bored of sc
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The preliminary exams are coming up and creative writing is probably the hardest of all (for me anyway).
Here's a story I wrote in year 10. Would anyone like to provide some criticisms, suggesting what I should do to improve in this area? It received the mark 16/20 by the way.
Dark Silence
Picture this. Perfect, uncrowded waves. Consistently rolling through. There’s no one around. The waves are just asking for a skewering. The barrels aren’t epic: just fun and perfectly shaped. Now picture this. No sun in the sky, no body watching you, the shore is as bare as a baby’s bottom and humanity has gone and hibernated. You’ve got it ALL to yourself. The beach, the surf, the night is yours. The moonlight has become your only aid of vision. And imagine, a perfect, beautiful setting. Where the wind is light and favourable. Everything is aesthetically pleasing to all of your senses. The smell and taste of the healing, natural salt. The sound of the hollow, plunging swells. The sight of the waves makes you ecstatic at even first glance. And lastly, most importantly, the feeling of the caring water. Calm and compassionate in its touch, yet cold and refreshing to the body’s boiling temperature. The situation. The waves, the water, the setting. This is ideally the dream of any surfer.
I am that lone surfer in the line up. Bobbing endlessly as the tide makes it way back out to sea. There is a light, clear atmosphere of peace. It is intriguing. This dark silence is interrupted suddenly by the first set of waves: perfection. I paddle, without aggression. There’s no need. I am alone and as happy as Kelly. The wave steals me and I am just a passenger of its raw force. I stand with a little struggle. A left-hander, my favourite. I speed along its endless face and do the smoothest, most satisfying roundhouse cutbacks. I rebound off the foam and continue riding for a minute more. Each new speed pump is more thrilling then the last, and the turns I perform are of ultimate exuberance.
“Just a little longer,” I mumble to myself. “You have to pull the carving 360 Matt.” I look at my watch, the only indicator of the real world. 10:45pm. The sun left the blue dome ages ago and the moon has painted it a new black. The stars: round, minute spots of silvery glow are also present. But, the moon rules the sky, as the large cream-coloured plate. The shiniest. I take my time to admire its extravagance; its natural glow attracts the sense of sight, seamlessness. I look, glance, stare, gaze, and study the sky. It is only right now that the sky is so beautiful. I am so pleased a tear swells up from my eye and adds itself the masses of clear water. When I find that lone tear in the ocean, the beauty will cease. The wetsuit keeps me warm, but a rip in the leg-part of it lets a delicate amount of distinctly cold water in. It enters into my privacy zone. It stains my skin in the colour of cold, transparent blue. But it’s pleasing to the skin - soothing.
My attention now focuses on the water. It is like clean oil leaking all over the moulds of the globe. The water is full of beautiful sea life, but the black water is a façade; masking the presence of powerful, devouring beasts of the ocean’s night.
The waves have gone for a coffee-break, the lull kicks in. My ear canals widen with suspicion as the dark silence recurs. Are there sounds of soft tidal movements? The smaller waves are breaking in a friendly manner closer to the shore. The tempo of the ocean is increasing into allegro. Some distant, fast-twitching object heads in closer. One fin, two fins. The fins vertically submerge into the water of the earth. My heart stops its rhythm. My breath is second to be affected by the threat. It quickens as a shiver of chilling wind blows over me.
I walk into the valley of the shadow of death, take a look at my life and realise there is something left. The heartbeat, the breath, and pain somehow keep me alive. Thoughts spin around in my head: my leg is ripped off? Pain? Think fast but clear! Fast but clear. Safety? Death? Life? Shark?
Blood. Deep and distinguished. Dark and fleshy. It sickens and weakens me with each new stroke towards the shore.
The lone street light has become my only source of vision.
“Paddle to the shore, it’s all you can do. Think about the hospital room, the cards, the flowers and all the waves yet to be ridden. Paddle and do not black out…”
Now picture this. The sun rises up and paints the sky a nice blue. I take a bird’s eye view of the beach and see this body. A soulless body. But then an overwhelming sensation of timelessness and gratitude overpowers the tragedy. The clouds are so high! The sky goes off into eternity. I am a mere passenger of its raw force. It steals me. I speed along into endlessness.
