House picture essay (2)

Suddenly a cacophony of sounds erupted, breaking the bubble of ominous silence that had been surrounding the old house. Cracks sped up and around the mountain with the speed of sound, making small showers of dust and stones hurry fearfully down the steep incline.

Up and up the cracks continued, from the base into the heart, and up some more till they reached the peak where the old wooden house stood. Platform gave way and foundations trembled, windmill tottered and ceiling toppled. Yet the inhabitants were strangely silent as they gathered their few belongings with practiced speed and started parachuting down the mountain, fluffy white clouds against the rolling storm of stone around them.

The house sagged and groaned, but refused to let go of the rocky perch that had been its home for so long. Then there was a loud boom, and a huge crack split the mountain and the old house in half. For a moment time was stopped, then the old house fell with a departing groan as the mountain crumbled.

Then all was still.

House Picture essay (1)

The rickety old house swayed and groaned as yet another gust of wind tore around the mountain.

The windmill turned viciously, making the layers of dust and sand dance, tickling the windows and settling in an unwelcome, grainy film on the clothes on the line. The rotten floorboards of the old staircase creaked as if an invisible visitor was walking up them. A thin, pale-faced person peered out of the window, haggard from years of living on the bare mountain top. Yellow mist swirled like ghostly memories around the lonesome house.

Yet it stood straight and proud, a monument to the great mountain city it had once been part of.

A shower of stones cascaded down the mountain, a death call in the silence, reminding the lone house that Fate was not yet done with it.

Wolf Picture Essay

“You’re going?” I looked at Bill in disbelief. He couldn’t go.

“You can’t”, I said, blunt with surprise.

He sighed. His whole attitude said, “This is harder than I thought”

” ‘Tia, the army needs me. I have to go. And it won’t be long, not longer than a year, I promise.”

I couldn’t see him through the tears that were steadily flowing, blurring my vision, but I could tell from his tone of voice he was giving me his I-wish-you’d-be sensible look. I felt stubborn. I didn’t want to be sensible. I wanted to be selfish and make him stay. ” ‘Tia, please. . .” I stood, having had enough.

Bill’s voice followed me as I ran out of the house and down the path to the woods.

” Cottia. . .”

The stormy winter sky disappeared as the comforting darkness of Wolf Wood embraced me. I ran on, not knowing where I was going, and not really caring. Forgetting everything, forgetting even that the very wood where I was now running had gotten it’s name from wolves that had roamed free no more that ten years ago, remembering only that Bill was going away. I stopped short. What if he never came back? I hated myself for thinking it.

I looked around to see where I was. Old instinct had led me to the little clearing where Bill and I had played as children. I sat down, my eyes filling, as pictures from the past flashed through my mind. How alone I’d felt when I first arrived in the small town of Wallington nine years ago, a small, scared eight year old girl with dirty blonde hair and sad brown eyes. Bill’s smile when he asked me if I wanted to be friends. The very clearing I was now sitting in where we had reigned as king and queen. And now he was going. I stared at the little patch of sky that the dense green leaves did not cover as I cried as if my heart would break. At last the peaceful unconsciousness that was sleep took me.

I was in a field of red poppies, and Bill was lying on the ground beside me, dried blood in a crust on his forehead, his face ashen, his eyes unmoving. I touched his hand. It was ice cold. Then the terrible realization hit me. Bill was dead. My heart felt like every drop of life was being squeezed from it, and there was a terrible weight on my chest. . .

I awoke. It wasn’t a dream. There was a terrible weight on my chest. My eyes flew open, and I stared straight into the golden-yellow eyes of a wolf.

I could have screamed, but I didn’t. I could have fought, but I didn’t. I just lay there and let it happen, watching the winter-white sky go grey above me. One wolf prodded his nose into my hand and against my cheek, casting a shadow along my face. His yellow eyes looked into mine as the other wolves moved me this way and that. . . by Danielle Bester

Experiment form for ‘Testing a leaf for starch’

1  a) I am testing to see if starch is produced during photosynthesis.

    b) I think the leaf will turn blue-black, indicating the presence of starch, when I      drop the iodine on it.

    c) Bunsen burner with gauze, beaker, petri dish, tweezers and test tube.

    d) Water, leaf, iodine and ethanol.

    e) One of the variables needed for starch production might be missing, so the experiment would fail.

    f) You could make sure you used a plant that had stood in the sun for several hours to ensure light was present, use a healthy green leaf to ensure the presence of chlorophyll, give the plant enough water before selecting a leaf and make sure it stood in the open air to ensure carbon dioxide.

2 a) Boil the leaf in the beaker of water over the bunsen for no less than one minute

       Remove the leaf from the water with the tweezers and put it in the test tube and cover with ethanol. Put the tube in the beaker of hot water.

      Put the leaf in the petri dish and drop iodine on it.

   b) The experiment proved that starch is the product of photosynthesis.

   c) I could have burned myself on the bunsen burner or the iodine could have irritated my skin.

   d) Not applicable

   e) Not applicable

3 a) As I predicted the leaf turned blue-black to to indicate the presence of starch.

   b) No, there were not

   c) You could have done the test on several kinds of leaves and used purer ethanol.

   d) That starch is produced during the process of photosynthesis.

pg. 41 english writing activities

He used to go riding off to his allotments wearing an enormous pair of Wellington boots and riding on a rickety old bicycle that was falling apart. He’d stay there all day if he could.

I am suffering from a really terrible cold. I think I must have picked it up on Wednesday in the cinema. On Tuesday I went to work but found it hard to concentrate. I went to see Titanic for the twentieth time and it was hot and stuffy. I distinctly remember this guy sneezing behind me all the way through the film. By the time I went to bed I was so bunged up I could hardly breathe. As for today, well I’m far too unfit to go to work so I’ll stay at home. I notice they are showing Titanic on television.