The CXC short story award 2001 went to this answer. CXC English A paper 2 question: Write a short story based on the picture below. ‘As my bare feet trudged through the sludge of human and animal waste, a terrible stench permeated the air. The putrid stench of garbage, faeces, and dead animals clung even to my clothes; the stench of poverty and despair went deep inside me, wrapping around my lungs so that I could barely breathe. took @ good long look at the pathetic shack I had called home for all of my sixteen years on this wretched earth. Broken bricks of concrete lay on the ground with no real purpose. Perhaps they had been bought with no real Purpose. Perhaps they had been bought with the real intention of one day building @ home; now they remained as simply bricks, the cruel symbol of a broken dream, a foundation that was never built. d tired etchings of the wood told a and swung with the wind everywhere, protruding the four square The shack was wooden; the sinews an story of their own. The galvanized door screeched - my welcome home. Jagged edges of wood were out above the galvanized door, pr ojecting out and aboveholes that were Supposed to be windows. Even the light that streamed in seemed reluctant to enter. The beams of sunlight were not rays of hope; they were Merely citizens under the law of physics which governed them, demanding that they illuminate the dam; home. The light only drew attention to tt everywhere. P dirt that formed the floor of my he deep darkness that lay I closed my eyes and stifled a scream, Twas barren even of tears to shed, did not want to live here. Surely God had created me for a purpose other than to enjoy the destitution of Poverty or appreciate the squalor that surrounded me. I had to believe that God was good, that He was on my side. I had no one else, My father would be returning soon. Every day I Prayed that he would never return. God never seemed to hear my Prayers. Would he be returning with another man? Another ogling lusting buffoon who would try to touch me ... who would start ripping at the little cloth 1 wore? Would he flash the money and bring rum as Payment to my father? That was the moment I made my decision, Contemplating another night of fighting and screaming and running, yet another night of knowing the weight of my father's blows; contemplating that made me decide to leave. The only thing that had held me back was the single promise I had made to my dying mother - to take care of him to make sure that my father and my brother did not starve. I went to the corner of the shack where the angel of my life, my four year old brother, lay sleeping I gently touched his shoulders. He awakened instantly. "Nathan", I said, “wake up. We're leaving." His unquestioning response indicated that he knew my meaning. We packed our few things and left. I washed him as best as I could with the river water that lay nearby. I then cleaned myself, wiping away the surface dirt and donning my only other item of clothing, a simple black dress. Together we walked, with bare feet, along the gravel of the road that led to5 life. I held my brother's hand and smiled: 1 wondered what NE was eed his tiny hand squeezed mine tightly. “It's OKAY" Edwina," he whispere' quietly. “1 erust you." essay length: 578 words vent, ten by Vanessa Chee of St Joseph's CoM This essay was wri idad and Tobago (2 port-of-Spain, Trini4 CXC English A pa 7 per 2 question: U: i i short story. se the picture below to write a The CXC short story award 2002 went to this answer, I stared at the postcard in my hand, a sudden warmth, then coldness, pervading my body. Scarcely noticing the postman as he gave me a casual wave, I stood there, in the driveway, like a woman gone mad. Then I was stumbling, the world a blur through my tears, pushing open the front door and bolting it. Sinking to the floor, I buried my head in my hands and wept, miserably, for what I held was the evidence of what my marriage was, a sham. What was the use, I thought, of being married to a successful lawyer and having the picture-perfect life? What was the use of marrying someone who did not love you? I stared at the words again. How clever it was! Wish you were here! Indeed, I thought, I wish I was there, to punch you in the face. No longer was I crying, I felt a rage within me and my anger gave me strength. How could I have been so blind? Why did I not see the tell-tale signs? You fool! I thought. I cursed myself for my ignorance. Look what he had the nerve to send you. The image and the words were more than a slap in theface. It was as though Mark had taken my entire life and just