Flying To Neverland…

Hi guys! Sorry I haven’t been updating for a while. I’ve been flying off to the wonderful world of Neverland…

…or so I wish! In actual fact, I’ve been unbelievably busy since school started – I’ve had a lot on my schedule in such a short amount of time! But finally, I’ve found one of those rare moments of quiet that school life gives me, and so I think it’s time I told you guys a bit about what’s been going on now that I’m back in the busy flow of school life…

The biggest thing that’s happened this year so far would probably be getting a place in this year’s JUNIOR PRODUCTION! As I’ve said in my previous vlog, I auditioned for a role in the production, and for at least a week, I was waiting nervously. Then finally, the cast list was released, and I must have spent at least 5 minutes carefully reading each row – frankly, I was a little bit scared about the result! Then my eyes fell upon my name, and I was over the moon!

So now I’m involved in more than weekly rehearsals at lunch and after-school too, which is one of the main reasons why I haven’t been able to post anything for so long, alongside my many homeworks. I’m not sure if you guys remember, but I was also in last year’s production of ‘Around The World In 80 Days’. I played the Indian merchant and the dancing octopus – both roles I am very proud of!

This year’s production is called ‘An Awfully Big Adventure’, and it’s quite different than last year. It’s kind of a cross between Peter Pan and Mary Poppins, and it explains the origins of the world-famous children’s tale. It seems like a very good watch! This year, I’ll be playing the role of one of the grumpy Park Keepers that turn in to PIRATES when the park is transformed into Neverland through magical stories (see? I wasn’t completely lying about flying off to Neverland)! We’re basically the comedy of the show! So far, it’s been a really interesting acting experience – I can’t wait for what else this year’s Junior Production has in store for me!

But the Junior Production is only the icing on the cake…I’ve yet to get to the cherry on top! Less than a week ago, our English teacher set us a homework task of writing a revenge story. At first, I was struggling a lot to think of something to write about, but then a light bulb went off in my head, and after writing it, I handed it in more confidently than I had started off writing it! And guess what? I ended up getting my first GOLDEN BOOK of the year for it! Alhamdulillah, it’s truly a blessing from Allah, but also a sign that I should take this as motivation to carry on working hard!

So all in all, this first half-term has proved to be a very enriching and fruitful one…I can only think of what lies in wait for the rest of the school year!

Blessed,

Omar Mukhtar

ROOM

Room

It is dark. It is cold. I am scared.

I can’t remember anything but it all seems familiar. The grey stone walls, the weird mossy smell, the chains. The chains on my stomach. Why are they there? I can’t get out. There are no windows. The only light comes from the few cracks in the wall. There is a rectangular outline in the wall. A door? Yes, a door! I get up and walk towards it. I grab the handle. It’s locked. I shake and pull, but still it doesn’t budge. I huff and stomp my feet in frustration.

Clank! There is a noise behind me. I whip around. Nothing is there except for the chains. The chains. They’ve moved. They’re right at my feet. I kick them away and turn back to the door. I am about to drive my foot into it when something drags me from behind into the darkness of the corner of the room.

I wake up. It is dark. It is cold. I am scared.

The chains are there in front of me. I get up and go to the door. I try the handle again. Still nothing. I push and pull. Then I have an idea. I grab the chains of the floor. They are cold. And heavy. Very heavy. I whip them against the door. The sound of the metal against the wood is eerie, like fingernails on a chalkboard.

Cracks are starting to appear in the door. I raise my hands above my head for one last effort. I throw the chains against the door. I miss. Somehow. The chains wrap around me and knock me off my feet. I fall through the stone floor into the darkness.

I wake up. It is dark. It is cold. But I am not scared. I am angry. Angry at the chains. Angry at the door. Angry at myself. I’m going crazy. The chains are not there anymore. But the door is. I stand up and make my way towards it. Then I punch it. I punch and punch until my fists go red and my knuckles bleed. Then I scream. My throat is raw, but I keep on screaming. Then I drop to the floor, out of breath. If the door won’t give way, then I shall start on the wall. I’ll claw my way out through the cracks.

No. That won’t work. Wow. I am going crazy. I laugh. I laugh at how stupid I am. Soon the laughter turns into crying. Crying into screaming. Screaming into anger. Anger into one final push.

