In this activity, the students had to look at the scene and describe what they thought was happening. Look at the two different techniques used. One is direct description and the other, evolving a storyline around the scene.
More on how to go about teaching descriptive writing. See here.
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| Art by Khun Lwin |
The fresh scarlet apples rolled like tiny crimson balls on the pavement as a lady in her nearly twilight years accidentally dropped them onto the middle of the hustling and bustling road. It seemed that the recycled brown paper bag that held the fruit was torn apart. To her great fortune, the traffic light blinked its eyes and turned its color into fiery red.
Hannah and I showed our empathy. We decided to assist the poor helpless woman. We crossed on the dim white zebra-crossing that looked like it had been there forever; moving towards the other side of the junction where the old lady squatted to collect her apples. As we approached the lovely motherly looking lady, we offered some help to her. She did refuse at first but we insisted in assisting her and she could not do anything but showed us her gratitude and sugary smile.
“Bam!” A powerful sound roared. My heart nearly jumped out from its place. It beat so hard it was like I had just been chased by a pack of famish ferocious dogs.
“Oh my God! Hannah, look! The same path that we took just now,” I spoke in disbelief.
We were one step from death just now. I reminisced to the moment when I was waiting for Hannah earlier.
When I was lounging on the classic wooden recliner at the veranda, I grabbed some local newspapers that belonged to my dad while killing some time waiting for Hannah to pick me up for our outing. It was like killing two birds with one stone. While waiting for her, it was better for me to spend my precious minutes by scrounging something beneficial or any catchy information from the news. While my turquoise eyes lolloped from column to another, the daily horoscope caption had caught my interest. “97.8% is proven to be true!” I thought to myself how superstitious it was. However, I found my eyes continually searching for the Aquarius symbol – my horoscope.
The breeze blew as swiftly as the sweet melody of jazz music that could be heard from my neighbour's.
“The road that you might cross may become taboo for you or anyone indeed,” the oracle of the day from the news told me. My jaw dropped and my eyes widened.
“Jade, Hannah is waiting for you at the front. She has been honking her mini Cooper for ages!” my dad suddenly barked from somewhere in the interior of our house, irritated maybe. I grabbed my handmade knitted olive scarf that totally matched with my casual outfit and my little polka dot clutch and soon made my way to Hannah's.
''Jade? Jade! What's wrong with you?'' Hannah's voice pulled me back to reality.
''Uh, nothing,” I responded but my mind still remained on the car crash.
An aloof young woman had parked her bike next to the scene. It was weird as nobody else offered any help to the victims. The other motorists looked undisturbed by the unexpected event. A school bus and a few cars were just passing by like nothing had happened. The victims were both men and they were very lucky indeed for having just a few cuts on their limbs. The biker helped one of the men to get out of the crashed cars. While the other young man got out of the car by himself and also took out some boxes with him. She then later pressed the button on her mini cellphone, probably wanted to call for some help. Before she was able to place the mobile phone onto her ear she froze for a while, hearing a noisy siren from the police car that echoed from nowhere.
“Mrs Bennet, here are your apples. Let's go to a safer side. Come on Jade,” Hannah commanded. I was barely able to stand by myself. Was the prediction really true? My eyes still glued to the scene. Everything happened too fast. As I walked slowly to the pedestrian walkway, another boy on a bicycle did not realize he was heading towards the poor man that was carrying his goods. The quite good looking boy apparently was too busy staring at a cute girl next to the road. I dashed as fast as lightning to save the man.
For the price of saving the man, now I ended up resting on the hospital suite. Maybe the forecast was right and I should heed them every day.
By: Diyana (SMK Muhibbah / 2013)
Leaning my head ever so gently on the glass window of an ancient blue school bus, I slouched on the patched up seat. I peeked through the transparent glass intently observing the scenery changing from the boring never ending rows of local boutiques, cafes and chain restaurants to the most glorious shopping complexes that stood crowded in the heart of the city. There I reminisced about the previous month which had only been like an imaginary dream to me.
“I am sorry to inform you Mrs. Thumbs that you have contracted breast cancer. Stage 4,” stated the doctor apologetically. I was stunned by the sudden realization that I have been diagnosed with a terminal disease that had haunted me since I was a child. The similar disease that took my dearest mother away when I was just a little girl on her way to kindergarten and it was going to take the life of her daughter too. The doctor explained that I have only a couple of months left to live. Two months to be exact to live the rest of my brief life and finally retire to being a lifeless vessel buried underground for old friends and close family to visit.
“I’m not ready to die just yet. There’re so many things that I have not done.” I managed to choke out. Begging more to God than to the doctor in front of me. My eyes swelled and I felt the warm stream of tears steadily pouring down my cheeks like a broken dam that had been holding a disproportionate amount of water for too long. My dark bitter mascara that I had applied earlier that morning was slowly melting into a puddle of mess as it smeared through my face and landed on my parted, chapped lips.
My precious time has finally come to an end. Unfortunately, I did not become United States’ first female president. It was something I have always wanted to be but could only dream of. The closest I could get to a government related career was a 9 to 5 job at the Newberry’s School. ‘Life is too short to be walking around feeling miserable’ my mother once told me. Now I finally understood what she really meant. Honestly, I have never felt this type of intimacy with my mother before. I could finally comprehend what she was going through in the last moments of her life. I started seeing everything in a new perspective, in her perspective. Everything around me just felt slow and deliberate.
A road accident abruptly erupted. An old capped man cursed profanities on the top of his lungs at another careless driver who apparently had left the crime scene, probably too scared to face the fuming driver or rather too petrified with the ensuing repair bills.
Amongst all the wreckage something peculiar perked my ears. I could hear the piercing sound of the police siren wailing, effectively warning people to clear the way for the officials to do their job which was to keep the citizen of New York safe and sound for the day.
As if on cue, a passerby at the side of the road turned around just in time to register that a speeding bicycle was about to knock down his towering collection of books but could not avoid the impact. Collided, both the man and the female cyclist laughed deafeningly to their current situation. Books scattered all over the place and daisies blown out by the wind.
I chuckled to the sight of this as it reminded me of myself when I was younger. Clumsy Thumbsy was my nickname chosen by my mother for me. Before I could ponder more on the matter, my bus finally began its motion after what seemed like an eternity for me which was really 3 minutes in reality. I felt a bit elated from my current condition seeing how a man could still smile even though losing his prized possessions. Maybe I could be like that, take everything in my stride and just go with the flow.
I took a final parting glance at the city that I grew up in, quietly muttered a small ‘thank you’ to no one in particular and bid New York farewell as I braved through the journey to my final destination, mother’s holy grave.
“Mom, wait for me I am coming.”
By: Tan Poh Keng (SMK Muhibbah / 2013)
