Figurative Language

1. Metaphor: A comparison without using "like" or "as." Example: The sky is

a blue blanket.
2. Rhyme: Moon spoon
3. Simile: A comparison using "like" or "as." Example: Her hair is as golden as
the sun.
4. Personification: Giving human qualities to non-human things. Example: The
flowers danced in the breeze.
5. Hyperbole: Exaggeration for effect. Example: I could eat a million
cookies!
6. Onomatopoeia: Words that sound like what they represent. Example:
Buzz, meow, quack.
7. Alliteration: The repetition of the same sound at the beginning of words.
Example: Sally sells seashells by the seashore.
8. Idiom: A phrase that means something different from its literal meaning.
E.g. It's raining cats and dogs.
9. Pun: A play on words. Example: Why did the tomato turn red? Because it
saw the salad dressing!
10. Imagery: Using descriptive words to create a mental image. Example: The
stars twinkled like diamonds in the sky.
11. Repetition: Repeating a word or phrase for emphasis. Example: I really,
really love ice cream!
12. Symbolism: Using an object or image to represent something else.
Example: A heart symbolises love.
13. Irony: When the opposite of what is expected happens. Example: A fire
station burning down.
14. Allusion: A reference to something well-known. Example: She was as brave
as Wonder Woman.
15. Euphemism: A polite way of saying something unpleasant.

Example: He passed away instead of he died.

She’s not the brightest candle on the cake.

16. Assonance: The repetition of vowel sounds. Example: The cat sat on the
mat.
17. Consonance: The repetition of consonant sounds. Example: I wish I could
wash this said Josh
18. Metonymy: Using a word to represent something closely related to it.
Example: The pen is mightier than the sword (pen represents writing
which is closely related to it but not the same)
19. Synecdoche: Using a part to represent the whole Example: Check out my
new wheels (referring to a car).

All hands on the deck (hands represent all the crew in the ship)

20.Antithesis: Two contrasting ideas put together. Example: It was the best
of times, it was the worst of times.
21. Litotes: describes what something is not. Uses negative language to give
positive stress to the meaning of the sentence.e.g:
❖ She's not unkind.
❖ Polygamy wasn't uncommon in the country.
22.Paradox: A statement that contradicts itself and seems impossible.
Example: Less is more.
23.Synesthesia: Mixing up the senses to create an image. Example: The loud
music tasted like spicy salsa.
24.Zeugma: Using a verb to modify two or more nouns. Example: He lost his
keys and his mind.
25.Chiasmus: A reversal of the order of words. Example: Ask not what your
country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country.
26. Anaphora: Repetition at the beginning of a sentence or successive clause.
Example: I have a dream. I have a dream.
27.Epiphora: Repetition at the end of a sentence or successive clause.
Example: I love ice cream. You love ice cream. We all love ice cream!
28.Juxtaposition: Two contrasting things placed closely together

“Parting is such sweet sorrow”

Enjambment: When a sentence or thought continues onto the next line.

Example: I like to run

Through the fields of green

Where the flowers bloom

And the sky is serene.

Note: Caesura creates a pause or break in a line of poetry using a comma, colon,
semicolon, or dash. E.g.” To be or not to be, that is the question”

‘Be’ creates a caesura which divides the line into two distinct parts and allows a
pause to reflect on the question that is being posed

Direct and Indirect speech

Direct: She asked, “Are you coming home today?”

Indirect: She asked if I was going home that day.

1. She always wears a coat → He said that she always wear a coat
2. I am looking for my keys → She said that she was looking for her keys
3. She has written three letters to her friend → He said that she had
written three letters to her friend
4. My friend gave me a bar of chocolate → he said that his friend had
given him a bar of chocolate

Will → Would

Can → Could

May → Might

Must/ Have to → Had to

Comprehension

Dissect any given texts as if it’s autopsy. You can do this by

1. Question - ask who, what, where, when, why (gives only a basic idea)
2. If any jargon is used: break the word into suffix and prefix/ contextual
meaning. If not, cover the word and try fill in the gap
3. Evidence for points found in ‘1’
4. Infer - anything that gives you subtle hints as in emotive language,
semantic fields, connotations, moods, intentions.

Semantic fields - group of words related in meaning E.g. Animals — cat,

dog, bird

Connotations - positive or negative

associations E.g. ‘home’ has positive
connotations because it’s associated with
warmth, safety.

Emotive language - Words that evoke

specific emotion for influencing readers

When analysing, work out:

Meaning & purpose of the text

Figurative language used for the purpose

What effect did writer intend to give (writer’s effect)? And was the intention
successful?

Always work implicit and explicit meaning of texts!

Summary Writing

- Use own words, do not repeat key words and phrases. Always find a
synonym for the key word that gives meaning to the sentence.
- Use connectives
- Continuous paragraphs and *note word limit*
 - n/b: never add in your own opinion or details, only summarise the given
text.

—— was a core theme in ——

—— is often presented as a comical character:

The phrase “-----” highlights the writer’s bias towards/intention to…

Writing

Good essays have varied sentence lengths ( short sentence after a few long
ones.) What effect is intended?
Emphasis, clarify, shock the reader, increase pace for effect?

n/b: In exams, specify simple,compounds or complex sentence if mentioned part

of writer’s effect

Consonance - may create a sense of anger or aggression. It can provoke and

antagonise.

Assonance - Repeated vowel sounds often makes the writing sound soft;
soothing or gentle tone to emphasise

Authenticity - can be created by giving small details like:

Joe Ball, 19, from London says

n/b: language effects (figurative language) can be discussed regarding

intention/purpose, mood, effect of texts.
Writers often rely on certain effects to bring across a message so be sure to
ask yourself if the writer succeeded in using the effect? What is the writer
trying to create? E.g. A sense of injustice

Forms of writing:

● News report
● Magazine article
● Formal letter
● Formal report
● Interview
● Journal entry
● Speech script
n/b:
~ always keep in mind the appropriate tense, formal or informal & first person
or third person

Persuasive Writing

1. Emotional

“Without your support, these pandas have little hope of survival. Would you like to
ensure these majestic creatures survive for your children and grandchildren to see?
If so, please give £50 today. It’s not too late to help save pandas from extinction.”

Language used is very emotive: “majestic creatures” implies something special

that needs to be looked after, which makes us feel responsible. The use of
second person makes this very personal & forces the reader to feel something.

2. Authoritative
“The Royal Society of Panda Preservation urges you to act fast. The RSPP has
recorded a sharp decline in numbers and believes the species could die out within a
generation. The RSPP asks for just £50 to help fund its important work.”

The whole basis of this argument is that the RSPP know what they’re talking
about; you can trust what they’re saying because they’re the experts and should
be believed. Notice there are no figures to back up their argument; they don’t
really need to as they’re the authority.

3. Logical

“Recent figures show the panda population has declined by 90% in the last 15 years.
It is forecasted that there will be fewer than 100 pandas living in the wild by 2025.
A donation of £50 will pay for further research into ways of conserving the panda
population.”
This is a very effective argument because facts don’t lie! The cold, hard figures
here speak for themselves. Obviously you will want to ask who provided these
figures, and whether they be trusted.

n/b: Good arguments blend the three techniques.

There’ll be fewer than 100 pandas in 10 years; what will you tell your
children then..?”

Uses both specific figures as well as emotive language.

n/b: Adjust the ratio for your audience. E.g. if you’re told to
write to a family member, you may want to focus on more of the
emotional argument.

Make a plan for your persuasive writings: write down your points
and group them into pathos, ethos, and logos.

*Use words like ‘urgent’ and ‘imperative’ to bring across a sense

of importance.

Relating rule.
If your discussing injustice — relate to imprisonment (imbalance) and
represent your argument using words like ‘locked’, ‘punishing’, and
‘imprisonment’.

Uncertainty - Sea
Use metaphors like ‘being at sea’ or ‘in choppy waters’

Format of Persuasive Writing

n/b: talking about the effect of the problem before clarifying the issue (as a
small introduction) is quite effective

Persuasive Writing

1. Heading
Give direct command E.g. Get baking!
2. Opening
Introduce the purpose
3. Information
Include facts or statistics
4. Anecdote
Short story E.g. Using this brand changed my life
5. Repetition
Slogan, repetition of key phrases
 1. Start with a bang. Immediately show what side of the argument you’re
on. You can even say that you’re outraged about the topic. If the topic is
about a crisis, you can use that word in your introduction, or even in your
first sentence. (opening)

2. Now zoom out and set the scene. Give some wider context about the
topic. Explain why it’s an issue in the first place, using information you’ve
gleaned from the extract to give additional detail. (information)

3. Give a personal anecdote.

Mention how this issue relates to a personal memory or an experience;

perhaps a holiday or a hobby you have. That way, your passion for the
argument is sincere. It will really help to give your answer some character
and individuality. (anecdote)

Write with enthusiasm. Ensure the examiner can hear your voice. Write with a
bit of passion, like you really care about the topic.

End with confidence.

Finish your answer with a powerful sentence related to your argument.This will
‘wrap up’ your answer and make it look finished, which will tell the examiner
you’re in control of your writing. (Repetition)

n/b: To get what you want, MAKE THEM THINK

How to educate?
1. Didactic: it means giving instruction, particularly a moral one, in a
lecturing-type of way.
2. Pedagogical: This is a more interactive way of educating people. It lets people
figure it out for themselves by asking them questions and inviting to them
think.

E.g. Rheatorical questions, invite them to draw their own conclusion.

Sentence Connectors
➔ Similarly
➔ Conversely
➔ However
 ➔ Additionally/ in addition
➔ Moreover
➔ Furthermore
➔ Subsequently
➔ Nevertheless
➔ In contrast
➔ Consequently
➔ Despite/ in spite of
➔ As a result
➔ Hence
➔ Due to
➔ In conclusion

Plot twists
Huge plot twists - Plot twists thrive on backstories and foreshadowing

Light plot twists - These are created by making an expectation for the reader
then breaking it.

E.g. My name is Josh Kidman, age 26, and I discovered the cure to cancer, Ebola
and AIDS. I thought I could once again save the world, but I was wrong. After
months of continuous work and sleepless nights, I have found nothing,
absolutely nothing.

Contrast

Think of what you’ll be describing, does it relate to something positive or

negative

E.g. Robbery - described as a negative act

Your challenge is to describe robbery as a good act and exactly what it isn’t
perceived as.
E.g. It is important to consider the circumstances that drive an individual to
commit such acts

Assassin’s moon

If you're describing a moon, name three prominent adjectives regarding what

you’ll describe.
E.g. Mysterious, dark side, secretive
What do these adjectives describe?
E.g. An assassin, so you’ll describe the moon as an assassin of the night

Now relate ‘Assassin’ to some – accessories or things that come under assassin
Blood
Assassin's blade
Secretive

Find ways, use figurative language like personification and metaphor to compare
the moon to an assassin and its characteristics or describe the moon to be the
assassin itself.