I grit my teeth and press my hands up against the door. The cracks in the wood grow, until at last, it shatters, like glass. I lose my balance and fall into the nothingness beyond.

Thud! I land on my feet. There is a slight pain in my legs. I can’t see anything. Everything is pitch black. The only sound that can be heard is my heavy breathing. But then there’s a thump. It comes from behind me. What is it? Whatever it is, I’m not going to wait for it to come get me. I start to edge away, trying my best to be silent. But that thing in the darkness pushes me to the floor. I have no other choice. I run. I run as fast as my legs can carry me. But I’m not fast enough. I feel it dragging me back by the collar. My strain to get away. But my efforts don’t work. It picks me up then throws me to the floor. My whole body throbs with pain. Quietly sobbing, I drag myself across the ground. I am desperate to get away.

The thing hisses threateningly behind me. It sounds demonic, deathly. I just know it wants to kill me. But why? No time to find out.

Crawling, crawling, crawling. Like a worthless little bug. I have never had to crawl for my life before, but I had never imagined it could be so terrifying. Gradually, I slow down. I am running out of breath. This is hopeless. I might as well die. I lie on the floor, waiting for the beast to take me and kill me. But then I see a glint of light. Daylight. A doorway. Hope.

Groaning, I pull myself onto my knees and drag myself closer to the heavenly light. I want to escape, but at the same time, I want to die from the pain. It’s just too much. But no. I can’t give up. Crawl, crawl, crawl. Crawl to safety, I hope. I hope. Just hope.

I am nearly there. Just a little more. But I don’t make it. My legs buckle. I drop to the floor and lie there, sobbing. It hurts so, so much. Soon, the deathly hissing surrounds me. It’s so loud it’s like it’s like is coming from my own mouth. The light fades. My limbs go numb. The hissing grows quieter. Then, emptiness.

I wake up. It is bright. It is warm. I’m in bed.

I look around. Everything seems normal. Just a bad dream. But where am I? How did I get here? I look down at my legs. They’re in thick layers of bandages. Did I have an accident? Am I in some kind of nursing home?

I get out of bed to investigate, but I can’t even walk to the door. My hands are chained to the bed. Those chains look familiar. I know them. I’ve seen them. But where? Then I remember, and a pang of fear hits me. These are the chains that I used to escape that dreary grey room. These are the chains that hunted me down. These are the chains that I dreamed of, but was it even a dream?

It is no longer bright, but grey and insipid. I take a look around the room. My eyes rest on the wooden desk in front of me. Piles upon piles of documents are stacked on top of each other. I read through them. I see my name at the top of one. They’re about me. I read on.

PATIENT SHOWS SIGNS OF SLIGHT DISORIENTATION. UNFOCUSSED, FREQUENTLY FORGETS CURRENT SITUATION. SCHEDULED FOR MORE APPOINTMENTS, WILL RECORD PROGRESS THROUGHOUT THE COURSE OF THE WEEKS.

Strange. I look to the other pieces of paper.

DAY 1:

PATIENT IS STILL DISORIENTED, DOES NOT RESPOND WHEN CALLED. EXPRESSIONLESS. MINIMAL SPEECH.

DAY 2:

PATIENT CANNOT RECALL BASIC FACTS ABOUT SELF, DOES NOT KNOW CURRENT SITUATION HE IS IN. SEEMS WARY OF OTHER PEOPLE. RECLUSIVE.

DAY 5:

DELUSIONAL. CALLS OTHERS BY MADE-UP NAMES. IS UNSURE OF OWN IDENTITY. HALLUCINATIONS OF INTRUDERS. PILLS PRESCRIBED.

DAY 10:

PATIENT HAS REFUSED TO TAKE PILLS. FREQUENT MOOD SWINGS. CLAIMS THAT HE IS BEING HUNTED DOWN BY “IT”, AN IMAGINARY BEING WITH CHAINS. ENJOYS VIOLENT ACTIVITY. TALKS ABOUT SUICIDE.

DAY 25:

PATIENT MUMBLES INCOHERENT WORDS. REACTS VIOLENTLY WHEN INTERRUPTED. ATTEMPTED ESCAPE. INJURED SEVERAL PEOPLE. HE MUST BE RESTRAINED.

