Belonging creative writing ideas

If you are the account owner, please submit ticket for further belonging creative writing ideas. If you are lucky enough to not be aware of this special sort of torture, you are not missing out on anything, trust me.

This post is only for those poor souls who are currently in the Valley of Death. If this is not you, you should go NOW. You have better things to be reading than 1000 words forced onto a page to get marks from an English teacher. Now, my poor, dear HSC victims, I post this story up because when I did the HSC, I spent a good few hours sitting blankly at my desk trying to think of ideas for my Belonging creative writing. For example, I wrote one story about a woman in the air force and another about a postal officer working in Kandahar Afghanistan. When I say such as, I really mean just.

I highly suggest that you drop in and soak up some of this guy’s Englishy wisdom. Here is the entrance to the portal that will teleport you to this amazing place. Normally they will have the winners up. This way, you can see what good, non-student writing, looks like. Now, to the actual thing I have here. The creative writing only makes up a 6th of your overall English mark. Nevertheless, I hope you find this useful!

The meal was much appreciated by the guards, who having forced the prisoners to eat their watery stew, now felt like kings. As the bell rang, bouncing through the passage of the small rooms, Mark and four others pushed their chairs back and stood together, ready for their next shift. Give prisoner 310 a bit of a push! Once inside, with the door locked, they checked each cell. Each room was small with two narrow beds filling most of the space. Sitting or lying on each bed was a man clothed in a thin white smock.

310 lay under his square blanket, his bare feet hanging off the edge of the mattress. Mark hit the bars on 310s cell with his baton, breaking the humid hush that had settled over the rooms and causing him to sit up. When they stopped, Tom reiterated his demand. This time his voice was low and firm. 310 is a bad prisoner, 310 is a bad prisoner. Two voices joined his and then another and another. As the chant picked up the guards stood back from the doors, moving back to their chairs on the opposite side of the narrow hall.

Three hours into the shift, a key turned in the lock and the professor entered the hall. He walked to the center of the room, pulling back the blind that had been tied close for the last four days. Students, we are ending the experiment early. Tom stared out of the window, shocked by the sunny courtyard outside, filled with students moving from class to class. Four days earlier, Professor Zimbardo stood in a classroom with twelve students, half the number he had selected for the experiment. The twenty-four young men were considered the most emotionally stable and normal of the many more they had tested. I will show you where the mock prison has been set up.

In this place, your new identity is to be a guard. An hour after the Professor ended the experiment all twelve prisoners emerged from storage rooms at Stanford University, their faces pallid and eyes blinking in the sunlight, pulled unexpectedly from a life that had consumed them in just days. Tom walked home alone, blending in with the crowds of students as they left for the weekend. His mother answered the door when he knocked, her eyebrows raised.

Did you get paid for the two weeks? Yeah they paid us the full amount anyway. Well go and clean up Tommy, and then we will have dinner’ Her smile wasn’t returned by Tom. Actually, dear, would you mind going and bringing the bins in first? No, I won’t get the bins’ Tom pushed past his stunned mother, feeling his frustration growing like a hot cloud within him. He climbed the stairs, his frustration swirled around his chest, winding itself around him like a serpent around its prey.

Yes, technically it is Facebook that is your worse enemy, but you know,he is just an evil son of the internet, isn’t he? I realise it doesn’t have to be a narrative so hey, feel free to do something else, just never ever do an acrostic poem. Thanks for the kudos to Tutor Tales and linking to my blog. If you would like to keep linking to us, please update your links to this new address. My teacher says that it should be based on some part of our lives to make it authentic, but there’s nothing exciting enough to write a story on.