Explaining everything he has done created a good expectation which was

followed a “twist” to that expectation.

Hyperbolic or influential words

To create an emphasis on words, take the noun/ subject of your sentence.
E.g. She had stayed inside her home

Subject is home so we will take the “function” of home.

Which is a place to stay
Now turn it into a verb so of course — Stayed (to stay)

Now take the word ‘to stay’, think of the negative and positive side of staying.

Negative
What place would you not like to stay at. (literal and immediate answers only)
Detention room? |
Prison? - Something common about these is that they are places you
xssxsxsxsxsxsxsxsxsare forced into
Nursing home? |

Now we have : She was forced inside her own home.

(feel free to add some minor words to give meaning)

We basically add layers of emphasis until the word is hyperbolic enough.

Trapped?
Imprisoned?

She was imprisoned inside her own home.

E.g. They wore white coats —> They were armed in white coats.

They wore blue masks —> They hid their faces behind blue masks

Function turns into emphasised verb, talked about function before subject
Making it the Non-living thing’s decision

What if we changed the subject around. Instead of her being forced inside her
home, the home forces her inside.

Changing up the point of view is an awfully strong way to create a sense of

hopelessness. This works because for as long as the main character isn't given
the power to make decisions on her feelings or events. Ensure that the problem
discussed is not one that can be run away from.

“Her house had confined and imprisoned her lonely soul.”

Whereas a positive take on the same sentence would be

Function - to stay

She was barriered by her house.

Change the order

Her house offered her a barrier. A barrier from judgement, a barrier from
neglect. The house was no normal barrier. It was one that told her that it was
okay to be different. Whenever she ran home, comfort dominated her heart…

Hooking trailer

A small trailer before the content. The impact before explaining what lead to
this. It hooks readers in by creating a sense of importance. Ensure that the
impact is inevitably strong

E.g. Story below starts by talking of the effect this had on the world before
moving on to how this happened

Not getting to the point

This is to get readers to think for themselves — thus creating intrigue and
suspense.
Be careful not to do this in a boring way. All we are doing is creating scenes in a
non-abrupt way by transitioning the events. This part should be descriptive.

You can do this by:

Describing people/ roles that are significant to what was going to be talked
about E.g. Tall scary men armed in white suits covering themselves
Describe an accessory or item in relation to the problem or character/event

Describe the setting

Background —> Rising action —> Climax —> Falling action —> Resolution

^
|
Impact - How/ setting - character - background on character

Model essay
It has been a year since the whole world plunged into darkness. People have
been imprisoned inside their own homes, and isolated from the outside world.
Ever since the first case was reported, everything started going downwards. Tall,
scary men armed in white suits covering themselves head-to-toe, hiding their
faces behind blue masks were pushing the infected in the quarantine facility like
lambs to slaughter.
The infected, who lost their emotions, their humanity and turned into absolute
flesh-eating monsters would come after you as soon as they see you.
My mother was one of them now, kindness no longer reflected on her face
instead a hideous creature looked back. It breaks my heart every time I pass by
the quarantine corridor just to see her looking back at me with those red
blood- thirsty eyes, waiting to strike at me the moment she will be set free. I
knew that my mom was somewhere inside her, waiting for me to help her. I
indeed was her brilliant son, the son who was a famous-renowned scientist.
My name is Josh Kidman, age 26, and I discovered the cure to cancer, Ebola and
AIDS. I thought I could once again save the world, but I was wrong. After months
of continuous work and sleepless nights, I have found nothing, absolutely
nothing.
Today is Friday, the 26th of March and it has been exactly one year since
humanity was wiped from this green planet. This virus is a wonderful way of
torturing humans for their bad deeds. Mother nature really was upset with us
wasn't she?
After looking at my mom, I tried to pick myself up and all the broken pieces of
me, to head towards my lab. Me and my team were trying our best to cope up
with the situation but things seemed to be getting out of our hands. Last week,
something happened, something we thought would end this purgatory. Ryan,
who I have known since college, thought he had finally figured this virus out and
started working on a cure. We all believed him and started helping him make the
cure. "If this doesn't work I think we all know what comes next...don't we?" said
Ryan with tears rolling down his cheeks. Misery and terror was all that
surrounded us.
[2 days later]
"Its finally time to test if this cure actually works or not," I said with fear in my
voice and raising the little tube containing a bright green liquid. It's pungent
smell filled the room as we began the testing. We took a sample of the virus and
placed it under the telescope. Then we added our test liquid and waited for the
two to react. "This has to work...please," I thought.
We all stood there for something to happen, but nothing did. We had failed once
again. Like we have been for the past year. A heart-broken Ryan fell out of his
seat and the only words which came out from his mouth were, "but... I thought I
had the solution..."
Dread was all around us, the infected were getting stronger day-by-day and who
knows how long those heavy doors will be able to keep them in.
[Back to 26th March, Friday]
As I moved closer towards my lab I knew what had to be done. With little to no
resources, food and water, electricity and power, we were all headed towards
doom. We always were destined to doom I suppose. I opened the metal door to
the lab and as I was about to step in, a huge bang came from downstairs followed
by the screams of the remaining soldiers. The moment we all feared was here,
the moment we all dreaded was here. Demons have taken over our base and will
take down anything with life that came in front of them.
"So this is it I suppose. I just want to say that I have had a wonderful time with all
of you, especially you, Josh. Our time is up and humanity is....d-d-doomed."
Ryan, with his head low, then walked out the door and a few seconds later we
could hear his shrieks. The remaining of us looked at one another one last time
and headed out. As I reached the staircase, a herd of decomposing necrotic was
coming towards me. I stood there, bravely to allow them to torture me. Two,
three of them jumped on me and started ripping me apart. I felt an unbearable
amount of pain rushing through my body as I felt the monstrous DNA entering
me and taking control of me. A few seconds later it was over and I was covered
in a pool of my own blood. I could feel my soul leaving my body, the human soul
leaving my body.
I closed my eyes tight, knowing what was about to happen.

As I felt the transformation taking hold, I was filled with an unexpected sense of
satisfaction. My body convulsed as the change began, and I was overwhelmed by
the primal urge to consume human flesh. I knew it was wrong, but a voice in my
head told me otherwise. It was as if a switch had been flipped, and I was
suddenly convinced that all humans were a blight on society.

I chased after my friend Ryan, who fled in terror as I pursued him. But as I closed
in on him, something strange happened. Suddenly, I was hit with an intense pain,
and my vision began to blur. The next thing I knew, I was lying on the ground,
staring up at Ryan's horrified face.

But as I began to regain my senses, I realised that something miraculous had

happened. The hypnosis that had made me into a monster was gone, and I felt
like myself again. I looked at Ryan, feeling a sense of guilt and gratitude all at
once.

It wasn't long before we realised that we had the cure in our hands. And as we
walked away from that dark and twisted chapter of our lives, I knew that I would
never forget the lessons I had learned. I had come face to face with my own
darkness, and emerged from it a stronger, more compassionate person.
Note: Your story should end by giving your
readers a sense of satisfaction

In exam context, ensure a well structured

story

Pick a specific moment or scene to focus on

in your story. Ofcourse write the entire
story in chronological order

E.g. Girl who got stood up on a date

Getting asked out —> getting ready —> arriving & waiting —> realising they are
alone

You should always use a ton of descriptives, you can do this by having a list of
great words and imagery you can use in different contexts.
Introduction - Getting started can be the hardest part. I personally dive straight
into a descriptive paragraph of setting .
Don't include and facts, just reveal the setting and details through description.

E.g. I watched quietly as crowds of buildings jostled for space on the New York
skyline and shudders of worry rippled uncomfortably through my body.

This is a more effective opening than:

I was in New York at the time and I was very nervous.
Model essay - Diana

Model essay - Stood up on a date

Model essay
Why should they appreciate those cards? They were unwanted pity sealed in
envelopes and decorated with bows. They were empty apologies shoved down
the throat of a letterbox. They were the phantom voices of the people who didn't
bother to show up. But she was here. And she hoped that that was all he needed.
His head lay weakly on a deflated pillow, his eyes sunken marbles that rattled
when he moved and silently pleaded with her to stay. And although the sight of
him, swaddled in pain and coughing up his hope, made something inside of her
itch with horror, she would stay. Because there was a chance it could keep him
going, bring him comfort and distraction, if only for a few days longer. Because
she wanted to love him as much as possible, before the cards and the window
and the sagging ceiling became too much, suffocating them both, and pulling
him into an unbreakable slumber. Because she would rather see him sealed
between the hospital's disinfected sheets, than laying in a box on her father's
shoulder, sealed too tightly between flowers and grief.
This poem is written in iambic Pentameter, every line is 10 syllables long. Except
in this poem, the last line of each verse is 15 syllables long. The poem is written
from the perspective of a child Listening to stories about her Dad's

Model essay - Airport seats

Model essay – The sacrilegious

The sacrilegious
A chasm of darkness stretches between two pale faces of clif, like a
raven's wing extended to smother the light, or the black key of a piano
sat awkwardly in the middle of everything. Smoke leaks from every
crease of the rockface - smoke that is vengeful and vindictive,
venomous as it snakes between the stones. The ground itself appears to
be coughing
Aman joins this grim activity as he heaves and splutters, his legs
crumbling like dry clay as he collapses into the dirt. Smudged, scorched,
scarred: his face is no longer recognisable. Delicate fingers of flame
reach towards him and he tries to scream, his lungs filling with amber
heat as he gasps for wind and water, dragging himself away. The chains
clasped to his manacled feet screech across the floor, in a sick metallic
imitation of his own cries. As the smoke engulfs him in a choking
embrace that can never be deadly, he unleashes his last siren for
redemption:
"Abraham!"
turned away from the screen with a quiet grimace. Glancing around
the dim room, the rest of the class sat in an unphased contemplation,
watching an old man be tortured for fifteen minutes by bad CGI. They
watched the screen and I watched them. They were a mangled soup of
uniforms, clicking pens and crucifixes but they all shared the same look
of complete boredom. Rows upon rows of placid faces, lined up like
titles on a bookcase. But they were slumped and unanimated paper
versions of themselves.
I wondered how the video wasn't evoking any kind of reaction from
them. No whispers, no shudders, not even a cursory frown. Why
couldn't they feel the same anxiety that I did? It was such a strong guilty
feeling, so conspicuous that I marvelled that they couldn't hear it
ringing through the room.
As the camera panned away from a heavenly shot of Lazurus and
directed our view back to the man in the flames, I turned to my friend,
Joseph, one of the only people in the class lacking that impressively
deadpan expression.
That's gonna be us, right?" Igrinned at him, laughing quietly, though
my breath sat uncomfortably in my throat.
He chuckled but his words were genuine. "No-" then, as I smiled at his
conviction "-Hell isn't real."
"Right," Inodded. I wanted to believe him. In many ways, I did. But I had
been pulled in different directions for so long now, that I couldn't tell
who was a blasphemer and who was an atheist. I couldn't tell if they
were the same thing. I couldn't tell which one I was.
When the flames on the screen dwindled into blackness and a roll of
credits, the teacher flicked the lights back on, causing the ceiling to sag
with the heavy glare of luminescence. It was quiet for a few seconds,
and I was momentarily united with my classmates as we all winced at
the sudden light pricking at our eyes. Somewhere, in the centre of the
silence, Mr Chambers cleared his throat.
He dusted his hands off of some imaginary powder, "That's one version
of Lazarus and the Rich Man" He summarised in a nonchalant tone,
"It's a little graphic but it gets the point across."
Iwondered what point that was exactly
I liked Mr Chambers a lot. He never taught us his own opinions, like
most of my previous teachers, because he believed we should be able to
learn unswayed by the power of peer pressure. This felt like a luxury
hadn't yet been afforded, and I was grateful. But it didn't make the
video any less disturbing.