cruelly, happily flung it back at me. I hate him! I hate him! 1 shook my head trying to clear the words but it was to no avail On second thought, we'll call you! One sentence, only one, but, by God, it meant so very much An urgent business conference, he had said. What a smooth liar! Of course, it was natural for him to take his very young and beautiful secretary. What a change from his plain, quiet wife! I stood in front of the kitchen sink, Never a more beautiful day for sadness. Blue sky, golden Caribbean sunshine and only a few cirrus clouds in the distance. Oh, Mark must be enjoying himself. What was he doing now? I wondered The rage returned, but fleetingly. Remember, I told myself, he's coming home today. "Yes!", a little voice echoed in my ear, "and we'll have a surprise for him!" He walked in through the door, smiles all around. “Happy Valentine's Day!" I gave him a tight, forced smile. “Something wrong?" Ah! He really was a good actor. He would even dare to ask me this, today on a day when people are supposed to be exchanging vows of love. I felt the cold metal of the gun strapped to my leg and it gave me courage. 1 opened my mouth, the words of confrontation straining to leap out like hounds pulling against a leash. Could I do it? Yes, I must! I started to reach down. His cell phone rang. I let out the held breath slowly. I was vaguely aware of him talking on the phone. He hung up.asm ~ a She wanted to know if we got her postcard. You were on their second honeymoon trip..." Hi i rip..." H iddenly pale face. ° Pvorewons clear - 1 had never even read the card. My God, I had almost \usband! jth: 543 words This essay was written by Angelina Outar, s College, Guyana (2002)The CXC short ‘story award 2003 went to this answer. CXC English A paper 2 question: Some people never give up. They keep going on and on, Write a story beginning ith these words. “Some people never give up. They keep going on and on and on. People of this calibre have forged themselves a place in history's archives, boys, and if You live up to the challenge, so will you. Do your country proud. ‘The words of the arrogantly confident field commander whistled through his. ears as a landmine exploded behind him. The blast of choking sulphur and ash rocked him, sending him to his knees on the ground. The screeches of Arabic curses seared his mind; he closed his eyes and wondered, “Is this what going on means?" How ironic it was that the passionate speech, fired with patriotism, had been given what felt like centuries ago, on the soil of a country he doubted his feet would ever kiss again. How ironic that he, a humble field soldier, now gambled with his life and a dubious met: weapon, on the battlefield of someone else's war, while the illustrious ‘commander was tucked safely home, no doubt commenting gravely on the exploits of "our boys out there". He struggled to rise to his feet at the same time dreading the visual Holocaust sure to assail him. The centre of the town's once prosperous financial district had been transformed into a base of squalor and destruction, where blood ran in the gutters instead of water “oh, for a taste, a drop of water," the soldier thought, raising his eyes to the relentlessly blazing Middle-Eastern sun. Mere feet away from him, children garbed in tattered rags kicked at the remains of a decaying mongrel. The stench of putrescence that rose from its desiccated limbs ought to have made them vomit, but they surely had nothing to expel from gastric acid, Surely these people were promis: wondered, the benevolent gesture of a superior victory. No? Then it seems the first casualty of wit y country, he iden: of itshorrendous shriek rent the oppressive, steamy silence; the soldier A sudden, whirled around, hands clutching his rifle. A hideous figure that might once except for the torture marks of poverty and have been called a woman, suffering carved into her frame, staggered through the street. Her skeletal arms were raised to the blazing skies above as if in praise, yet the sorrow imbedded in her deep onyx eyes made it clear she had nothing to rejoice for. The soldier followed her line of vision, seeing a young girl, of perhaps five years old, being detained by one of his colleagues, some metres away. He remembered that some of the local children had been stealing food supplies from their base and was not surprised to see handfuls of bread clenched in the child's grubby fists. Suddenly, without warning, the soldier up ahead slapped the child resoundingly about the face. Her little neck jerked backwards, as her head bobbed from side to side with the force of his