DIAGNOSIS: PATIENT IS SCHIZOPHRENIC – LEVEL: DANGEROUS

I pull away from the desk. My head is spinning. I’m confused. Can I even trust myself? My inner voices become real, and they taunt me, tell me to get out. I’m not the person I know anymore. I don’t think I ever really knew myself before. I look at the chains and think, I’ve done this to myself. I look up to the mirror hanging on the wall, and my heart nearly stops. My reflection doesn’t look like the me I know. It hisses back at me, but this time in despair. The story is clear. I am my own victim. I am the beast.

Written by O. Mukhtar O. Mukhlis

26th October 2018

Into The Forest, But Never Out…

spooky forest background

The sun was high in the sky, but did not illuminate the dismal forest much, as its shine was filtered through the foliage of the dense forest canopy, leaving only a few rays of light touching the ground. Even so, there were many things to keep me relaxed while walking through such a place. The psithurism, for instance, was very calming as it travelled into my ears. The sweet scent of flowers and wild berries was quite soothing too. Other than the fact that the rest of the forest was not quite pleasant, one could agree that it was quite an enjoyable walk.

But, there is always a chance of an unexpected event ( a abad one, too, that is) happening at a time like this. And so that was the case for me. I realised that the air wasn’t quite as warm as it was before. I pulled my coat tighter around my body. The lovely aroma which had so wonderfully tantalised my nose whilst wafting through the air no longer lingered near me. It seemed unearthly for everything to change so suddenly. But then, I was walking through the forest in the middle of nowhere; anything could happen, what with the lack of light and vast air space. I told myself that I was just imagining things. I shook the thought off.

I continued on my journey for about 10 minutes, maybe 20, and just when I thought everything was going fine, I came face to face with another obstruction, the biggest one of all.

CRUNCH! The leaves behind me rustled. A few bushes shook. Somewhere in the forest, I heard the unmistakeable cry of a human. Now I was worried. My rapid breathing filled the air: it seemed to encourage the trees to whisper back. SNAP! A twig broke. Another scream. All my surroundings seemed to revolved around me, and just as I was about to turn and run, I met the worst thing I could have ever imagined: Him…

He Came Back To Cornwall

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He came back to Cornwall.

He came back from the war with a bloody arm, a bandaged leg and a few scars on his face. He came back from the war to find his dear family in their little village. He came back from the war, but he wasn’t expecting this.

The year was 1919. After spending a few more months in London, he finally decided to travel back to his hometown. He needed to feel warmth again, he needed to feel love and happiness, and his lovely little Cornwall was just the place for that.

Lugging his rucksack on his back, he walked into St Mawes, not knowing what to expect when he knocked on the door of his house. Maybe shouts of his name or crying or laughing and hugging. He walked through the streets filled with desolate but running shops, and many grey houses. They were tilted and uneven, like buildings from a fairy tale.

He walked further into the village, people eyeing him strangely as they passed him. Then he found it. Right in front of him was his childhood home, still standing as it had been 27 years ago.

Shuffling nervously up to the wooden door, he gave it a slow tap, creating a deep, hollow sound. There was a sudden scrambling inside, and then the lock clicked. The door creaked open, and the face of a middle-aged woman, wet with tears, met him. It was his mother, and as he looked over her shoulder, he spotted his father, sister and brother.

Hastily, his mother wiped her tears away. “Oh, hello,” she sniffled, “Um, who are you?”

He was puzzled. Why wouldn’t his own mother remember him? “It’s me, Mum. Your son!”

“Son?” she repeated, “My dear boy, you must be mistaken!”

“Who is it?” his father coughed.

“It’s a young man. He’s come back from the war. He says he’s our son!”

“Son? Poor thing, you can’t be! It’s all that war business getting to your head! Old Matthew, he…he, um, he died.”

Surely this was a dream, or some kind of practical joke! How would his own family forget him, and, what’s more, say that he was deceased? He simply couldn’t believe it.

“But…” he whispered, “But I’m Matthew!”

“Matthew was killed at the start of the war by a bomb in London.” his mother said firmly but not unkindly. “Do come in though, dear. You must be worn out!”