Mr Chambers picked up a pile of sheets and dealt them amongst the

class like a pack of playing cards, quickly and mechanically. I flipped
mine over, half expecting to find an ace of spades, but instead being
created by a lengthy stack of questions.
I Knew the right answers, since each scene from the video was now
stamped into my mind, but it seemed to me that they weren't asking the
things that mattered. It hardly seemed logical to recount the seven
deadly sins when we could be asking why eternal torture was an
appropriate punishment.
Still, I bent my head, brought my pen to the paper and watched my
hand dance a slow waltz of drawing answers. The rest of the class did
the same, and as they talked, I talked too. While it was glaringly obvious
to me that I didn't belong here, no one else seemed to notice. So Joseph
and I sat and wrote and talked and blended in with the beliefs and
teachings that would never taste quite right to us. After twelve years, it
was as easy as breathing.
Model essay - Kuala Lumpur Airport - descriptive

The deafening roar of the jet engine reverberates through the walls beyond the
glass panels of the viewing gallery. Commercial airplanes soar majestically
through the skies of Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. On the ground, ground traffic
controllers clad in neon yellow bibs can be seen scampering about busily. At the
docking bay, a variety of logs adorn the kings of the sky, from Boeings to
Airbuses. In the distance, the iconic control tower stands tall, with air traffic
controllers coordinating take-off and landing procedures. This is Kuala Lumpur
International Airport. The pride of the nation. There are plasma screens of
arrival and departure times on the wall of the airport. People lined up at the
check-in counter, laden with suitcases and baggage. Moving on to the departure
hall, teary-eyed individuals bid their loved ones farewell, with minute-long
embraces and inaudible exchanges. The soothing classical music played in the
background, adding more emotions to the scene. Slowly but surely, those
departing soldiers forward, proceeding to their respectable gates. At the arrival
hall, the atmosphere was a polarized contrast, with family and friends breaking
into broad grins at the first sight of the returning individual. Their joy is curbed
only by the row of customs officers that stand in the way of their reunion. Upon
passing through the customs, embraces of a different nature ensue, resulting in
echoes of jubilation. This is accompanied by a steady stream of tourists, lugging
their bulky luggage, whose expressions depict a certain degree of disorientation.
Businessmen in wrinkle-free suits lounge on the low comfy chairs, as they
punched away numbers on their Macbooks. At the passenger pickup and
drop-off area, a snaking queue of Ubers and taxis are ready to fetch tourists to
the destination of their accommodations. Saline beads of perspiration can be
seen forming on the foreheads of many as they waited in sweltering heat. Back in
the comfort of air-conditioning, countless cafes and restaurants open for
business. The scent of coffee wafts through the air, followed by the aroma of
chicken curry- a dish truly Malaysian. It seems that jetsetters are not the only
ones who frequent the airport. Students bury their heads in books at the
Starbucks chain while parents treat their children to a deserved break at fast
food joints. As a Malaysian, I am truly proud of the unparalleled experience that
this airport offers. I present to you, Kuala Lumpur International Airport
Model essay - Special place(descriptive)

She sat in the damp grass, her shadow elongated and disturbing, stretching
across the ground like a dark, eager arm. The seat of her jeans was soaked with
last night's rain, which still clung to the grass, the trees, and the flowers. The
sprinkled drops of water shone with the light of the sun as it beamed down on
the earth, seeming to smile and inquire, "Yes?" The summer's warmth touched
everything, rolling off the tips of the leaves, snaking between the branches and
the foliage of each tree and bush. Even the wind seemed to be made of heat. She
marvelled at the sun's intensity, and that the lingering raindrops had not yet
turned to steam. She leaned her head backward, seeming to salute the sky, and
allowed herself a deep, satisfying breath. The breeze tunnelled across the open
field, whipping around her as if it had made the journey for the sole purpose of
caressing her face with its ghostly fingers, and missing the bare skin of her arms.
It was the perfect place. She had decided to be alone, but not lonely, for didn't
she have the company of the birds, the insects, and the trees? She looked behind
her to where the end of the field embraced the travel pathway, to where her
run-down truck was parked, old and solitary. Its keys were still in the ignition,
and its peeling red paint appeared the colour of rusting metal beneath the sun's
gaze. She had not come to this place for many years, for it had been many years
since she had needed to. This field, this feeling, the ability to fill her lungs with
air, these were her remedies to that which had not plagued her for a long time.
But today, old memories had resurfaced, old pain revived in the shards of the
photo frame that now lay mangled beneath her bed, and the remains of a letter,
words now rippled with tears. She gazed blankly at her ink-smudged fingertips,
listening to the secretive whispers of the wind and the birds that serenaded her
from their hiding spots in the heights of the trees - and she wondered just how
long she had been sitting there. It was long enough for the sun to swim from its
position at the centre of the sky to now hang low over the horizon, making the
clouds sag with heavy golden light. She decided she would stay all night. She
thought she would watch as those clouds turned and swirled from them, then
the night would fall. She would walk until the morning when the sun again
spilled over the lip of the earth and shined its light once more on the patient
clouds.

“The protagonist sits alone in a field surrounded by nature, enjoying the warmth of
the sun and the cool breeze. She reflects on old memories and pain that have
resurfaced, but finds solace in the natural surroundings. As the day turns into
night, she decides to stay and watch the clouds until morning. ”
Model essay(Descriptive & narrative)

Why should they appreciate those cards? They were unwanted pity sealed in
envelopes and decorated with bows. They were empty apologies shoved down
the throat of a letterbox. They were the phantom voices of the people who didn't
bother to show up. But she was here. And she hoped that that was all he needed.
His head lay weakly on a deflated pillow, his eyes sunken marbles that rattled
when he moved and silently pleaded with her to stay. And although the sight of
him, swaddled in pain and coughing up his hope, made something inside of her
itch with horror, she would stay. Because there was a chance it could keep him
going, bring him comfort and distraction, if only for a few days longer. Because
she wanted to love him as much as possible, before the cards and the window
and the sagging ceiling became too much, suffocating them both, and pulling
him into an unbreakable slumber. Because she would rather see him sealed
between the hospital's disinfected sheets, than laying in a box on her father's
shoulder, sealed too tightly between flowers and grief.

This poem is written in iambic Pentameter, every line is 10 syllables long. Except
in this poem, the last line of each verse is 15 syllables long. The poem is written
from the perspective of a child Listening to stories about her Dad's…
The passage criticises cards sent to someone in the hospital as insincere and
emphasises the value of the speaker's presence in offering comfort and love. The
gravity of the situation is acknowledged and the speaker wants to make the most of
their time together. The importance of human connection over material possessions is
highlighted.

Model essay (descriptive) - describes/imagery on scene or

event

You paint pictures across the kitchen walls. Hurl stories over the dinner table.

Smear your early adventures on the tiles. Scrub them deep into the dirty dishes.

As your tea time tales take flight from your mouth, I reach out, pluck one
tenderly from the air, and examine it. I watch you cower in the cotton wool

snow. Boys, older, prick your skin worse than the cold. Needling you with bleak

names and empty threats. Yet as one wrestles you near the iced lake, you

promptly snatch him up like a rogue weed and toss his paper aeroplane body

through the surface of the lake.

But such courage couldn't always apply. Not in Africa nor the Middle East, where

dictators wielded their lollipop guns. Journalists rained with bullets in the street,

where ink-stained news flowed from your fingertips, and your friend's bodies fell

hole-punched down the stairs of parliament. You wouldn't risk your life for a

story, but later, you would choose to make your own.

Sitting on a pub's carpet with my mum, your whispered forget-me-nots

intertwined. Three days back, you were just acquaintances, a humble handshake

shared in the garden. Compliments and jokes blossomed from your lips. Now,

with no ring and no confidence, you casually propose. I pause for a moment,

take a step back. After years of stories and tea time tales, they cover every inch

of the kitchen. They clog the drain and fill the flour bin. All together they're a

complete art piece. Amongst the paint streaks and smudges, I see they're even

more colourful since you had me.

Showing mercy to neither man nor wrestling with the coast, almost fighting it,

with the vulnerable island in one bite. But our, the only thing biting today will be

the cold. Terror around me, uselessly attempting to suffocate air that snakes

their way up the staircase. I change the bulbs again, for it's the only thing to do

up here, on to the ominous scene outside. Now, stretching across the horizon

and desperately towards us like the mighty hand of fate, are lined up in a
terrifyingly beautiful formation. Like soldiers marching to a watery doom or

rows of knitting hemmed.

I focus on the few dim spots of sunlight that push through the clouds, trying to

push the bad thoughts away. But they keep on coming. The worry builds inside

my head, gnawing until it is a wretched ugly thing. I tell myself that I'm safe up

here in this lighthouse, but the sound of the wind howling and writhing at the

bottom of the tower tells me otherwise. Its powerful fists into the brickwork,

then taking another swing, strong, holding me up away from the water and

slight.

The bulb rotates, sending a thick stream of light across the ocean, allowing me

to see the choppy anger struggling to bat away the hungry water. A boat appears

among it all. Struggling to make it to shore before it is swallowed. It looks so out

of place. It's nothing but a rowboat and a lone man.

Smoke spills from the house, blossoming into whirlwind clouds as it stretches

upward, desperate to taste the sleepy bitterness of the night sky. As darkness

snakes between the streetlights, the road is painted a new shade of black. It is an

ominous, ochre tone that reflects in my eyes like a storm, illuminated only by the

melted gold light of the firefly sparks that dance in front of me. Lazily, they

clutter around the house and settle carefully into the eyelashes of a hidden

shadow. Barely visible to the disaster, a smudgy red hand rests in the brush.