blows. Piteous, moaning sounds escaped her mouth. Horrified, the young officer called out to his colleague to cease abusing the infant, but his reaction was overshadowed by that of the woman. Imprecations burst from her mouth as she sprang forward with more energy than her emaciated limbs could possess. Angry, violent flames burned in her eyes in the place of sorrow, as her bare feet slapped the gravel of the ground. She cleared the distance in seconds, snatched the weeping child from her oppressor's grasp with a fierce snarl, like a lioness would make when she discovers one of her cubs has been maltreated. The young soldier was amazed to see that her soles were bleeding, that lesions and gaping cuts peered from the bedraggled fabric of her dress. He tried to remember if he had ever seen anyone so strong, wondered if the commander he had once idolized would behave like this, to protect something he loved. He stood in the middle of the street, applauding silently as the woman and child nade a hurried getaway, past the rubble of a destroyed building. He turned is back on his enraged counterpart and began walking off.Place where suffering was but a nasty d forever. The young soldier, once lit with memory, where freedom laste ight, to win, stood looking at shimmering ideals, once burning with desire to fi their bodies, for a second, for a year. Though he was not dead, he felt part of his own soul flee his body, in disgust at the sight of what people did to other people. He leaned over and closed the eyes of the woman, realizing bitterly that her example of 'n had been more real and Pure than any exhortations of a vai ever giving up" inglorious commander, "You", he said to her lifeless body, with More conviction than he had ever felt, "have taught me what it means to goon". Essay length: 905 words This essay was written by Shivanee Ramlochan, St Joseph's Convent, Port- of-Spain, Trinidad and Tobago (2003The CXC short story award 2004 went to this answer CXC English A Paper 2 question: Write a short story based on the picture below He hungrily gulped in the fresh air, the clean tang of the sweet smell of rain still lingered in the atmosphere and his nostrils welcomed it - it was something he knew. All the lush vegetation around him blended into a monotonous shade of green. Everything seemed so clean and new - almost rejuvenated. Although great, big tufts of grey lurked around ominously in the sky overhead, he felt calm ... serene. Perhaps today he would remember which way home was. He had been walking for days it seemed. His wet suit hung tiredly from his gaunt body and once again he smothered the pangs of hunger assaulting his stomach. Noticing a speck at the end of the long, winding road, his heartbeat accelerated - was this home? He pushed his old bones to walk a little faster, maybe he would be home soon. As he got closer and closer tothe end of the road, the speck began to take on a definite form and with a laden heart, he realized that a shack was the only thing that stood out among the blur of green. On reaching the tiny shack - obviously abandoned since it was overwhelmed by clinging green vines - he suddenly felt tired. All his strength seemed to be sapped away by an unseen force and he lowered his tired form to the grassy ground. Cradling his legs to his chest, he rocked back and forth, trying to draw some comfort from the soothing movement. That was the way Susan found him. His hair stood up in all different directions, wrinkled creases marred his brow and his whole posture was that of a frightened, confused man. A twig snapped under her feet and he suddenly jumped up, his bones creaking in protest. The young woman before him smiled. A smile that seemed to be a brilliant beam of sunlight in his otherwise melancholy world. Her rich, chocolate-brown eyes were filled with warmth and understanding. These eyes mesmerized him - they seemed to reach out to him in an unspoken, yet thankfully loud, message. He found himself offering up one wrinkled, trembling hand and without a thought, the young woman grasped it - hung onto it as though it were something to be treasured and he felt the warmth of her hand spread all through his entire body. That warmth, combined with the warmth of her smile and the warmth in her beautiful dark eyes seemed to banish all the cold loneliness and bewilderment in his heart. Susan found her eyes welling up with tears and tried her best to remain standing. This time he had been gone for so many days that it seemed like a miracle that he was alive. "Home?" he asked, his voice sounding as trusting and as innocent as that of a