Silently, he stepped through the doorway, shutting the door behind him. “Thank you.” he murmured.

“This is Sarah and John.” his mother said, gesturing to his sullen-faced brother and sister. He did not respond.

Later on, they all sat down at the table in the kitchen, which was very familiar to Matthew. They had a dinner of corned beef and morsels of bread, and then they all retired to their bedrooms.

He had some trouble dozing off, and it seemed like a few seconds when he woke up again, realising that something was shaking his side. He widened his eyes and turned his head, only to find his ginger cat, Oliver. It was early dawn, and it would need feeding. He got up and walked into the kitchen, the floor making the occasional creak. Then he remembered. Oliver had died before the war.

He dropped the bowl he was holding onto the floor. It made a loud crash, sure to wake someone up. He turned around. The cat was not there. Frantically, he ran up the hallway to the other bedrooms, not finding anyone. He ran outside, meeting with cold, icy air biting into his cheeks. The village looked deserted. Then he saw something coming up the street. Oliver. He was dazed, confused, not understanding what was happening. He turned back to return to the house, only to be pushed to the floor by another man. It was his father, and he was armed with a gun.

“Heil Hitler.” he whispered. The family followed: “Heil Hitler!”

Then the father pulled the trigger, and then it was the end. If only he hadn’t felt the urge to come back home. If only he was ordered to stay in London. But he still arrived. He came back to Cornwall.

The Others – Part 1

the others doodle.jpg

March 20th, 1998. 3:15pm in Oppicretum, the only city known to be inhabited on planet Griseoculum. There was a Blemiyeh sat to Jake’s left, a Cockatrice to his right, a dwarf sat in his lap, a Brownie on his arm and a gargoyle perched on his head. Outside the bus stop he was sitting in was a sphinx, one of the few creatures in Oppicretum that spoke English and Grisian, babbling away with riddles and puzzles.

“Ooh, what about this one? What can you catch, but never throw? Hmm? A cold! Hahaha! Come on, try this! What binds two people together yet touches only one? A wedding ring! Oh, my Anubis, you’re worse than you look, you little toad!”

Jake was a 28-year-old man transferred to Griseoculum from Planet 56-B. He lived alone, and had no family that he knew of. He was the only human there – that is to say, part-human. Jake was also half-Kappa, because of the depression on the top of his head. A Kappa, as you might know, is a creature that resides in rivers, originating in Japan, Earth, around 3 million light years or so away from Griseoculum. Jake never needed to pour water into the depression, as he was able to perform magical feats without it. He was, however, able to breathe underwater.

Jake wasn’t planning to get on the hoverbus that afternoon. He had no idea why he was sat there. He was one of those people who did things for no reason at all. One minute had passed, and the Blemiyeh, Cockatrice, dwarf, Brownie and gargoyle, with the sphinx following behind the bus, had all boarded, leaving Jack on his own. He sat there for a few moments more, and snapped his fingers, conjuring a Snackable Delicator – a type of chocolate biscuit with food crystals eaten in Oppicretum. As he devoured the Delicator, he looked back towards the plaza behind him. There, he noticed a figure in the distance, a figure with a suitcase, a figure wearing a brown trilby hat, a figure in a tweed suit, a figure that slowly became clearer and clearer until Jake could see that it was not just a figure, but a man, a human.

Jake jumped up, which was also for no particular reason, and threw the Snackable Delicator aside, shortly glimpsing it disappearing with a pop. As he and the man drew closer, Jake shuddered slightly, which was another action with no reason (I told you Jake was one of those people who do irrational things), then stopped beside the clanktern, which was not really making any noise apart from the occasional tick, waiting for the man to arrive at the same point. When he did, the man dropped his suitcase, looking as if he was going to collapse. “Hello,” he said feebly, stretching out his hand so as to shake Jake’s, “My name’s Stephen, I’m 27 and-oh! I forgot! You, um, you do speak English, don’t you? Everything else I’ve come across talks some newfangled language, something like-”

“What, like ‘Bookoo zabar brakay zeebee’? I’m Jack, 28, the only part-human here – well, one of them.”

Stephen seemed to squeal with delight for a moment. “Oh, great! Could you support me for a few days? I don’t have any money, I don’t know the language and I only have two outfits, including my pyjamas!”