Attached to it is

smoke spills from the house, blossoming into whirlwind clouds as it stretches

upward, desperate to taste the sleepy bitterness of the night sky. As darkness

snakes between the streetlights, the road is painted a new shade of black. It is an
ominous, ochre tone that reflects in my eyes like a storm, illuminated only by the

melted gold light of the firefly sparks that dance in front of me. Lazily, they

clutter around the house and settle carefully into the eyelashes of a hidden

shadow. Barely visible to the disaster, a smudgy red hand rests in the brush.

Attached to it is a girl. Her passive face is scorched and unrecognisable,

resembling a slab of meat on a butcher's table, as it smoulders in the soil. She is

no longer human: she is just a dead thing devoured by the fire, a tormented

corpse whose only comfort is the warm embrace of the smoke. The mournful

wail of a siren forces my attention away from the pitiful body. As limber fingers

of heat caress the nearby houses, the distant noise informs me it's too late. The

building, now stripped of any sense of home or belonging, can cope with... what?

Four more minutes at best? No. Less than that. It will fold into the floor like

crumpled paper, and wilt like a dying plant. Its dry leaves of memory will gently

detach themselves and float away on a sombre wind. Yes, soon it will all be

nothing: an awkward hole in the street, a silence that curls around the emptiness

like a choking handshake, a shattered mirage of happiness. As I watch the

splintering roof collapse into a sand pile of scorned wood and blackened tiles, a

sick smile is etched into my face. I am utterly relaxed. The disaster I have created

has stirred in me a sadistic euphoria that I can't seem to shake. My hair is

whipped into cobwebs around my head, and my bare feet are buried under a

blanket of rubble. I wiggle my toes and giggle. As the wind whistles a foreboding

tune, I turn on my heel and glide into the night.

Music competition - Narrative

Teeming with excitement, an overflowing stream of people flooded the musical

theatre through two cramped doors, with a size comparable to a miniature
model. A vague yet incessant rumble from people's footsteps could be heard
throughout the hall, as everyone searched for their seats.

Soft mumbling can be heard from every direction. The quaint and old-fashioned
walls were dimly lit by golden lights. I spotted my seat on one side of the theatre
where the contestants sat, and strode towards it purposefully. After the crowd
got situated comfortably, the lights went off. The exuberance in the atmosphere
immediately died down, especially when accompanied by the frigid air.

On the stage, where a grand piano was placed, the host gave the audience a
majestic briefing about the competition. His words reverberated throughout the
spacious room. A line of judges sat assertively in front of the stage. Apprehensive
about my performance, I felt goosebumps all over my body. Then, he welcomed
the first contestant.

A young teenage girl carried her violin and took elegant steps up the stairs onto
the stage. She held up her bow and started playing slowly. The violin strings
vibrated with liveliness and conjured an angelic melody that pulled on my
heartstrings. It felt like the entire theatre was enthralled into a different realm.
Conveyed by her music were emotions of sorrow and despair.

She ended her song on a high note by playing in a rejuvenating and optimistic
tone. Awed by her breathtaking performance, the audience and the judges gave a
tremendous round of applause as she walked down the stairs relieved.
I was broken out of a trance when the next contestant, a pianist, played his first
note on the grand piano. He tickled the ivory keys on a fortissimo, and the piano
laughed hysterically and loudly.

Brimming with euphoria, his music immediately wiped away the miasma of
melancholy in the theatre. Instead, he dominated the atmosphere with playful
and jovial energy. This time, the theatre felt like it was a circus.
Everyone was delighted by this unexpected change of pace.

The next pianist ambled up the stage with confident steps. He looked like a
seasoned player who was groomed to be a professional since childhood. Sure
enough, when he started playing, I was immediately mesmerised. His fingers ran
around on the piano with unparalleled speed and energy, creating a mellifluous
medley of harmonious sounds. His music permeated the throng, alluring
everyone. As for the other contestants, including me, we gazed at him with a
covetous gleam of envy. Shivers and chills were sent down my spine. It was an
unfathomably amazing performance.

The next few performances went past in a blur. Although nervous, everyone
played incredibly well with a plethora of unique instruments like the cello, flute,
traditional Chinese instruments, and so on. I looked at the time. Waves of
anxiety battered me and cold sweat covered my shivering body. My time had
come. With my guitar in one hand, I trod lightly onto the stage and bowed
towards the audience. A room full of eyes stared at me. I took a deep breath and
took my first strum. Instantly, the nervousness I felt faded into obscurity. My
fingers plucked on the guitar strings softly according to muscle memory. The
guitar created a stream of clear and relaxing jazzy notes, which resonated in the
theatre.

Slowly, I built up the tension and when the chorus was reached, I played
exhilaratingly from the bottom of my heart. I relished the heavenly sensation of
pouring out my emotions without using words in front of such a huge crowd. A
second later, a thundering round of applause flooded my ears.

Describes an area that was once beautiful but is now spoiled.

- Descriptive

Strolling nonchalantly down the cobbled pathway scattered with litter, I

proverbially take a trip down memory lane about my childhood memories in this
very neighbourhood park. A multitude of fleeting flashbacks is conjuring in my
mind as I glance at my surroundings which are reminiscent of my past
experiences. I am mesmerised and entranced into a momentary reverie by the
nostalgia, seemingly reliving my youthful memories from as far back as a dec

Waves of disappointment and sorrow batter against me as I break out of reverie,

just to be welcomed by the unwelcoming sight of a dreadfully spoiled park.
Through the relentless vicissitudes of time, the park has undergone a stark
change of atmosphere and appearance for the worse.
The once luxuriant landscape is now perishing as the withering grass turns dry
and brown. Dead leaves are dispersed throughout the lifeless park. Wilted
monochrome flowers can be seen weeping everywhere, engulfed in the miasma
of despair that fills the park. However, there are some patches of overgrown and
untrimmed bushes occupying the land, making it visually noisy and unpleasant

Fireworks Describe a firework display, including sounds and

smells as well as what you see, and how the spectators react
to it.

The pitch black sky covered the land in interminable coldness.

Not a single star was in sight. An incessant amount of soft chatter could be heard
from every direction as people murmured excitedly yet drowsily in anticipation
of the firework display. Standing shoulder to shoulder with strangers in the
congested crowd, I held the hand of my girlfriend dearly as we waited.

I looked towards the center of the venue, where a team of professionals was
preparing the collection of fireworks for display. All of them held up a hand
toward the spectators, signaling the start of the show. The atmosphere
immediately became quiet as people held their breath and the noise dissipated
into the air for a few long seconds.

There was a strong sense of excitement accumulating behind the nervous and
awkward tone. I looked at my partner, who gave me a beaming smile, and I felt
butterflies in my stomach. As the fuse was being lit, a stream of sizzling noise
emanated from the firework launcher, breaking the seemingly eternal silence.

Tension built up alongside the amplifying sizzle. I clutched harder onto the hand
in mine. The smell of gunpowder permeated the throng. Before we knew it,
billows of dense smoke emerged from the fuse, and a thin line of fiery luminosity
launched upwards into the sky. A high-pitched screech following the firework
reverberated throughout the air. Then, the light

ART GALLERY - Narrative

Describe a visit to an art gallery or museum.

A warm "welcome" greeted my ears as I pushed open the majestic door to the
most famous art gallery in Asia. The walls of the lobby had quaint textures, and
thick pillars stood tall in the room. The place felt like it was built centuries ago. I
went to the counter to buy an entrance ticket and strode into the art gallery.
As soon as I stepped foot inside the room, an overwhelming view flooded my
eye receptors. A myriad of mesmerising masterpieces by famous artists was
hung proudly and in a meticulous fashion on the walls. The atmosphere was very
relaxing with the freshly conditioned air and the dim lights.
I strolled around the room nonchalantly, glancing at every piece of artwork,
which was all framed exquisitely with golden wood. These paintings were old
and historical. A painting of a mediaeval knight caught my attention. He donned
a suit of armour, which was intricately drawn, and strokes of silver paint
gleamed under the light. The knight was riding a horse, which looked like it
would emerge into reality at any time. I checked the description, and sure
enough, this was painted centuries ago, in 1420.
Then, I entered another room. Displayed on walls were panoramic drawings of
landscapes and nature. They were created with a palette of vibrant colours that
were mixed and shaded perfectly. At first sight, I thought they were printed
images, not hand-drawn. However, as I scrutinised the painting of a river, I was
enthralled and noticed the artist's touch and swipes on the river that created the
realistic water current. In another painting, a gigantic tree seemed so lively that I
could feel the wind that made the leaves on the foliage sway back and forth and
brush on my face.
Breaking out of a trance, I proceeded into another room, which was filled with
portraits featuring famous people like actors, singers, scientists, historical
figures, and so on. I immediately recognized most of the faces, which proves its
accuracy. The shades and nuances of the facial parts were flawless. Their smiles
were so expressive that they radiated a wave of warmth toward me. As an
aspiring artist myself, I was deeply inspired by the skills of the artists that
poured out their hearts to create these artworks. Eager to see what was in the
next room, I pushed open the next door.

Model essay (descriptive)

Write a descriptive on the topic “by the light of the moon”

As dusk approached, the dark clouds peeled back to reveal a pristine night sky
and a half-moon broke through the rifts of the clouds. The moon hung like a
brilliant jewel in the night sky accompanied by minuscule and magnificent stars
that scattered and twinkled like precious pearls. The moon gave out sterling
silver rays that poured onto the mossy earth of the dense forest, and by the light
of the moon, the inky darkness that once surrounded the forest had to move
aside and give way to the brilliant exuberant rays of the moon that shone in regal
beauty. In the forest, which was now conquered with light, was a young teenage
girl. The moonlight fixed her in silver and highlighted her exquisite hazel orbs
that were encircled with rings of gold, like a gorgeous limestone cave. The
necklace that she wore around her neck had a plethora of gems, ranging from
diamonds to sapphires, that glittered in their radiant glory. As the girl roamed
and explored her way around the curtain of trees, her ears registered a faint and
gentle flow of water from a distance. Cautiously, she tip-toed her way closer to
the sound - as she tried her best to not wake the sleeping creatures of the forest.
As the sound of the flowing water became louder when the girl walked further
into the forest, she could also hear the nocturnal crickets composing their
harmonious tunes and melodies in the great thickets of the bushes as well as the
tranquil whisper of the wind that created a the serenity of still around her. When
she lifted a huge leaf in front of her, her eyes sparkled like a bejewelled cave and
widened in amazement: she found it. There was a lake that had tiny sparkles
shimmering and dancing it and it was coloured in rich hues of azure blue and
mint as the moonlight illuminated it. The foliage of the towering trees was also
highlighted by the rays of the moonlight and cast shadows. Then... splash!
Sploot! The girl turned and saw iridescent shoals of fish jumping and leaping in
the water, showing off their silky scales. Several nocturnal flowers bloomed on
the floors of the forest and multi-colored petals dazzled under the exuberant
moonlight. Slowly, they swayed to the rhythm of the tranquil wind. The girl
decided to lie down after this adventure so that she could rest and embrace the
arresting elegance and tranquil resplendence of Mother Nature. With her eyes
closed, she curled up and slept under the glorious moonlight.

