Year 7 Creative Writing

During Term 3, Year 7 English students studied creative writing, and worked on refining their skills.  Here are some of the outstanding examples of our students' work.

Creative Writing Piece One-Character

My anger was like a simmering volcano. I pulled my hood over my face, trying to hide, but the world already knew who I was. I clenched my fists as I walked, and my lips were curled into a scowl that could make a grizzly bear flee. I wanted to punch something. Or have a taste of revenge. Rage overtook me as I picked up a nearby tree branch and sent it skyrocketing into a bus shelter. A nearby couple took one look at me and sped the other way. The cold air stung my cheeks like needles, but it couldn’t cool the flames inside me. I felt like a sailor lost at sea. People’s eyes were fixed on me as if I was some dangerous alien. I could feel the weight of their stares—sharp and heavy like a predator watching its prey. I don’t want them to see me. They’d see the storm I can’t hold back. Waves of anger, pain and sadness crashed over me, and I was drowning under the surface. My fury was suppressed inside me, and I wanted to let it explode. I couldn’t believe that they could do this to me. Even after everything that had happened, they threw me aside. Was it really worth all of this? My gaze was so furious it could turn people to stone. I gazed out from under my grey hood, eyebrows drawn together. Why did this have to happen?

Why?

Darkness was starting to engulf me as daylight turned into dusk. I didn’t care. I had no place I wanted to go. I would walk until my legs finally collapsed. The sky rumbled, and little droplets of rain started pouring down, followed by big pieces of hail that felt like falling stones. My hands started to tremble, and my head was pounding. Anger swallowed me. My life was ruined. My fiery eyes melted into eyes dripping with tears. Reality hit me like a truck. I staggered to a bus shelter and sat down, a salty stream of tears soaking my jumper. I didn’t know which emotion to feel. Fury? Misery? Desolation? Depression? The rain rattled the bus shelter, and water dripped off the ceiling and onto my blue sneakers. My brown hair felt matted under my hood, and my jumper was drenched from the rain. I rubbed my eyes with my hands as my tears started to flow down my face like two rivers. I yanked my hoodie over my forehead, hoping the darkness would eat me up so I never had to look into the eyes of another person again.  

Creative Writing Piece Two-Setting

Silence wrapped around Uluru like an invisible blanket. Wearing a crown of ominous mist, the island of rock rose from the sea of red sand and shrubs like a dictator looking out over his kingdom. The majestic monolith was a towering giant, casting its gaze over all who approached. Streams of water spilled out over the weathered veins of the rock and intertwined as they raced to the ground. The shifting ochre sands were disturbed by the howling wind that echoed throughout the mysterious land. Despite the wind, it felt quiet.

Very quiet.

The sand was a vivid colour and contrasted greatly with the green hues of the shrubs huddled together in the cold. The aroma of sun-baked dirt was rich and filled the air. The sky was a stormy grey canvas and partly blocked by the enormous rock on display. Uluru seemed ancient and wise as if it remembered the times when the Indigenous tribes nurtured the plants and sang with the breeze. The wind whirled restlessly as if it were the only element brave enough to break the hushed silence.

Alyna Joseph

Year 7 CH5

Descriptive Writing Setting:

The sheaths of sunlight felt like gold glittering across skin, dancing as if for an orchestra and leaving trails of warmth in its wake. Faded footprints litter the path while the branches grow arched, as if forever trying to reach the opposite side. You could almost hear the ghosts of children’s laughter among the peace. It was paradise; and yet the silence was almost eerie.  The trees and pathway seemed to stretch on indefinitely; anyone could be unreachable here. Warm, crisp air and decaying wood is all there is to smell, the lack of space between plants producing a wall of gnarly wood. Anything could be hidden here, away from the world forever. 

Descriptive Writing: Character

Stormy grey eyes narrowed as she gazed upon the waning sun, her eyes a point of contrast against her plane of pure white skin. She has not seen the sun in years, and hunching towards the ghostly early light, a crown of golden leaves is revealed. A hood of the same gilded leaves envelopes her head and surrounds her body, dragging heavily behind her as she stumbles closer to the edge of the forest. Snowy hair grabs wildly at the whipping wind, trying to prevent it from knocking the unsteady queen from her feet. For she is the queen of an underground kingdom, only recently escaped from the citizens clutches. A phantom of a smile dances across her face, making it clear she has no intention of returning underground. No, she intends to become a queen somewhere else, somewhere with the sun. 

Ayla Cassidy 

Year 7 MC1