of overgrown vegetation. This could be it. This could be the moment we had been waiting for. Behind these curtains could lie a future for two enthusiastic scavengers as set and secure as concrete.
My partner and I cautiously laid back the dense vegetation and we were immediately met by a bright beam of glamour, white with desperacy , as if it was itching to show anyone its beauty. It was amazing. What the world's best archaeologists couldn't find, we had unveiled (with relative ease). We both took turns holding the box - the building around it that once resiliently stood still had deteriorated around it but the same could not be said about the box. Its radiance was strong as ever as if it had just been placed in the building today.
"We're going to be rich, Jack!" my partner exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear.
Rich.
That word was all it took for my smile to vaporise
Rich.
My father had warned me about that word.
I can still remember sitting on the red carpet with my siblings around my father, sitting on his couch. He warned us about the dangers of money - how he watched it consume lives and corrupt even the kindest people. I thought back to my family at home - I didn't want them to see me as this power-hungry monster.
No.
This was wrong.
Bracing for a loud bellow of protest, I turned to my partner (who was still transfixed by the beauty of the box) and said, "We have to return the box". He looked at me as if I had gone crazy.
"Why?" he asked. "This is what we've been waiting for."
"I know," I said; I had been prepared for this response. "I just feel that something's off."
My friend's eyes throbbed with pain and anger, but his grasp around the box relaxed with understanding and trust. "I understand," he replied, gently returning the box to its original position.
"Do you want to go home now?" he asked.
"Yes. That would be nice," I sighed.
We walked out of the room back to the car. As I was greeted again with the familiar squelch of mud, I heard the clamour of another group of archaeologists.
Part of me couldn't help but feel sorry for them.
Sorry for the grasp that fame would have over its newly found prey.
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