What happens when the petrified young child is finally

confronted by The Monster? - Narrative & descriptive

The house was eerily silent. An unsettling gust of wind blew at the young boy's
dirty fringe and diffused into his almost suffocating lungs. The thick, glistening
scarlet remained a permanent image in his mind, as the petrified child peered
down at his submerged feet.
Mother had stormed out in a fit of rage, tears frantically falling down her sagging
face as wet raindrops on a gloomy Sunday morning. He could hear her lonely
cries from beyond his shut bedroom door, just as he heard The Monster's
booming, menacing laugh.
He knew something about them was different; neither Millie's nor Tommy's
parents fought the way he did. Tommy's mom never had dark blue patches on
her face, and Millie's dad never launched a sharp glass vase at the front door.

Sometimes at night, he could sense Mother's fear. It diffused through the rooms
of the house as a dark foreboding, a predator lurking in the darkness. During
nights like these, the moon remained his only company, hovering above and
extending a slim slither of light into the sinful house through his open bedroom
window.
Yet tonight, the darkness was different. Fear clenched his heart as he stumbled
backward, away from his bloody bedroom floor. The sound of Mother's cries was
long gone and instead replaced with the heavy thud of metal slamming violently
against a solid skull. Guilt laced his insides, and the bitter taste of loneliness
overthrew the saltiness of his tears.
Mother had vanished before The Monster began ominously stalking the house,
dragging his new toy behind him. The wooden dining table was briskly smashed,
and sharp shards of glass were scattered around the kitchen floor. Heavy
footsteps limped up the stairs, each followed by a low, weighty grunt. A musty
stench entered the room as The Monster threw open the bedroom door.
A piercing scream. A sinister grin. Glass shattering as the window is hit. The
heavy thud of a rod against the wooden floor. The Monster's body tumbles down
to the ground as metal is forcefully smashed against its lifeless skull. Finally, a
painful, defeated cry. He sobbed into his tiny hands as scarlet flooded the floor.
On the ground, Father's dark, empty eyes stared unforgivingly into his own.

Change in weather (Descriptive)

Original question: Describe your surroundings before and
after a sudden change in weather.

Few things can provide the relaxation tantamount to sinking your feet deep into
the warm, white beach whilst cold breezes gently caress your face. The searing
heat of the sun, baking your feet, and the ferocious waves battering the shore
and frothing with the tide. The evergreen coconut and palm trees swayed with
the force of the wind, bending but never breaking.
The horizon stretched into a thin line making the turquoise waters seem
everlasting and in great contrast with the pale-blue skies. Few clouds were
dabbed across the sky-so serene reminiscent of a nature painting I had glanced
at in an art gallery. A flock of charcoal ravens cut through the sun, stark
silhouettes in the immense brightness, but I couldn't hold the gaze for long as I
felt my eyes sing.
A couple was splashing the spumy waters and wading through the saline liquid,
laughing heartily, but from that distance, all I could hear were muffled sounds. I
lay peacefully under the coconut tree, wallowing in the shade and running my
hands through the infinitesimal grains of sand as they slipped through my hand
as easily as water would. My knees were raised high as I lay on my back and I
could see the sun dropping into the horizon, slowly but surely. The sky turned
pink and orange like a cherry blossom in an orange orchard.
The water was a mirror, forming a half-sun on its surface, laying flat as the water
turned into liquid gold, seething as the sun bubbled down. There was immediate
darkness, it crouched from the West as the dispersed clouds conglomerated into
a breathing mass of destruction. Soon, the sun sank into submission under the
brewing storm; the sky was a hazy background of sand and leaves. Tiny twigs
and little leaves flurried across, dancing in harmony with the gale. The couple
ran for the shore but the wind snatched the straw hat off the woman's head,
swirling upwards into the sky in a perpetual motion.
The wind grew stronger and the trees seemed to be at the peaks of their
resistance, about to break and pile up in a twisted heap at any moment. The
storm was now a whirling body of clouds and sand with sharp streaks of
lightning cutting through the center.
It glowed eerily from inside as thunder roared across the waves. It was time to
leave. I ran to my car parked just a few feet away and took a final glance at what
had just been paradise turning into a destructive playfield

Going Home (Descriptive)

Imagine you have been away from home for a long time.
Describe what you see and your thoughts and feelings during
your journey home.

The incessant rhythm created as the train galloped on the tracks reverberated in
my cabin.
It already felt like home. The raw, bitter smell of the luxuriant weeds and trees
penetrated the rusty, dusty interior of the local train.
I shifted harshly in my seat, the blue-dyed leather squeaking and straining,
causing annoyance to the unfamiliar travellers that filled the remaining three of
the 3-seaters. As the train zoomed past the landscape, I caught fleeting glimpses
of tiny homes, poorly constructed, with walls made of cemented red bricks and a
cornucopia of trees, mainly banana and coconut surrounding the homes.
In the distance, a small farm was prominent with its patterned growth of rice
crops as they floated on waterlogged soils with trenches separating them from
cabbages.
A farmer was glistening with sweat in the afternoon sun. his skin darkened and
his body hardened over years of labour. He swung a hoe deep into the crusty soil
as he ploughed the land, making way for the year's crops.
Three children ran naked with a wide grin decorating their faces as they plunged
into a lake, cooling themselves in the placid emerald waters.The city began to
show up. Starting with the nostalgic tunes of the morning bhajans as a temple
came into view. A mediaeval structure that astonishes the architects of this era.
Decorated in bronze coating and mud-brown bricks that overlap the roofs, with
the idol of a deity mounted at the top.
A colourful representation of the god that is claimed to shower down its
blessings on the innumerable devotees with hearts full of faith. It was still an
hour before I got to my station. The chilling breeze cooled my face and the
soporific wind allured me to sleep.
I climbed up the cabins, my head carefully avoiding the fans and my feet the
bodies of my fellow passengers. I lay down at the top, my feet slightly sticking
out, and my hair brushing against the metal. Head full of thoughts. Thoughts of
all the people that would be waiting for me back home.
Eyes waiting to get teary upon my sight and the feast that would have been
prepared in my honour. I couldn't wait to reach and all these thoughts carried
me deep into my sleep. Still as the incessant rhythm persisted.

One last picnic - Primarily descriptive, narrative element

Describe an occasion when a group of people are eating

together.

Slivers of the summer sunlight slipped through the cracks of the blooming apple
tree. We sat right under it as it cast pixelated shadows on the dry grass blades,
shifting and swaying as the wind gently blew through the evergreen leaves. I
stared into the swath of sylvan beauty, sharply contrasting with the
machine-controlled, mechanical land behind me.
I sat with my legs folded and overlapping just like everyone else - on the
chequered carpet. It was soft, and silky with colours switching between red and
blue, making the delicious array of food more prominent.
It was a picnic in nature with my family. After a long time, we all got together to
reminisce over our old memories and strengthen our fraying bonds.
The cornucopia of food filled the carpet to the edges with my Mom's unmatched
level of cooking expertise. She knew all about gastronomy like she had taken a
university course in it. Her skill was shown in the mouthwatering dishes
displayed in a magnificent array. The garnishing was so meticulous; the smell, so
alluring; my taste buds began to tingle as they fathomed the unimaginable
flavours infused in them.
My Dad pulled out a crusty piece of brown bread. The crust, so delicate, it
crumbled and fell like sawdust onto the carpet. He took the blunt knife and
swiftly scooped up a copious amount of lemon-yellow butter.
The frozen butter thawed into a neat platform as he slathered it on his bread. It
seeped through cracks and imbued itself into its core. He stretched his jaws and
promised to devour it whole, but instead took a minute bite as he relished mild
flavours that soothed his mind. I realised I was gawking at the sight as my Mom
passed a bowl of salad.
My mind and vision immediately diverted from my Dad to the intricately
decorated bowl that lay before me. It was a world of flavours in itself. I could
discern a couple of familiar vegetables but nothing more. The lettuce was sliced
into long thin strands with shredded chicken- roasted till it took a brown skin-
strewn with efficiency around the bowl.
I dug my metallic, silvery spoon into the colourful decoration, ruining it in the
process, and brought a mouthful towards my lips. The crunching sound of the
crisp, bitter lettuce entangled with the juices of the chicken intertwined to
create a fantastic ball of flavour that exploded within my mouth.
All the spices reached and delighted every single one of my taste buds as I
closed my eyes and relished the moment for what may be the last time.
Model essay (descriptive)

Model essay
Model essay - Narrative - The Gestapo

In Germany, in the 19th century, I crouched uncomfortably in the cloakroom, as

quiet and still as the walls around me. I was huddled into a corner, each shoulder

pressed firmly to the cold tiles or the wall. I was completely blind in this room,

there was no sense of up or down. I just sat, coating in the blackness, swimming

in the silence, drowning in the trembling embrace of the walls enveloping me. I

was waiting for the coats above me, coats that held empty faces and the

mysterious lives of strangers. They rustled ominously as I tried to move from my

corner, wrestling with me as I desperately attempted to pull my lame leg behind

me and fight towards the door. Hot fingers of panic wrapped around my throat

as a frenzied anxiety set in, and I collapsed back to the ground sobbing, raking

bitter air into my lungs and choking it back out as the coats suffocated me, and

my cries engulfed me. Heavy tears shattered on the floor like teacups, and I

realised just how fragile I was. A cripple can't escape.

Dad had promised he would be back. Ten minutes, he had said. I still remember

the warmth of his smooth fingertips on my cheek, his hands nestled into his

pockets, and his soft voice reassuring me. But now it feels as if I've slipped

through his fingers. I've been here for hours in this timeless place with only the

hollow crowd of coats for company. They are flat, nimble, lifeless people, each

with a purpose, shrugged carelessly onto a hook and abandoned in this warmth.

I'm so cold. But Dad told me not to touch anything, so I stay shivering

mercilessly, every point of my small body pressed harshly into the carpet.

When I finally stand, hours later, I marvel that I'm not completely numb. A dry

learner in my mouth as I start to crave a drink. The line of light from the opening
door slices through my vision like a hot knife. I cringe away from it, stepping

back into the wall of coats that murmur at my return, snagging my hair and

clothes with their buttons. A dark silhouette stands tall and solidly in the door

frame. He is a pencil-thin, rough-clothed man, and he walks towards me with

purpose. As he steps into the light, I see the swastika burned into his arm like a

hell-raised stamp.

