I wrote this when I was 11. Like a Roman mythical version of Shrek. I like the imagination I had back then. I liked using beautiful descriptive words and painting a picture with them. :)
One sunny morning in the village of Conervra, the birds were singing as the sun danced above the clouds. The local carpenter named Corinthes was gazing out of the window of his cluttered workshop. He wished he could rescue his beloved princess Diminica from the damp and mouldy caves of the towering Conevrian mountains. He knew he first had to defeat the two-headed Phoedra to win her heart.
As he set off across the fresh fields of daisies and crossed the dangerous white water which was splashing wildly to and fro, he thought up a cunning plan. "If the two heads of the Phoedra can disagree with each other, then the Phoedra will be paralyzed", but the question remaining inside his head was "How?"
He could smell the beast now, as Corinthes strode towards the enormous mouth of the cave. He heard a woman's voice cry out "Help me!" Corinthes charged in but there was nobody to be seen. He peered around and to his shock saw four dead skeletons strung from the ceiling. Soon the ground started to rumble!
As Corinthes looked up he saw a grotesque figure towering over him. The Phoedra's eyes glowed with red anger. It gritted its teeth and clenched its fists. Its breath stank of repulsive, rotten eggs. Corinthes was terrified. "We should skin him alive," bellowed one head. "No we should burn him ti ash!" The Phoedra's heads argued on and on. But they didn't notice Corinthes had vanished.
Corinthes dashed down the stone steps and entered the dungeon. The dungeon walls were covered in plans of escape that had failed. Corinthes peered in all the prison cells, but no princess was to be seen.
Thundering footsteps were heard from a distance. The Phoedra soon was in sight. The gruesome beast swung its sword through the air. Corinthes ran away as fast as his legs could carry him. Corinthes' heart was pounding in his ears. The wild animal cornered Corinthes. The sword swooped through the air in mighty circles, the blade only inches away from Corinthes' neck. With shouts of "Cut off his head" and "No, cut off his legs!" the creature lost control as it swung in mid-air, it cut off one of it own heads. The Phoedra crashed to the ground. It was slowly dying in agony.
Corinthes searched and searched and called for the one his heart desired. But there was no reply. After hours Corinthes finally heard a call. Eventually he found her in a pit. Although her eyes dazzled with beauty she was starving. Her face was weak and her body was very slim. Her heart sparkled with love, but her face was filled with sadness.
Corinthes climbed down into the pit, he lifted her up onto his shoulders and climbed up the treacherous rocks. Scrambling and sliding he finally made it out of the cave. Resting Diminica on his knee, Corinthes made a vow of everlasting love.
Thursday, October 24
Tuesday, October 22
My version of 'Her First Ball' by Katherine Mansfield
I wrote this when I was 13.
I remember how excited I was going to my first ball and I tried not to smile too much, I tried not to care. But everything was so new and exciting! When we arrived in the drill hall, all the girls were looking towards the men, but the men didn’t seem to notice. They were too busy smoothing their gloves, patting their glossy hair and smiling among themselves. Then quite suddenly, the men glided across the floor towards the girls and started scribbling on their programmes. I was sure that if my partner didn’t come and I had to listen to the marvellous music and watch the others gliding over the golden floor, I would die at least, or faint. But sure enough my partner came, he seemed quite surprised that it was my first ball and it was such a relief to be able to tell somebody. Then the music stopped and we took a seat. My partner coughed, tucked his handkerchief away, pulled down his waistcoat and took a minute thread off his sleeve. It wasn’t long before the music started again and I was swept away along the dance floor. Once the dance finished I found myself bumping into a fat, old man with a big bald patch on his head. When I compared him with the other partners he looked shabby. His waistcoat was creased, there was a button off his glove and his coat looked as if was dusty with French chalk. He was very rude, the way he spoiled it all, by saying things like “one day you’ll be sitting up there on the stage in your black velvet. And these pretty arms will have turned into short fat ones”. After a moment of thought, I replied “I want to stop.” I leaned against the wall, tapping with my foot, pulling up my gloves and trying to smile. Could it all be true? I didn’t want to dance anymore, I wanted to go home. Then a soft, melting tune began, and a young man with curly hair bowed before me. Very stiffly I walked towards him and very haughtily I put my hand on his sleeve. I floated away like a flower tossed in a pool and the fat man didn’t cross my mind again. It was simply heavenly, gliding across the floor with a fine gentleman. His marble white gloves pressed against my waist and the lights, the azaleas, the dresses, the pink faces, the velvet chairs, all became one beautiful flying wheel. Slowly his voice dimmed and the music faded into the distance and Oh what a magical night it was!
Dear
Diary
I remember how excited I was going to my first ball and I tried not to smile too much, I tried not to care. But everything was so new and exciting! When we arrived in the drill hall, all the girls were looking towards the men, but the men didn’t seem to notice. They were too busy smoothing their gloves, patting their glossy hair and smiling among themselves. Then quite suddenly, the men glided across the floor towards the girls and started scribbling on their programmes. I was sure that if my partner didn’t come and I had to listen to the marvellous music and watch the others gliding over the golden floor, I would die at least, or faint. But sure enough my partner came, he seemed quite surprised that it was my first ball and it was such a relief to be able to tell somebody. Then the music stopped and we took a seat. My partner coughed, tucked his handkerchief away, pulled down his waistcoat and took a minute thread off his sleeve. It wasn’t long before the music started again and I was swept away along the dance floor. Once the dance finished I found myself bumping into a fat, old man with a big bald patch on his head. When I compared him with the other partners he looked shabby. His waistcoat was creased, there was a button off his glove and his coat looked as if was dusty with French chalk. He was very rude, the way he spoiled it all, by saying things like “one day you’ll be sitting up there on the stage in your black velvet. And these pretty arms will have turned into short fat ones”. After a moment of thought, I replied “I want to stop.” I leaned against the wall, tapping with my foot, pulling up my gloves and trying to smile. Could it all be true? I didn’t want to dance anymore, I wanted to go home. Then a soft, melting tune began, and a young man with curly hair bowed before me. Very stiffly I walked towards him and very haughtily I put my hand on his sleeve. I floated away like a flower tossed in a pool and the fat man didn’t cross my mind again. It was simply heavenly, gliding across the floor with a fine gentleman. His marble white gloves pressed against my waist and the lights, the azaleas, the dresses, the pink faces, the velvet chairs, all became one beautiful flying wheel. Slowly his voice dimmed and the music faded into the distance and Oh what a magical night it was!
Leila
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