child. "Yes, home, grandpa," she reassured him as she led him slowly out into the road where her car was parked.His bearded face split into a grin as he spotted her car. He was so very thankful that he did not have to walk again - he was completely fed up of walking. As Susan saw his grateful smile, she once again cursed the disease that had robbed her grandfather of all his intelligence, vitality and all his control of life itself, leaving in its wake this scared, confused shell of an old man - Alzheimer's, the disease that her grandfather, a renowned doctor, had tried to fight, but had lost.exe ane CXC short story award 2006 went to this answer. nglish A paper 2 question: Write a short story based on the picture below. She sat at the corner with vacant eyes, discarded just like the rubbish which surrounded her. On one foot she wore a discarded men's boot which she found scavenging for food. On the other she wore a woman's shoe which seemed to be quite stylish but now had a broken heel and was tied to her feet by a string which viciously bit into her instep. In between head and toe she wore what appeared to be various parts of clothing which had various stitching all over resembling a dirty blanket. As she sat on the ground oblivious to the comments and remarks of those around her she held in her hand a picture. The picture itself seemed to have been in colour but due to time it reverted back to black and white. The edges were yellow and there were many cracks in it due to constant folding and unfolding. In the picture one could barely make cut the face of a young man smiling, his emotions frozen in time. The picture blurred as tears fell and grubby fingers reached out to wipe the tears away but only succeeded to remove what little was left by time. The picture was her only family andone could see thi east this by the way she carefully folded it and replaced it by her Gettin och em Wa) her throne of rubbish she began to walk down the street — e disgust of passers-by. She draped the little dignity she had left er like a cloak shielding herself from their abusive remarks. After walking for some time she halted at the edge of the town in front of @ vast green paradise. A smile broke on her face and she ran like a child into the field. A cool breeze blew taking with it her photograph. It floated on its crisp grey wings uncertainly, a bird now learning to fly. She gave chase and the picture seemed to be playing a game allowing her fingers to come tantalizing so close to grasp it before it sped off drifting out of her reach. She followed it into a small meadow before it drifted down landing on the ground. While catching her breadth she looked around, she had not been to this part of the field before. Flowers covered the ground in a red carpet as far as the eyes could see and in the distance she could see a grand old elm which stood solemnly in a corner granting shade for the younger plants. The high noon sun climbed over the old elm and burst in a golden glory. She sat on the highest throne and cast out her golden fingers over her domain. Suddenly she was filled with an unutterable joy and began to dance, oh how she danced. As she twirled around the meadow she dislodged petals which circled her like a scarlet snowstorm. As she danced onlookers looked on in surprise of this spectacle. She danced and danced till she fell to the ground in a fit of giggles. Looking up at the sun she lay catching her breadth rejuvenating her old bones. She stared at the sun a glittering gem in a sea of velvet. Then she saw it, a vision of beauty. The butterfly's blue and golden wing contrasted with the scarlet flowers around her. It flew lazily around her before drifting away. Getting up she began to follow its golden wings enthralling her,enticing her. S| a pe lowed it back into the town and down an ally not water stil following em its a She stumbled over crates and slipped in r goal. Suddenly the butterfl when she followed, it disappeared. ly rounded a corner and Sitting on a crate, realization to where she was hit her; she began to run out of the ally towards the light when several shadows slid into view. Their malicious eyes burned red wanting bl i tr a nt ting ood. She pleaded with them; the only ir laughter which echoed around her in a distorted symphony. She spun around and begun to run. She ran as fast as she could from the footsteps of the tormentors behind her. She ran around a corner and was trapped. It was a dead end; she whirled around and begged her tormentors for mercy but her cry fell on deaf ears. She knelt down and began to beg for her release when a rotten fruit hit her, followed