Dad wouldn't do this. He wouldn't do this! But the evidence, the evidence is in

front of me, clear as day. The Gestapo.

Model essay - The cell - Narrative

The cell
England, 1558.
Footsteps echoed through the cavernous halls, quick and staccato like

drumming fingernails. The noise ricocheted off the walls, snaking its way under

the heavy door of my cell. Reflexively, I clutched the crucifix tighter in my hand.

The smooth silver dug into the tender flesh of my palm, and as I winced at the

trickles of pain that branched across my skin, I realised what I had to do. My

small epiphany was not a comforting one. But I would die one hundred times,

endure any kind of torture they could inflict on me, sit in this cell for all eternity

before uttering a single word against the version of Christ that I knew to be true.

By God, by England, by Queen Mary herself - the beautiful wrath who envisioned

all of this - by my church, I swear never to convert to the Queen's heretical way

of life. The footsteps stopped. Right outside my door, I could practically taste his

presence. The noise of his steps was replaced by an agonising silence, a

prolonged nothingness that stretched out, flat and eternal, like the surface of the
sea. My breath sat uncomfortably in my throat. My stiff fingers scrambled to hide

the illegal symbol that hung around my neck, gently placing my lips to the cross

one last time before hurriedly concealing it in my robes. Somewhere in the

centre of the silence, a key turned. Everything in my consciousness, in that

moment, felt as though it was suspended by a thread. For days, begging screams

had convulsed these halls, leaking into my room to touch me with their stinging

agony. Today could be my turn. I closed my eyes. The walls held their breath.

Broken prayers, earnest pleas, and a thousand painful questions teased at my

cracked lips. They rattled my teeth and scratched at my throat because they

knew how desperately I wanted to spit them out. I wanted to throw my head

back and scream at the heavens, pierce God himself with my cries, and let him

know the betrayal and doubt that burned, and churned, inside of me. I wanted to

ask him why. Be it God, be it reality, be it the sound of a cell door opening,

something snapped me back to my surroundings. But I did not open my eyes.

Because for at least a few precious seconds more, I did not have to know. I did

not have to know whether it was my door he opened, or if he was standing over

me right now, or if he was in the cell next to mine, where another innocent

man's eyes spilled over with blind, bitter faith. It was not knowing. Whether I

was in the presence of God, or the guard, or neither, it suddenly occurred to me

that the art of not knowing is faith itself. So if my faith was shaken, broken like

the delicate skin of the ripest fruit, it was because faith went hand in hand with

irresistible doubt. Within my personal oblivion, I no longer felt betrayed. This

simple moment, my acceptance of the unanswerable, my love, my commitment,

the tragedy of it all, wrapped me up like a tender arm about my waist. I laid my

head on its shoulder, floating weightlessly above the ground as if I could fly

through the bars of the cell window and soar upwards to be with my God. I
smiled, in the knowledge that if there was any peace He could offer me in my

final moments, it was this feeling, and I let my head lean back in satisfaction to

touch the cold stone of the wall. The smile was slapped from my face by the iron

tip of a whip.

The text is a narrative piece that follows a prisoner in 1558 England who is facing the
threat of torture and death for refusing to denounce their religious beliefs. The
narrative style effectively conveys the protagonist's emotions and thoughts in a
descriptive manner, highlighting their unwavering faith in the face of adversity. The
use of vivid imagery and sensory details adds depth and intensity to the story.

The ocean - descriptive

The turquoise ocean waters battered against my sleek and pristine boat, making
it see-saw precariously while I tried to maintain balance. The boat rippled
through the water slowly, as if the ocean was giving it a relaxing massage after
sailing for hours.

I laid back on my folding chair, soaking up the sunlight and the humid air, which
was filled with natural and aquatic exuberance emanating from the depths of the
sea. The waves made an energetic and rhythmic clapping sound throughout the
ocean as the salty smell of seawater wafted through my nostrils.

The sun radiated its luminescence and permeated the ocean bed. Everything
underwater was crystal clear, especially with the placid waters. Under my boat
was an aquatic paradise brimming with freedom and liveliness, contrasting our
uneventful and dull society. I gave a scrutinising look and saw a wide diversity of
sea creatures varying from tiny clownfishes to colossal sperm whales coexisting
with peace.

I was transfixed while staring at schools of fishes roaming around freely and
nonchalantly in every corner. Several semi-transparent jellyfish thrust with
grace while tropical fishes with streamlined bodies waved their tails and fins to
swim gracefully. Sea turtles swam proudly with the green shells on their back,
holding a record of their struggles and growth.
Embedded on the bottom of the ocean was a magnificent coral reef. It was an
ecosystem consisting of a plethora of distinct organisms that symbolises
harmony and unity. The colourful corals covered the sea bed like a blanket, with
seaweed amongst them that swayed side to side as current waves surged
through. I was able to catch a fleeting glimpse of minuscule fishes and prawns
hiding themselves in between these marine plants to seek shelter from ravenous
predators intending to devour them. On the other hand, crabs and lobsters trod
lightly on the fine floor of sand.

Looked into the distant horizon, the colour of the sky and the sea was so similar
that they seemed congruent and converged. I relished the unfathomable and
breathtaking scenery as I thought about how harmonious nature is.

Eating together
Describe an occasion when a group of people is eating
together

"Cheers!" we shouted at the top of our lungs as eight glasses of colourful drinks
clashed softly but satisfyingly in the middle of the rectangular table. The
various tints of these beverages ranged from a bright dandelion yellow to a rich
cocoa brown. Droplets of condensation on the side of the glasses made the
drinks glisten heavenly under the overhead lights in the dimly lit restaurant.

It was a gathering. I met up with 7 of my old friends to enjoy a nice dinner and
celebrate our reunion. While waiting for our main course anticipatingly and
ravenously, we had a wholesome conversation about our differing paths in life.
Even though we weren't in contact for several years, there was not a sense of
awkwardness at all. Instead, we poured out our emotions and passion with each
other spontaneously. I was engulfed in a warm and heartwarming atmosphere
and temporarily forgot about my hunger.

A distinct and enticing smell of fried food wafted from the kitchen door and
permeated the air. Instantly, our appetite was aroused as our mouths were
watering and our stomachs were grumbling. Moments later, a few waiters strode
towards our table elegantly with a tray in each hand and placed the dishes
delicately on the table.
Each of us ordered a main course and side dishes as well. There was a wide
variety of food like fried rice, cheese-baked rice, Japanese ramen noodles, and
more. The plethora of scrumptious food and delightful drinks were laid out
exquisitely and columns of piping hot gas rose from them. After we took a group
photo with the food, we started eating to our heart's content.

My meal was cheese-baked rice with fish. The surface of the bowl was
completely covered like a blanket with a layer of cheese. The cheese was very
stretchy and it melted into a flavour of satisfaction in my mouth. The rice and
fish, which were seemingly submerged in the bath of cheese, were imbued with
the delectable saltiness of the cheese.

Two of my friends ordered Japanese ramen noodles. The smooth noodles were
engulfed by a bowl of strongly flavoured soup. It was lavishly filled to the brim
with many garnishes. The meticulous touch of the chef and a luxurious Japanese
style were riveted onto the perfectly cooked noodles.

We gobbled down our food like a pack of starving wolves and occasionally took a
savoury sip of our drinks while chatting wholeheartedly with each other. I
realised that through the vicissitudes of time, our behaviours and thoughts have
undergone a stark change. However one thing will remain forever, and that is our
everlasting Friendship.

City at night - descriptive

I stood transfixed in the middle of a roadside amidst towering skyscrapers. As

the orange sphere dipped into the horizon gradually, giving the citizens a chance
to savour its momentary beauty, it absorbed all the exuberance and liveliness
emanating from the metropolis together with the luminescence it radiated onto
every nuance of the city during the day.

In exchange, a grey blanket was shrouded over the sky, covering the city in
interminable coldness.
Underneath the pitch-black darkness of the sky, the city refused to be
stripped away of its energy and rejuvenated itself with a change of pace - a
relaxing harmony and liveliness compared to the vigorous morning energy.
Colossal and multi-story buildings were illuminated from the inside out with
artificial light with a brightness equivalent to that of sunlight. In addition,
yellow lights from lamp posts and red lights contributed to the unique
brightness of the night.

From the roadside, I heard a never-ending stream of cars zoom past, grating my
ears with harsh dissonance. These cars varied in size from two-seater sports
cars with revving engines to huge trucks.

There was a myriad of attractive restaurants and stores which can be seen
from every angle. A medley of smells like the distinctive aroma of coffee and
freshly baked bread wafted through the air from cafes and bakeries, pleasing
my nostrils and instantly arousing my desire to enjoy a welcoming supper.

There were also luxurious clothing outlets, displaying a multitude of

exorbitantly priced accessories with meticulously woven fabric on mannequins. I
spotted a few passersby who looked at these shops with covetous gleams just
like me, most likely visualising magnificent images of themselves walking around
with such opulent clothing.

In a city with such high standards, most citizens were clad in immaculate
clothing and striding nonchalantly but purposefully across the pathways, except
for businessmen who were treading heavily with fatigue, seeking respite after
toiling away for long hours. As the night went on, the huge throng across the
city slowly dispersed as the incessant amount of chattering from the crowds
slowly faded like water evaporating into thin air. I decided to call it a day and
walked to my apartment with satisfaction.
The tree

I relished the moment as the tree provided me with a welcome respite from
the fettering trammels of studying. With my back laid against a brown oak and
wall-like tree trunk, I stretched out my legs comfortably across the grass.

Devoid of human interference, the garden was brimming with liveliness. The
luxuriant greenery of the landscape in front of me flooded my eye and touched
every receptor in it. The pungent scent of plant life permeated the air and
wafted through my nostrils.

The scintillating sun beamed down and radiated its luminescence onto every
inch of the garden, with the exception of the shadows under the tree that
covered me like a blanket. These shadows were cast by an umbrella of leaves
and branches which loomed over me, providing shade from the scorching heat.

The breezy wind tickled and massaged my face softly while whispering
angelically into my ears. The foliage of the tree swayed and rustled as gusts of
wind brushed past it. Birds on the tree sang jovially. A mellifluous and
harmonious medley of natural music was created, tingling my earbuds and
soothing my soul.

The garden was brimming with a miasma of energy and exuberance, but under
the shade of the tree, I felt calm and rather drowsy. Engulfed by the
tranquillity and harmony of nature, I reminisced about my childhood memories in
this very garden, under this very tree.
Garden in the rain

A blanket of thick clouds was shroud across the sky, shoving away the beaming
smile of the Sun as it was forced to absorb all the luminescence it radiated onto
every nuance of the garden.

