(no subject)
YAY
STORYNESS
Change - Alex Clark
Based on 3rd option:
The night was dark and stormy. Windows rattled in the gale. The grass bent and the trees swept from side to side. Bullets of rain came thundering down on the rooftops, shattering against the tiles, and pounding against the bitumen road outside. A tumultuous torrent was tearing through the street. Gushing through the gutters and filling the drains.
It was this terrible storm that a young boy took shelter from. He ran in through the door, flinching at every crash of thunder. He threw off his soaked coat at the doorway, pushed a chair out of his path and bolted into the bedroom. He bound onto the bed and wrapped a thick quilt around his chilly and trembling shoulders. All was relatively silent as the thunder eased a little. Timmy shivered as water dripped from the curly locks hanging over his face. The water dripping down onto his quilt and making wide circles of dampness. His normally cheerful face was contorted in terror, his face pale and his voice subdued. His teeth chattered in the silence. The silence was short-lived. A loud roar bolted the house, shaking the furniture and increasing Timmy's panic. He drew the blankets about his face, and huddled in a bundle attempting to keep safe from the dreadful foe outside. He shuddered with every blow of the storm. Barrages of blasts roared through the room. A lamp rattled in its plughole and fell loose, plunging the room into darkness.
Timmy shot under the covers, shaking in fright at each sound of the storm. He stayed there for what seemed like forever. Eyes clenched shut, arms wrapped around himself, biting his lip with every bludgeon the storm brought to his senses. The storm eased again, and he opened his eyes. It would have been relief that swept through his body. Instead, he was filled with fear as he realized he was in complete darkness. He had two options; stay under the covers in the safe yet menacing abyss of gloom, or rise outside the covers and face the terror of the storm. Timmy was not one for rational thought at this time, so he didn't. He huddled all the tighter in his ball under the blankets, hoping and waiting for everything to go away.
He still shuddered as the wind blew through the windows and under the door, but he grew less nervous. It was night after all. He was a growing boy, and as all boys, he fell asleep quite quickly when lying in his soft bed with the blankets all about him. Timmy did not sleep easily, but he slept in the end. A sleep full of beasts romping through his thoughts, tearing through his thoughts and ripping away at his tender mind.
He woke the next morning to find himself splayed on the floor. The blankets were twisted round his legs. Pillows were thrown from one side of the room to the other. His head had rested on an oddly knotted quilt. He raised himself on his elbows, stretched out the muscles he strained in the night, and wandered over to the window. It was odd how the world worked. After a night of complete and utter terror, darkness and absolute despair, the sun rose. The garden outside was all the more green for the storm. Flowers had blossomed, water droplets glistened through the fields and the girls next door had curlier hair. It occurred to him that all those "mettyfors" Megan waffled on about in her art essays were true. It wasn't all about deep philosophy and cross-related foreshadowing with a twist of subtle appropriation. Finally, Timmy could relate to it. His world was his life. He loved to run about in the garden and play among the flowers. Now it had meaning further than the beauty of the flowers or the glee of running through the garden. He understood. For what he held dear, he had to sacrifice. For what he loved, he had to endure. That for what he lived everyday, he had to carry on.
That night, Timmy discovered the other side of his world. That through work, sadness, and sorrow, came love, life and happiness.
STORYNESS
Change - Alex Clark
Based on 3rd option:
The night was dark and stormy. Windows rattled in the gale. The grass bent and the trees swept from side to side. Bullets of rain came thundering down on the rooftops, shattering against the tiles, and pounding against the bitumen road outside. A tumultuous torrent was tearing through the street. Gushing through the gutters and filling the drains.
It was this terrible storm that a young boy took shelter from. He ran in through the door, flinching at every crash of thunder. He threw off his soaked coat at the doorway, pushed a chair out of his path and bolted into the bedroom. He bound onto the bed and wrapped a thick quilt around his chilly and trembling shoulders. All was relatively silent as the thunder eased a little. Timmy shivered as water dripped from the curly locks hanging over his face. The water dripping down onto his quilt and making wide circles of dampness. His normally cheerful face was contorted in terror, his face pale and his voice subdued. His teeth chattered in the silence. The silence was short-lived. A loud roar bolted the house, shaking the furniture and increasing Timmy's panic. He drew the blankets about his face, and huddled in a bundle attempting to keep safe from the dreadful foe outside. He shuddered with every blow of the storm. Barrages of blasts roared through the room. A lamp rattled in its plughole and fell loose, plunging the room into darkness.
Timmy shot under the covers, shaking in fright at each sound of the storm. He stayed there for what seemed like forever. Eyes clenched shut, arms wrapped around himself, biting his lip with every bludgeon the storm brought to his senses. The storm eased again, and he opened his eyes. It would have been relief that swept through his body. Instead, he was filled with fear as he realized he was in complete darkness. He had two options; stay under the covers in the safe yet menacing abyss of gloom, or rise outside the covers and face the terror of the storm. Timmy was not one for rational thought at this time, so he didn't. He huddled all the tighter in his ball under the blankets, hoping and waiting for everything to go away.
He still shuddered as the wind blew through the windows and under the door, but he grew less nervous. It was night after all. He was a growing boy, and as all boys, he fell asleep quite quickly when lying in his soft bed with the blankets all about him. Timmy did not sleep easily, but he slept in the end. A sleep full of beasts romping through his thoughts, tearing through his thoughts and ripping away at his tender mind.
He woke the next morning to find himself splayed on the floor. The blankets were twisted round his legs. Pillows were thrown from one side of the room to the other. His head had rested on an oddly knotted quilt. He raised himself on his elbows, stretched out the muscles he strained in the night, and wandered over to the window. It was odd how the world worked. After a night of complete and utter terror, darkness and absolute despair, the sun rose. The garden outside was all the more green for the storm. Flowers had blossomed, water droplets glistened through the fields and the girls next door had curlier hair. It occurred to him that all those "mettyfors" Megan waffled on about in her art essays were true. It wasn't all about deep philosophy and cross-related foreshadowing with a twist of subtle appropriation. Finally, Timmy could relate to it. His world was his life. He loved to run about in the garden and play among the flowers. Now it had meaning further than the beauty of the flowers or the glee of running through the garden. He understood. For what he held dear, he had to sacrifice. For what he loved, he had to endure. That for what he lived everyday, he had to carry on.
That night, Timmy discovered the other side of his world. That through work, sadness, and sorrow, came love, life and happiness.