by several more. She curled herself into a ball and wished herself to a place of light and love as the rain of rotten fruit continued. Suddenly she felt a sharp pain in her neck. Someone in error had thrown a stone. ‘As she lay with the oil of her life slipping through her fingers, the torrent of fruit ceased. The attackers recognizing their folly had fled. She lay there with blood seeping through her fingers like a dam unleashed. She called out for help but the walls threw her words back mockingly. She lay on her back, blood staining her clothes - a lamb taken to the slaughter. Then suddenly it came, a vision of beauty. She reached for the butterfly, it representing her her love but it was just out her reach. It floated on its dreams, her hopes, ‘0 tantalizingly close. She reached with golden wings tantalizingly close, oh si sightless eyes one last time, then her hand fell. Esssy length: 903 words ara of Queen's Royal College, Trinidad This essay was written by Mario Guev; and Tobago.the CXC short story award 2007 went to this answer. CXC English A paper 2 question: Write a story which includes the words, "The phone rang once and stopped. It rang again. This was it now." the numbing feeling of guilt n looking living room on The dingy brown, the Beads of sweat slowly trickled down my face, stealthily creeping up my spine. I sat in my westert the cowboy patterned sofa, shaking from head to toe. room had been painted, it seemed nauseating at this moment - or was it the fact that the walls of the room seemed to be closing in on me. "I wish they would," I thought. My mind drifted to two hours earlier that day in my classroom. Life seemed less complex then. "Come on Susan! There is no one here. Why can't you just this once kiss me?" My boyfriend Zack pleaded desperately with me getting more agitated with each second that was added to his wait. My eyes admiringly drank him in from head to toe. "What was wrong with me?" I thought. Zack was expertly molded in every way possible and yet still I found it so hard to indulge in anything with him physically, because of fear of being caught. His caramel brown skin seemed to seep ail over him. He was tall, with full, luscious pink tips, breath-taking glassy black eyes, and curly dark hair. The desire in his eyes drew me in, like a fisherman reeling in his catch."Zack, , perp camnmabas Physical contact at school is forbidden e : If I was Seen & lot to do with my not doing anything with you. Could not bear to face their anger and disappointment.” "Tkn ‘ tm aan but we've been together for three months. IS one time wouldn't hurt, and I promise we won't get caught." T looked up at him questioningly, praying for the Lord to restore my sense of judgment, as I was on the verge of surrendering to him. As though sensing my wavering in thought, Zack leaned over unto my chair and placed his nose directly on mine. The scent of flower scented soap softly caressed my nostrils mixed with the baby powder smell it seemed of his youthful perfecton. My heart hammered against my ribcage, almost arresting the air which tried in vein to enter my body. I leaned in towards him, and shakily pressed my lips against his. "What are you doing?!!" A loud, accusing male voice came crashing between Zack and me. I froze. "Susan James and Zachary Elliott?!! This is totally unbelievable!" the voice continued. I turned reluctantly to face a tall, dark man, clad in a grey suit with a repulsive tie, staring angrily at me. It was Mr Forbes, our school Principal. "Iwas. .," I started to say. I was however interrupted by Mr Forbes. "Head home now, the two of you, and wait for me to call your parents." The phone rang once and stopped. It rang again. This was it now. Like an alarm clock, all my nerves spiraledny body into an unhealthy vibration, My mind was jogged back to reality. I could taste the breakfast had eaten that morning re-entering my mouth. "Susan!!" “Huhit" I replied completely out of touch with everything. ‘Answer the phone!!" my mother bellowed from the kitchen. My stomach, rotated 360°, and knotted into a terrible bow. The phone kept ringing. "Susan! Susanl..... Susan!" My mind seemed to be playing tricks on me. The voice which kept calling my name seemed to be transforming into that of a male's. A hand tenderly rested on my shoulder and gently shook it. “Susan, are you OK?" I turned to look at my enquirer, and to my surprise I was staring right into Zack's face. The school bell was ringing uncontrollably. "Susan, I just asked you if you'd kiss me, and you totally zoned out for about five minutes. Aren't you going to answer me "Oh.... I don't think we should do that just yet. I have a funny feeling about the outcome. 