Under the gloomy sky, the once exuberant and lively park was now covered with
a miasma of melancholy. I trod down the pathway heavily with fatigue, seeking
respite from the fettering trammels of studying coupled with the accumulating
negativity from society.

My eyes were tearing up.As if to comfort me, a droplet of rain gave me a weak
pat on the back. Soon after, more tears from the sky fell down rhythmically.
Dots of moisture on the dry and gravelly path increased. Luxuriant trees and
grass were weeping as water dripped from the foliage. The lush green on their
surface turned dark as water imbued them.

The rain amplified. From every direction, I could hear an incessant but
mellifluous beat as soft raindrops tapped on the solid ground repeatedly. The
breezy wind tickled and massaged my cheeks while my earbuds were tingled by
its angelic whispers. The pungent scent of petrichor and plant life permeated
and wafted through the frigid air. Engulfed in the tranquillity and harmony of
nature, I stood transfixed as my soul was rejuvenated.

The entire atmosphere was brimming with despair, but it all seemed
unfathomably comforting and heavenly. All the negative emotions piling up in my
heart evaporated and condensed as tears. The tears flooded my eye sockets and
flowed down my already wet face onto the damp grass, converging with a small
puddle. The rain continues to fall.
(Part of an essay)

Model essay
Narrative - Write a story which ends with the words, “ I knew
things would be different from now on.

"Be ready! We'll be going out for lunch today, "l be back in half an hour" my Dad
shouted as he shut the door on his egress. A quiver of excitement mixed with
anxiety stopped me in my tracks as I headed towards the kitchen. "That's
surprising" I whispered to myself.
It had been over a year since my Mom passed away and my Dad had been
struggling to meet deadlines for payments whilst constantly being fired from his
jobs due to lack of concentration. My Mom's death took a heavy toll on him, it
was as though her death sucked the life out of him. Now he was only living for
me, cramped up in a small house with a single room, kitchen and bathroom, yet
he battled the officials that came once or twice a month to propose a better
home for me. He was my hero and I only needed him in my life! but lit with fake
joy. My eyes glistened from now and my lips to a wide grin. My dad’s eyes looked
happy sad, with a flimsy layer of tears but lit up with fake joy. "No, son, I just
wanted to spend some time with you, he calmly said.

We pulled over by the ice cream truck and my Dad, without questioning, bought
the best flavour he offered, which was also my favourite. He didn't seem a bit
concerned as he pulled out dollars from the little that remained in his tattered
wallet. He got back in the car and handed me the ice cream, not saying much.

On the way back home, he tightly held my hand and reminded me of all the
beautiful memories we had after my Mom passed away. His eyes became even
more rheumy. I was now savouring the ice cream with a dry throat as the
emotions overwhelmed me. I wondered why he was talking about all this now, it
was almost as if he was going to leave me forever but I shook that thought off
my head.

I was so lost in thoughts that I didn't realise we had passed our home. The taxi
was moving on but my Dad said nothing as I screamed, and pointed repeatedly at
our humble abode.

He wouldn't even look at me. A couple of minutes passed and we pulled over by a
house, much bigger than ours and far more opulent. A couple stood smiling at
the door way, neatly clad in pristine white clothes and smiling excitedly,
especially the woman.

My Dad opened the door and pulled me along, speeding up his pace as he
approached the entrance. A formal greeting was shared and the woman bend
down, her gentle palms stroking my tired face, "What a lovely child," she
exclaimed, "even better than how he looked in the picture." With those words,
my heart clenched and I darted a glance at my Dad who's eyes welled with
tears.

Through his cracked voice I was able to decipher a few words,"This is... your
new home." He let go of my hand and it dropped lifelessly by my side. I couldn't
say a word as the tears in my eyes blurred my vision-my throat dry like the
cemented walkway we had trotted past. My Dad gave me a final look, placed his
hand on my head, rubbed it and briskly walked to the taxi. He shut the door and
in a second he was gone. I was frozen as the emotions chained me down and I
knew things would be different from now on.

Narrative - an exciting moment in somebody's life.

A breath in, a breath out. Why did I agree to do this? The roar of the plane's
engine was deafening to my ears and shivers chased up and down my spine as
they mocked me. As I tilted my head to the right, I felt the biting, cold air
blasting on my face as the large door of the plane opened wide, displaying a
cloudless azure sky.

"Hey! It's almost time!" shouted Jane, my instructor. I gulped hard and my
palms were clammy; I wasn't ready at all. As stood up, I heard my heartbeat
echoing in my ears and my blood coursing through my veins. Jane was the polar
opposite of me: determined, fearless, and strong- she was like a daredevil. She
had long, voluminous hair that waved down and both of us wore the exact attire
of charcoal black, except Jane had a backpack with her. I gave an exasperated
sigh and felt a hand on my shoulder. "I'm going to strap you in now!"

My breathing intensified as well as my pulse, Jane could probably hear it too as

I was now attached to her by a suffocating belt. At this point, my intense fear
began to melt the marrow of my bones.

“Next!" yelled the man in charge. Reluctantly, I shuffled towards the plane's
exit while I could feel the a tinge of frustration rising to Jane's chest as she
tried her best to push me forward as if she was battling my fears for me. As I
stood at the edge of the door and looked down - my stomach somersaulted; I
felt nauseous. "Alright! You can jump now!" exclaimed the man with a thumbs up.
Oh no. "This is it! One! Two!.." yelled Jane. "Wait!"I screamed- but I was
completely ignored. "Three!" My heart sank into the abyss. We plummeted down
from the plane and I screamed at the top of my lungs. My limbs were
outstretched and out of control as they kept kicking in the air. I struggled to
grasp and breathe for air. My heart was beating in its earnest. I tried to focus
on my surroundings and I couldn't.

"We're almost there, we're almost there!" reassured Jane. Suddenly, I jerked
upwards like a puppet being pulled up by its string. Oh, thank goodness, the
nightmare was all over; the parachute opened. I could still feel the adrenaline
flooding over my body but at least I got to admire the scenery around me.

On my left from a distance, I saw the alluring beauty of the mountain landscape
and it was truly a sight to behold as the abundance of glistening rocks adorned
throughout. Its glossy sides lit up in flame with a vibrancy of colors. I closed my
eyes and gave out a sigh of relief, embracing the breeze that caressed my face.
T looked down and I could see the ground slowly emerging and my feet felt
jittery - I was ready for this. "Touchdown!" exclaimed Jane.

As my feet felt the softness of the ground, I took off the belt, and my legs ran
freely in the direction of the wind as if they were broken by the chains of
torture with my hands stretched out. "We did it! Did I just do that? I want to
do it again!" I shouted in excitement and ecstasy.

I was talking so fast that Jane started to burst out in laughter. If someone told
me to go skydiving this time, I would definitely say: Yes.

Narrative - The mirror

As the sun mounted into cloudless heaven behind the azure sky, a quaint
cottage stood in solitude in the center of the stage of Mother nature as
hectares of lush greenery stretched out too long distances. In the house was
Catherine, who was drenched from heavy labor as she cleaned her bedroom. Her
sweat-streaked face glowed under the radiance of the sun and she breathed
and panted heavily as she forcefully mopped the wooden floor. Luminous rays of
sunlight fixed her hair in hues of golden brown and as she looked outside the
window, there were golden specks embedded in her emeralds.

"Almost done," whispered Catherine to herself - determined to make her room

spick and span.

Abruptly, she took out a piece of cloth and rushed to the last thing in her the
room that needed cleaning: her mirror, which was a gift from her parents when
she moved into a house all by herself. After countless efforts of wiping,
spraying, and ensuring it is squeaky clean, dark and ominous colors ranging from
blue to black began to swirl endlessly as well as letting out mysterious and
monotonous whispers and deep groans: it was a portal, a vortex!

Flooded with curiosity, Catherine's eyes widened and reflected the colors of
this mystical, magical mirror that she summoned. All sorts of questions began to
wash over her - should Igo through this mirror? What was on the other side?
Adrenaline rushed through her like wildfire and she could hear the blood
coursing through her body, her heartbeat echoing in her ears. Without wasting
any time, her fingers stretched out to touch the mirror and...whoosh! Her body
turned with the circular motion of the vortex everywhere she saw was charcoal
black and a slight tinge of dark blue.

“Ow!"
Landing with a heavy thud on the floor, Catherine struggled to open her eyes as
she felt her limbs become numb. She sat on her knees and looked around: why
was she still in her bedroom? Her eyes roamed to see the exact bed, the exact
wooden floor and everything else that resembled her bedroom. Struck with
utmost confusion, Catherine walked to see if there were any differences- but
nothing; everything was exactly where it was.

Although she felt a slight bit of disappointment, she still wanted to explore and
decided to go out and find anything that changed before she questioned her
sanity. As she closed the door behind her, the cupboard in her "room" opened
with a creak that was deafening to the ambiance around. Red, empty eyes
glowed and stared as the eternal darkness of the cupboard held back its
identity. Catherine wasn't alone after all

Nobody - Narrative

What is more terrifying than a disease that harms the one you love? That
makes you fume until you sweat and burn until you turn red. Colonising every
gene of every DNA of every nucleus of every cell? In a more wholesome way,
what is more terrifying than slowly losing yourself to the one thing you can
always rely on, your body?

Let me put your mind at ease. That is what everyone wants right? Ease and
comfort.

Putting in my blood, sweat, and a little bit of magic – cryptically produced

The term vaccine is defined as a solution to omitting a disease spreading virus,

in my terms at least. So if you ask me, what is more, terrifying than a disease
that takes over your body, it is a vaccine that takes your body away.

My ears are ringing as loud as my grandmother’s ringtone. Dirt colonises my

mouth as I attempt to spit it out. The damp mud pulls me in as I sink into my
doom.

Slowly accepting my end. I engulfed my last sight. The trees looming overhead,
the still silence, fresh smelling greenery visible through the darkest nights.

I lay still as the snapping sound carpets mother nature over me. My peripheral
vision soon colours in the blanks, darkening my thoughts until I have none.

Narrative

Wandering through the graveyard, it felt like something was watching me. The
paranoia in me kicks in as I swiftly scan my surroundings. Nothing. Still alert, I
waft my way through the protruding tombstones, my muscle memory leading the
way.
The air was thick and crisp like it could cut me into pieces. The night encircles
me and the never-ending horizon led me to believe that there was no escape.
The rustle of the autumn leaves leave my hair standing. I circle the 6-foot drop
below me, almost teasingly, so I tip over. Dreamily in despair, a firm, sturdy
hand cusps the small of my back, tightening its grip until my ribs lock into each
other.