“Of course.” Jake picked up his suitcase, doing it reluctantly, which was yet something else without a reason, and asked, “Want a drink?”

Stephen, who was now sweating heavily, nodded, and Jake rubbed his fingers together, making a bottle of a type of fluid appear, handing it to Stephen.

“Asphod-Aqua.” Jake said, “Enriched with aloe vera, Purgatio minerals and Recuntills. Very healthy.”

“Oh, thank you.” Stephen said whilst taking a swig, then suddenly started babbling about anything that came to his mind.

“This planet is amazing! All these different creatures, they’re really cool. The sphinx caught my eye, all those clever riddles, and then you’ve got the hinkypunks, and Arabian agreets too! I must say, those Brownies are fascinating too, they’re purely brilliant…”

And as he rambled on, Jake decided that he would have some fun just this once, and with a short clap, there was a squelch, and Stephen was covered in custard. He spluttered out from behind the thick layer:

“Then, of course, we’ve got you.”

To be continued…

Under The Lake

under the lake photo

Every day is just about the same for me. Wake up, brush my teeth, wash my face, grab an apple and walk straight into that 300-foot deep lake outside.

I work under the surface – well, when I say under, I mean on the other side. There’s plenty of other people that come too, it’s part of life for us. We work for Death, writing reports on certain people that are assigned to us, then calculating their life expectancy. Death has less on his plate because of us, so all he needs to do is fix his schedule.

Everything we do, think and feel is written on our bodies as soon as we pass through the portal. When we resurface, the writing disappears. Death pays us quite a fair salary each week, so life is sweet. There’s just one catch: whenever I start work, my skin is empty.

Death doesn’t favour me as much as the others, even though my wages are the same. There was another one like me, but she died sometime before I started. They call us Outsiders, which is pretty rude, but I don’t care.

I was always empty-skinned until that one day when my life seemed to change forever. I went through the same morning routine: brush teeth, wash face, eat apple, walk into lake. I just didn’t know that under the lake, it would be different.

The first few steps in are through the water barrier, then we should arrive on the other side. This time around, though, the journey seemed longer, and as I delved deeper and deeper, I could make out the distinctive shape of a person in the distance, a man, tall and skinny. He gradually came closer and closer, until I could see his face. It was Death himself, and he had grabbed hold of my hand. Before he pushed me up to the surface, he uttered four words: “You, master of me.”

And suddenly I was floating back up, and I flew out of the lake, landing on my feet. I wasn’t the slightest bit wet, as always. There was a piece of paper in my hand, reading:

Take my place under the lake.

Yours,

D.

And on my hand was a single word, as if written in black ink. ‘No need to ask for wages anymore.’ I thought to myself as I walked back to my cosy little home, smiling at my own hand, reading over and over again ‘Death’.

You Cannot Tell

you cannot tell ph2

I first saw him in the window of my living room. He was wearing a worn out, black bowler hat and a brown leather coat. His eyes were illuminated on his dark, shadowy face. He was carrying what seemed to be a blade. Other people would have been terrified but I just stood there, sort of transfixed by his appearance. He came the next night, this time looking into the kitchen. A red rose replaced the knife in his hand. I wondered why he was coming to my house. Perhaps he was homeless. It was 7 days later when I started to become worried, though. He had been coming to my house and looking through the windows for a whole week and on Monday he had come with a knife again – it had blood stains on the tip. I thought about calling the police, but would that make me his next victim? I shuddered. I decided to stay put in my bedroom, lock all the doors and shut all the curtains. I soon dozed off.