2" "But Susan, we've been ...." he started. "T know, but I'm not ready," I interrupted. "OK, I respect that" he replied, "I'll wait" quite to my surprise. I hadn't expected this response. We got up from our desks and walked towards the door. "Huuuhhh!!" I was finally able to breathe. "Thank God it was just a daydream", I thought.1 CXC short story award 2008 went to this answer. cxC English A paper 2 question: Use the picture below to write a short story. Jacquie Graves had always been a jealous and ill-tempered woman, who always took action before asking questions or never thought of the consequences of her actions. Everyone in the village knew that she had killed her sister in a jealous rage, but none had been able to prove it. Not even her poor mother who had died of grief had known, and on her death bed had weakly whispered to her evil daughter with her last breath "Jacquie, yO evil will come back go haunt yo”.... One day Jacqline was sitting under the big mango tree in her back yard, relaxing in the shade and sipping some cold passion-fruit juice from a glass. Suddenly the entire yard became silent as a cemetery at night and a large dark cloud passed over the sun. A strange, unearthly breeze began to blow and a sudden freezing cold descended upon Jacqline. In confusion, she got up and the mango tree which had been sterile and unfruitful ever since the day her sister Maurine disappeared, began to creek and groan as mangoes of all shades and size began to bloom magically before her eyes, weighing down the boughs of the mighty tree. Jacqline’s glass slipped from her hand and shattered as her hand flew to her throat in horrified shock. Abruptly, a soft, frigid breeze blew from the direction of the tree and on it Jacqline heard herAsam ayeuag asiuag Aq uaTm sem Aessa SIYL UBIH ,SHID JO PI spiom €6g :436ua| Aessa “payoumy sJabuy S,uojzajays 24} pue Be4j OBueW ay} JO uo!q9aJ|P BY} WOy PuUIM Jo JsNB d1jOVe Ue UO payp daqy6ne] jo ysung Burpyuly ‘aGuess © Jay PUY PUR Jay Jaye aiem jay Woy SUOWAP J! Se PAeA OU Wo ues ayaNog SsIW “sy e OI! 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JeUI DINO! PaapU! Sem 3! pue ‘aread ons 319) pey dy 2ouIs apesap e URYY B10! Uaag PeY IT “WI PadojeauD Aqyjnbuen Jo asuas eWoseme Ue /UMOP S1BMOL aU Ae] 0} JUAG dy Svwas as though he could actually see the face tha’ eye, he was four year: “Anansi”, act ; par hear the sound of her laughter again; sai a Only smiled its warmth on him, In his mind’s again; listenirg to his sister read the book, It ha i Seo to be assured of great company each day as he Anansi was nis an School. Regardless of the countless of other story books, listening ae Ourite, simply because it was Amelia’s. He could fall asleep Isp of her voice. He could fall asleep floating in the adventures his mind would conjure up. But then, something happened. It changed his whole life; turned his world upside-down and inside out, and left him alone in the cold walls of the orphanage... As the bus drove through the country-side, the children’s excitement grew. The green scenery fascinated them, most of all Amelia. When they had finally reached their destination, everybody raced out and into the compound. There was so much to indulge in, so much to amuse them. Amelia found the pond. The blue-green coolness of the water was seductive. As she stood there looking at the many tiny fish swimming about, she was pulled in a sort of web that made her want to go in. But of course, she could not do so. The words of Nanna Grant rang in her head, “Stay away from the ponds. I won’t be responsible for anyone drowning today?”But she coul marae ee but think, what harm would it do if I just bend down enjoying the texture a multicolored fish?” And so she did. She was near-by. She was ee of one, idl she heard the shriek of the other children noticed when th caught up in her own tactile world, that she had not " ey suddenly bumped into her. And before she knew it, she was gasping for air. ‘Nanna! Nanna! Come quick! Amelia drowning?” Only, when Nanna made her way to the pond on big, rubbery legs, it was too late. Amelia had already drowned.. Now, as he remembered the sight of his sister’s lifeless body floating in the water, tears trickled down his face. He was that little boy once more shocked into silence, wanting only to know why his sister wouldn't get out; why his sister wouldn’t talk to him. It was the scft thud of something at his foot that made him look down. It was that story book Anansi, he had been holding in his hand. A childhood reminiscent of Amelia.