My head is a helicopter running wild; the air in my lungs seems to be vacuumed

out and just as my last heartbeat is anticipated, it skips a beat. The silence is so
loud. Wisps of my hair tickle the apples of my cheek. My eyes open, unaware of
the fact that they have been sealed shut this entire time.

A piercing, punching, pounding drum rattles me. I forcefully swallow, almost

chokingly. Just as I can comprehend my environment, the tip of my foot slips
off the verge of the drop as I slam down like a heavy rock.

Descriptive

Wandering through the graveyard, it felt like something was watching me. The
paranoia in me kicks in as I swiftly scan my surroundings. Nothing. Still alert, I
waft my way through the protruding tombstones, my muscle memory leading the
way.

The air was thick and crisp like it could cut me into pieces. The night encircles
me and the never-ending horizon led me to believe that there was no escape.
The rustle of the autumn leaves leave my hair standing. I circle the 6-foot drop
below me, almost teasingly, so I tip over. Dreamily in despair, a firm, sturdy
hand cusps the small of my back, tightening its grip until my ribs lock into each
other.

My head is a helicopter running wild; the air in my lungs seems to be vacuumed

out and just as my last heartbeat is anticipated, it skips a beat. The silence is so
loud. Wisps of my hair tickle the apples of my cheek. My eyes open, unaware of
the fact that they have been sealed shut this entire time.
A piercing, punching, pounding drum rattles me. I forcefully swallow, almost
chokingly. Just as I can comprehend my environment, the tip of my foot slips
off the verge of the drop as I slam down like a heavy rock.

Narrative - Puppet show

The stage was brightly coloured with shades of red, crimson, blue, and green.
Most of the viewers were trapped by these hooking hues. The velvety purple
curtain rolled open to depict the new entry of every character of the fairy tale.
The puppets were made of cotton stuffed into beaming, floral printed clothes.
Every individual yelled and howled as the newbie entered, a puppet with a
strawy old hat, mellow coloured ragged jacket, and small button eyes.

Very soon, as the old puppet spoke, each one busted into tears of laughter,
catching their bulging bellies to laugh because of its adenoidal voice. I, myself
could not grip on my laughter. The small munchkins standing ahead rolled and
bounced with guffawings. Everyone was smelling, and sweating, and the sun was
high. Water rolling drop by drop from the head. I ran to the nearest store, right
next to the stage to pull on a cooler where I saw the puppet operators. That was
so amazing. I climbed backstage and was able to see the entire group of people
staring at the show without even a single blink, with a mixture of emotions.

People were full of joy and glee. The entire street was packed. The lamp posts
and the sky were decorated with a variety of hanging, flowers and glittering
strings to highlight the show. At last, the sun was down. Still, the show was on.
The story was so interesting | forgot everything but just observed the story till it
ended after an hour, and so did the crowd.

Descriptive

A strong gush of wind blew through, sending rancid, contaminated waste flying
everywhere. It was a tornado of garbage. In desperate attempt to shield
himself, he flung his arms across his face as the movement from the rubbish
was uncontrollable. The vigorous winds whipped his hair back and forth, along
with the garbage being flung from place to place. As the wind slowly died down,
his eyes began to adjust what was ahead of him. The smell intensified. It was
unbearable. Now the shape of the mountains were gone. The garbage now
dispersed all over the ground, ready to be disintegrated by the winds.

Descriptive writing - Busy shop scene

Rosy beams of warm sunlight glimmered through the diaphanous silk, finely
threaded intp smooth curtains, brightening the dim spacious room into a glowing
spring of life. A familiar toll of a bell tore the veil of suffocating silence as the
heavy wooden door embellished with sparkles of gold pushed in, signifying the
start of another normal bustling day.

Streams of customers filled the spaces as soon as the signboard in the

entrance was flipped. All walks of life gathered in the unblemished lounge:
youngsters with large backpacks and notepads in hand, giggling back and forth
while gobbling up the meals;scholars, usually in pairs, prefer to immerse in the
world of study with occasional sips of dark coffee; vibrant teens clustered in
the alcove, engaging in encapsulating small talks; lone pairs of men and women
put down orders for delivery then left to work without procrastination; families
surrounding round marble tables with each of them neck down on phones;
retiring seniors basking under the flaming orb rose in the wooden garden in
front of the shop, conversing with neighbours passing by.

Describe the most untidy place you know

Colours of blue and orange streaked the sky. As he stood admiring the view up
above, a strong pungent odour drifted pass, making its way through his nose.
Immediately, he breathed out as fast as he could in effort to avoid the rancid
smell lingering in the air. His stomach churned as the smell made him feel
nauseous. The foul smell reeked the air, suffocating every breath taken in. He
pulled his lime green shirt over his nose in an attempt to filter out the putrid
smell. The smell in the air overpowered everything, taking over what once was
the fresh, clean air. The air was now toxified with the scent. To find out the
source of the smell, he slowly turned around, not prepared for what he was
about to see next.
His eyes confronted the mountains of garbage which loomed above. The
mountains were endless, as they crammed closely together acting like a barrier,
blocking the breathtaking view of the sky completely. Bright yellow bulldozers
drove up the mountains of garbage in order to flatten out the rubbish. Rays of
sunlight violently shone down below, burning his skin. Beads of sweat dripped
down his forehead. The stench from the landfill clung to his clothes. The birds
that flew above, their squeaks echoing through the mountains of trash. These
birds swooped low, picking up bits of waste scattered all across the dirt ground.
He ducked in fear that these birds would mistake him for being part of the
waste below. These were discarded rotted food all over the ground, waiting to
decay or be picked up by the birds.

Describe a wild place

It is the wildest place that brings me peace. Every morning, silvers of sunlight
plead to be let in to the secretive forest. Fog hovers protectively in the sky and
a stretch of pine trees dominate the area. A plethora of flowers, shrubs, yers,
and weeds sway with pride to the forest’s whispering tune. They tell me it's
okay to be different. I’m inspired by their strength, unbothered and immune to
years of neglect. How could any delicate houseplant compare?

Shadows dissolve into the pristine sky, as grass and greens colonise every
crevice and crack. The cool forest shares its energy with me, and soon i'm
hypnotised by the same wild song as every other creature. I barely noticed the
cool water droplets falling from above, massaging my body with their pecks and
tickles. The droplets skip merrily on the surface of a narrow stream. Very soon,
the rain becomes harsher, slow to anger. Bullets of water slam the small plants
mercilessly as the roots of trees claw and grip the soil. Bunnies, bugs, and
beetles, they all scramble for shelter. I continue to spin and twirl, stunned by
nature’s wrath.

Before I knew it, dusk was approaching and the sky was no longer weeping.
Despite everything, the plants remain unbothered. They get back up after
taking a hit. Water drop;ets glisten on the surface of every waxy leaf. I’m
stunned by the mingling of lilies, daisies, and lanky forest grass. The buzz of
insects, chirps of birds, and the gliding water in the stream create a mystic
cacophony. Then awakens the creatures of the night. A mighty owl perches on a
tree branch and bats swing at the ripest fruits. The hollers of crickets ricochet
through the swarm of trees. Unlike the sunlight, beams of light from the moon
possess the woods. It permeates the mossy ground, cushioning my feet. Each
step is wet and cold and leaves tingles and sparks on my sensitive feet.

I brace myself and make no sound, so as to not wake up the sleeping beasts. The
sun had left dejected, with the promise of returning tomorrow. As I explore the
woods, the moon follows me, offering its silent companionship. The howl of
wolves and hyenas and bloodcurdling wails of animals are a hunted ring through
my ears, it reminds me that I too am a prey. Despite the danger, I only feel
soothed by the violence, vulnerability, and cruel beauty of it.

Busy shopping mall or market

The handles from shopping bags covered her arms like wristbands. The thin
straps from the handles dug into her skin.She sighed in distress as the weight
from all the bags were dragging her down, She took a deep breath, trying to
regain her strength in order to heave these heavy bags along with her. Swarms
of people barged past, people pushing their way through anybody blocking their
path. The perfectly polished, white marble floor below was non-existent as it
was covered with trampling feet. The noise of people stomping on the floor at all
different times boomed through the mall, sounding like a stampede of cows
running through the field.

People hustled their way through the crowd, desperately searching for the next
store to enter. As she had been here all day she stood on her toes, frantically
searching for the exit. To her disappointment, all she saw ahead of her was a
sea of people which flooded the mall. The amount of people in the mall was
overwhelming. It was like trying to fit a rock into a keyhole. It was so crammed
to the point where the shopping mall felt tiny.

The sound was immense. Noises from all different directions bombarded
through her ears. Screams of frustration from children. Glass shattering, high
pitched cries from babies. Laughter from teenagers. The noise was like a live
party, never dying down. The atmosphere was chaotic. It was impossible for her
to stop and search for the exit as she was constantly being pushed around by
the people as if she was the ball in a game of football. Next to her was a plush,
maroon cushion in velvet. Immediately, her legs sprung towards the couch. Her
body sunk into the cushion, now that she had avoided the sea of people she was
able to look for the nearest exit.

Her eyes darted across the mall. Her eyes covered the entire area until they
stopped. They were glued directly to the source of the flocks of people entering
the mall. There was a large rectangular glass door which was wide open. Beams
of sunlight reflected on the glass causing the large mass of people entering to
squint their eyes. Ahead Seemed like a waterfall of people pouring in. She
leaped out of the cushion to escape. To her, it seemed as it seemed as of she
was the only person going against the current of all these people. As she ran out
of the door, a sigh of relief escaped her lips as she finally made her way out of
the unorganised chaos.
Blossoming . Like a choking handshake .Wizened
Sleepy bitterness . Wind whistles a fereboding tune .Wrinkled
Pointed . Fold like crumpled paper .Resplendent
Smudgy . Wilt like a dying plant .Radiant
Choking . Cut through like soft ice cream .Sparkling
Cobwebs . Cold fingers of panic wrap around the .Gorgeous
Limber fingers . Floating in the blackness .Gleaming
Caress . Thick sheet of rain .Crystalline
Buried . Crying shattered tears
Sombre . Floating in the blackness
Wrestling . Resembling dandelions in the wind
Ricochet . Ropes of warm air drag me
Rogue . Mirror the chaos in my head
Blanket . Wardrobe’s arms wrapped around me
Engulf . Scattered like fallen leaves
Rhythmic . A kaleidoscope of colour
Contorted .like a coin from a wishing well
Cacophony .Glistening
Pristine .Enchanted
Clambors .Billowy
Writhing .Dazzling
Flickering .Ramshackle
Bellowing .Shabby
Ominous .Rundown
Jostled .Uncanny
Barbed/ Spined .Eerie
Crackled .Prickled
Crumbly .Arch
Crusty .Crescent
Foamy/Spongy .Glittery
Fuzzy .Globular
Gritty .Bloomy
Pitted .Glassy
Powderly .Glowing