you cannot tell ph3

The next morning, I was no longer in my bedroom. I was on the floor of my living room. A chalk outline surrounded me. Nobody else was there. I was very confused. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something come out of the wall. It was shadowy, scruffy, a tall figure looming like a tower. I turned around and saw that it was the man that I had seen in the window, pale-faced and untidy. He was holding the same blood-stained knife; it glinted faintly in the dim light. He gave me an icy stare, then leapt at me. His knife jutted out and he cried out in rage. I screamed and rolled over to dodge him, the knife swishing past and narrowly missing my head. He dived through the floor, like it was some kind of eerie wooden swimming pool. I crawled backwards to the sofa, bewildered as to where he was. Suddenly, he sprang out, shouting in anger. His face was nearly scarlet, his scruffy eyebrows highly slanted. I flinched as he flew through the air towards me. His coat was splattered with flecks of blood. I wanted to move but it seemed like I was glued to where I was. He brushed my shoulder, but as soon as he laid his hand on me, a bright white light lit up the room. The man howled as his hand glowed red. It must have burned, seared, split his palm open. Slowly, he started to disappear, like smoke wafting away from its chimney. Oh, how he shrieked! The sound echoed around the room. It rang inside my ears, it slowly mauled my brain. I closed my eyes tightly, nearly gluing them shut. When I reopened them, I was alone in the room. Everything was silent. No blood. No knife. No hat. No man. Just me, in the room of the house. I could hear police sirens wailing outside. They reminded me of banshees, sobbing in mourning. Apparently, my neighbour had heard the screaming and shouting.

you cannot tell ph4

From then on, I was alone in my house. No one came to visit, no one stood outside the windows. But one day, the doorbell rang, and outside was a black bowler hat, a rose, a knife and a note:

‘You cannot tell.’

you cannot tell ph1

Create A Story – 11 Reasons Why I Love It

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As a writer, I’m always looking for ways to improve, however I need to. Then I came across Create A Story, a children’s creative writing book in the making, and guess what? They asked me to review their early preview of the book! It was an honour to be offered something such as this! I agreed and tried it out, and let me tell you this: it was PAWSOME! Create A Story is definitely the go-to book for children between 7-11 who are new to the world of writing, but even kids who have been writing stories for a long time will benefit from it! I must admit, even I did! And, as promised, I am sharing my thoughts on the early preview book. Below are the 11 reasons why I love Create A Story!

  1. A writing topic is given and clearly explained so you have a better image in your head of what you are going to be writing about.
  2. The story is split into sections, making it easier for you to plan each part.
  3. Examples of main characters, villains and optional pets are shown so you have more ideas about your own characters.
  4. Once you choose a main character, you analyse them step by step, from their personality to the items that they are carrying. Very helpful so you know what your character is going to do in the story.
  5. Powerful vocabulary is used in the explanations to enrich knowledge and tricky words are underlined with meanings given beside them.
  6. To prompt setting descriptions, small spaces for the five senses are used so you can note down what you see, smell, taste, feel and hear.
  7. A space for drawing the setting can be used so that you have a clearer image of it in your head.
  8. The book gives examples of high-level grammar features that could be used in the story. These features are practised in short learning activities.
  9. At the end of the planning, a tick list is shown for you to be able to check that you have everything for your story.
  10. Before beginning writing, fun facts about the writing topic are given so that they can be used in the story, bringing it more to life.
  11. And most importantly, it makes writing fun!

Once again, I would like to say that I definitely recommend Create A Story to children writer wannabes and those who want to improve their writing! Parents can buy this book for their children as its features are hugely beneficial , and I have enjoyed writing with it! Keep an eye out for its launch very soon!

p/s: Special thanks to Andrew Massingham for honouring me with the early preview of the book!

Create A Story

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My Pobble Day! #throwback 13th October 2016

FYI, this post is a THROWBACK post! I have lots more pieces of written work that are also waiting to be published! 😛

Hello pawsome peeps! How are you? I hope you’re settling into the new school year OK. A lot of things have been happening since school has started. I am now a Digital Leader, I have gotten into Choir, the new members of JLT have been selected and a lot more! But, there was one particularly exciting event that took place yesterday. Read the following to find out…

It was…a Pobble Workshop!!! I had been waiting for this for ages! Finally, the day had come! Just to let you know, Pobble is a website where teachers and parents are able to post a picture of their children’s writing for the world to read! It is used by 10,000 teachers in over 100 countries and has 30,000+ pieces of work posted on it!

There were only four people out of the whole school that attended the workshop: me, Nimat, Leah and Shoaib. 7 other schools had also come to our school to attend the workshop. They were all Year 6, we were the only people from Year 5!

Of course, there was no better person to host it than the man himself, founder of Pobble, Simon Blower a.k.a. Mr Pobble! I found him very kind and welcoming; we all enjoyed working with him.