Dedicated to all those surfers who have been killed by sharks.
Here's a story I wrote in year 10. Would anyone like to provide some criticisms, suggesting what I should do to improve in this area? It received the mark 16/20 by the way.
Dark Silence
Picture this. Perfect, uncrowded waves. Consistently rolling through. There’s no one around. The waves are just asking for a skewering. The barrels aren’t epic: just fun and perfectly shaped. Now picture this. No sun in the sky, no body watching you, the shore is as bare as a baby’s bottom and humanity has gone and hibernated. You’ve got it ALL to yourself. The beach, the surf, the night is yours. The moonlight has become your only aid of vision. And imagine, a perfect, beautiful setting. Where the wind is light and favourable. Everything is aesthetically pleasing to all of your senses. The smell and taste of the healing, natural salt. The sound of the hollow, plunging swells. The sight of the waves makes you ecstatic at even first glance. And lastly, most importantly, the feeling of the caring water. Calm and compassionate in its touch, yet cold and refreshing to the body’s boiling temperature. The situation. The waves, the water, the setting. This is ideally the dream of any surfer.
I am that lone surfer in the line up. Bobbing endlessly as the tide makes it way back out to sea. There is a light, clear atmosphere of peace. It is intriguing. This dark silence is interrupted suddenly by the first set of waves: perfection. I paddle, without aggression. There’s no need. I am alone and as happy as Kelly. The wave steals me and I am just a passenger of its raw force. I stand with a little struggle. A left-hander, my favourite. I speed along its endless face and do the smoothest, most satisfying roundhouse cutbacks. I rebound off the foam and continue riding for a minute more. Each new speed pump is more thrilling then the last, and the turns I perform are of ultimate exuberance.
“Just a little longer,” I mumble to myself. “You have to pull the carving 360 Matt.” I look at my watch, the only indicator of the real world. 10:45pm. The sun left the blue dome ages ago and the moon has painted it a new black. The stars: round, minute spots of silvery glow are also present. But, the moon rules the sky, as the large cream-coloured plate. The shiniest. I take my time to admire its extravagance; its natural glow attracts the sense of sight, seamlessness. I look, glance, stare, gaze, and study the sky. It is only right now that the sky is so beautiful. I am so pleased a tear swells up from my eye and adds itself the masses of clear water. When I find that lone tear in the ocean, the beauty will cease. The wetsuit keeps me warm, but a rip in the leg-part of it lets a delicate amount of distinctly cold water in. It enters into my privacy zone. It stains my skin in the colour of cold, transparent blue. But it’s pleasing to the skin - soothing.
My attention now focuses on the water. It is like clean oil leaking all over the moulds of the globe. The water is full of beautiful sea life, but the black water is a façade; masking the presence of powerful, devouring beasts of the ocean’s night.
The waves have gone for a coffee-break, the lull kicks in. My ear canals widen with suspicion as the dark silence recurs. Are there sounds of soft tidal movements? The smaller waves are breaking in a friendly manner closer to the shore. The tempo of the ocean is increasing into allegro. Some distant, fast-twitching object heads in closer. One fin, two fins. The fins vertically submerge into the water of the earth. My heart stops its rhythm. My breath is second to be affected by the threat. It quickens as a shiver of chilling wind blows over me.
I walk into the valley of the shadow of death, take a look at my life and realise there is something left. The heartbeat, the breath, and pain somehow keep me alive. Thoughts spin around in my head: my leg is ripped off? Pain? Think fast but clear! Fast but clear. Safety? Death? Life? Shark?
Blood. Deep and distinguished. Dark and fleshy. It sickens and weakens me with each new stroke towards the shore.
The lone street light has become my only source of vision.
“Paddle to the shore, it’s all you can do. Think about the hospital room, the cards, the flowers and all the waves yet to be ridden. Paddle and do not black out…”
Now picture this. The sun rises up and paints the sky a nice blue. I take a bird’s eye view of the beach and see this body. A soulless body. But then an overwhelming sensation of timelessness and gratitude overpowers the tragedy. The clouds are so high! The sky goes off into eternity. I am a mere passenger of its raw force. It steals me. I speed along into endlessness.
Dedicated to all those surfers who have been killed by sharks.
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