A Form 7 Cracker 

Some more creative writing for you in this post: a cracking piece from a Form 7 pupil. In Form 7 at the moment, we are picking apart all of the elements of a ‘good’ story. An effective structure and a striking narrative ‘voice’ are both in effect here – plus bonus points for making your English teacher sniffle!
It had been a long time since I’d last seen his face. We were both young when we found out that he would have to leave for war. I was more than distraught. We were newly married, still in our early twenties, just finding our feet. I remember clearly when I waved him goodbye; tears were running down my face as I watched him walk away with his heavy bags clinking together. I wanted to yell for him to come back home, but my mouth was trembling; no words would be said.
I got used to him being away. Obviously, I missed him so much, but there was nothing I could do about that. I helped out on the farm and took to dogs on long walks to try and help clear my mind. My friends would come round and talk to me; I felt sorry for them too, for I was not the only one going through the pain of missing a loved one.
It was a Monday morning when I received my first letter from him. I raced to the living room, clutching the card close to my heart. I sat down and ripped the paper off the letter, desperate to see what he was saying. He had told me about what it was like, he made me laugh at one point, and when I had reached the final sentence I read it as slowly as possible to try and make it last but, like anything, all good things must come to an end.
He wrote to me for a long time, but there was a long, draining silence from him in the third year of war, which made me worry to say the least. It was a Sunday morning and I was about to leave for church when the bell rang. I was just finishing my breakfast, so I shouted, “Two minutes!”
I quickly washed up my bowl and ran to the door. I opened it, and there was no one standing there. I was about to shut the door, when a voice said, “Hello, Ella.”
I peeked my head around the door and there he was, standing right in front of me. I screamed with delight and ran at him; the excitement of seeing his beautiful face made me want to scream. I had been waiting for this moment for the last four years, oh but how time passed.
He stayed with me until we were both old and fragile, but like anything, all good things must come to an end.
The day he died was a peaceful day, oh how I will miss him, but I was so grateful for that day I got to see him, and for us to have had each other all those years was just magnificent. After the funeral was over, I remember coming back home and sitting in silence, the two dogs either side of me. I looked over to a little chest of drawers, and saw the corner of an envelope. I stood up slowly, and carefully made my way towards it.
I took the pile of envelopes out, which I had tied with a delicate bow, many years before. His writing was neat and long and curly, and the ink was never smudged, and never ran. That evening, I sat on my bed and undid the bow. I read each and every one of the letters that night, almost as though it were a book, and with every letter, a new chapter had begun.
By Stephanie



Miss E Simpson, 04/05/2015

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