To start off, we were shown a picture of an old, scruffy-looking man walking along a road that was shrouded in a thick mist. The only other things that were there to accompany him were several clocks showing different times (mysterious! 😯) and an upside-down lamppost! Using this picture, we had to write three sentences about it: ‘I see…’, ‘I think…’ and ‘I wonder if…’. My sentences were:

  1. I see an old man walking down a foggy road.
  2. I think he may be near water.
  3. I wonder if he can control time?

Most of us wrote the same thing for the third sentence due to the fact that all the clocks in the picture were showing different times. This was related to the theme of our writing, which was…time travelling! We had to write a story in which we travelled through time to a different era. Now, this wasn’t like another old English lesson where we are set off to work after briefly talking about it as a class. In the workshop, we went through each stage of the story-one at a time-whilst we were writing to make sure that it was perfect!

Before we started on our stories, we had to choose an object that would send us on our time travelling adventures! My object was a golden pocket watch with azure hands. Other people chose things like keys, flowers, pendants and even cupboards! Interesting! 😀

After that, we moved on to the first stage of our story, which was called the hook. This was the opening paragraph, which had to grab the reader’s attention and convince them to read on. To cut it short, we had to basically ‘hook’ the reader onto our story.

The second stage of our story was to introduce the magical object that makes us travel through time. In this stage, we had to think of how the object came into our lives. Some people said that their parents owned it and passed it down to them whereas others said that they found it lying on the floor in the street.

The next stage that we had to do was write about our journey through time. The main things that we had to think about were what you could see whilst travelling through time and what it felt like when you time travelled. What colours could you see? Were you flying? Were you spinning? People came up with all sorts of crazy ideas such as ‘being thrown into a tunnel of colour’ and ‘shaking around like a rag doll’. One of my favourites was ‘energy surged through my body like a tidal wave’! 👍

Finally, we had to write up our dilemma! In this stage, we had to reveal the era that we had ended up in and create a problem that we had to face e.g. being captured or not being able to go back home. Then we had to finish off with something called a ‘cliffhanger ending’, which is when the dilemma of a story comes at the end. I pretended that I had travelled to the time period when Queen Victoria ruled and two guards were trying to catch me. Other children chose Ancient Egypt and the Roman time period. One person even decided to travel to the future when robots ruled Earth! Sounds fascinating!

pobble october 2016

When we finished all that, our story was complete and ready for posting! We gave our sheets to Mr. Pobble and waved him goodbye. Writing with the founder of Pobble was such a great experience. I didn’t want it to end! Hopefully I will have the chance to have another Pobble day another time! 🙂

Oh well, that’s all for this post. Hope you’ve enjoyed reading it! Don’t forget to keep your eyes peeled for the next post. Goodbye!!!

p/s: If you would like to visit Pobble, click on the link below:

https://www.pobble.com

A Piece of Cake: The Box in the Window

Every now and then, you will see a post called “A Piece of Cake”. In these particular posts, there will be a short story written by me! 🙂 This story is inspired by the POW (Power of Writing) that I did at school on Friday. Today’s story will be:

“The Box in the Window”

Once upon a time, there was a girl called Elizabeth who lived with her mother. They both lived in a huge house with three floors. There wasn’t anyone else in the house, only Elizabeth and her mother.

One day, both of them went to a jewellery store. Elizabeth saw a strange box in the window display. She stared at it for a little while. Then, her mother went inside and she followed. There were greeted by a cheery shopkeeper.

“Hello!” he cried. “How are you?”

“Fine thank you.” Elizabeth’s mother replied.

She stepped into the shop along with her daughter. A sea of gold filled the room.

“You have a very nice shop.” mumbled Elizabeth.

“Now,” interrupted Elizabeth’s mother. “I’m looking for a pearl necklace.”

“Well, I have just the one for you.” answered the shopkeeper.

Elizabeth slowly shuffled over to the box in the window while her mother was talking to the shopkeeper. What could be in it? she thought. She stroked the latch of the box. Then, slowly and carefully, she opened it up.

“No!” exclaimed the shopkeeper.

But it was too late.

To be continued…

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*Media Source: Google Images*