Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Grade 12 Place Writing by Guru Amrit Kaur
The Grade 12 English class was given an assignment to write about place, appealing to the five senses. It could be a simple description, or a description as part of a story. Here is one of the results from Guru Amrit Kaur:
He sits in the corner weeping like he used to when he was eight. Of course, back then he would not have been capable of what he was capable of now. His body, oversized and againg, was now completely different than the tiny eight year old body he once had. All those beatings, emotional and physical, had taken a toll on him; his innocence had long been lost in the blunt roughness of the world.
He sat in a bedroom, a very nice one, lit delicately by lamps and shadows. The light made enough noise for the sounds that were absent, and they spilled on the bed and the walls and on the floor, like a bucket of spilled paint. Splatters here. Splatters there. It was all very colorful, but it wasn't very smooth.
The only real sounds were coming from the clock. He stood up and walked to the dresser. It stood more as a threat than an accomodation, with pictures framed, memories printed and guarded by glass all on display to the world. Whose house is this?
He took a second look around the room. It was all very nice, but it wasn't very human. Maybe that's what she meant when she had compared him to this house. Her harsh words burned into his skin leaving only a sting that still would not evaporate. Had the walls been light pink instead of white, would she be sitting on the bed right now? If the carpet he stood on would have been softer, would it have made his heart the same? Had he been destined to live the life everyone else was living right from the beginning?
For some strange and bizarre reason he was not at all angry with God for painting his life with water colors instead of oil paints. Everything had always blurred together to form a picture without definite lines. It kinds of reminded him of the room he stood in and how it had mixed in with memories of someone else's life.
And with that, he calmly walked out on his tangible betrayal and out into a spilled world that was all very colorful, but not very smooth.
The Grade 12 English class was given an assignment to write about place, appealing to the five senses. It could be a simple description, or a description as part of a story. Here is one of the results from Guru Amrit Kaur:
He sits in the corner weeping like he used to when he was eight. Of course, back then he would not have been capable of what he was capable of now. His body, oversized and againg, was now completely different than the tiny eight year old body he once had. All those beatings, emotional and physical, had taken a toll on him; his innocence had long been lost in the blunt roughness of the world.
He sat in a bedroom, a very nice one, lit delicately by lamps and shadows. The light made enough noise for the sounds that were absent, and they spilled on the bed and the walls and on the floor, like a bucket of spilled paint. Splatters here. Splatters there. It was all very colorful, but it wasn't very smooth.
The only real sounds were coming from the clock. He stood up and walked to the dresser. It stood more as a threat than an accomodation, with pictures framed, memories printed and guarded by glass all on display to the world. Whose house is this?
He took a second look around the room. It was all very nice, but it wasn't very human. Maybe that's what she meant when she had compared him to this house. Her harsh words burned into his skin leaving only a sting that still would not evaporate. Had the walls been light pink instead of white, would she be sitting on the bed right now? If the carpet he stood on would have been softer, would it have made his heart the same? Had he been destined to live the life everyone else was living right from the beginning?
For some strange and bizarre reason he was not at all angry with God for painting his life with water colors instead of oil paints. Everything had always blurred together to form a picture without definite lines. It kinds of reminded him of the room he stood in and how it had mixed in with memories of someone else's life.
And with that, he calmly walked out on his tangible betrayal and out into a spilled world that was all very colorful, but not very smooth.
# posted by MPA Student Work @ 3:18 AM 
