Author: jnorth

Creative writing coursework

January 19, 2016 / / 2 Comments

7.30am, I seem to be here earlier then usual, as I left my house this morning I can see the leaves turning brown,autumn has begun. As I sat on the bus I stared blankly out of the window watching my Breath condensate abed it and watch droplets race down like the 100m sprint of the Olympic Games. I enjoy silence, but as the ever looming loudness of school children filling the bus came upon me I plugged my earphones in and continued looking out of the window.
Finally the end of my bus journey had arrived, I exited the bus and proceeded along the trail of a brown woodland area filling my nostrils with the scent of outdoors. As I took a breath cold air-filled my lungs which sent a shiver down my spine. I continued along my trail embracing the green and brown contrast of grass and leaf and the elderly walking their small delicate dogs dressed in novelty dogs clothing.
The campus gates, tall iron bars connect one brick wall to another which encompasses the entire school ground. The school itself is an old Victorian style building which is surrounded by the season ground or the play ground as more commonly known. I call it the season ground as when a season arrives it’s the first place I notice to change and while it’s changing specifics of each season shines through with vibrancy. During this season, autumn, the leaves start to change colour and trees start to spread their seeds, and as winter comes along you can see trees start to save nutrients and bushes start to die and this gives the garden a cold feel and brings the bite out of winter, as spring rolls through the trees and bushes start to come alive, trees begin to sprout leaves and bushes re grow and we also get the flowers blossoming and the garden looks somewhat mesmerizing.
As i entered the front door i was greeted by an older student he said “hello sir” and held a faint smile along with it, i replied with a mere nod and a smile. As i continued to walk down the corridor there was not a soul in sight, the corridors were eerily quite which caused ominous intonations to echo through out. Here we are now in my class room, and while you read this the redolent of my coffee fills the room as i stare blankly out of the window.

 

As a student the most challenging part of my day would probably be waking up, its a daily chore but it has to be done, i drag myself out of bed and lay on the fluffed up carpet as the cat brushes against my head. i put on my clothes and shoes and head for the door with my old cranky bike, i shout to my mum “Bye I love you” shes replies identically and i am on my way.

I always tend to get to school fairly early, around 7:30am, I don’t know what it is but I love the fresh breeze blowing on my face in the early hours of the morning, as I ride my bike my bag flaps across my back like a flag on a pole flailing in the wind. I love going fast head down, narrolly missing cars, with music shattering my ear drums while I look at the same beautiful girl walking down the high street. And then school. The big iron gates  and walls as if it’s a prison, what a horrid place, boring trees and boring shrub. I enter the building, the quite corridor only brings mischief, I make my way thorough the corridor about to draw on lockers and walls as such when I see him, grey hair with a , melencolly look on his face, I give a faint smile and added a “Hello sir” just for the irony. “Only one year left” I tell myself.

 

Argue piece (update)

January 18, 2016 / / 1 Comment

I believe the living conditions should be tightened because the environment in which prisoners serve their sentences aren’t as controlled and disciplined as they should be. Prisoners for all counts of charges whether it be rapists or murderes get to spend their time in a comfortable environment with TVs, game consoles and a lot more. This creates an almost nice escape rather than a punishment. This has been backed up by numerous documentaries and news articles which also show prisoners even using mobile phones and smoking drugs inside their sells.

We can compare our prisons to others in the world such as America. It is well known for their legal systems and how crime is dealt with in a very direct manner. Murderers who are sent to a prison in a state in America are confined in their cell 24 hours a day and will serve 25 years to life and some can even face death row depending on circumstances. They clearly show a lot more discipline and structure compared to the ones in the UK.

While I say that Americas prison system is stricter then ours it is also seen that there is a fine line between rehabilitating and institutionalising a person, I have watched several prison documentaries where a re offender has been interviews and a main point the he brought up was the fact that when he was released he didn’t know know how to cope on the streets and in normal life because he had Been institutionalised. But in recent years institutionalisation has become a hot topic in U.S. Politics and they have began to implement rehabilitation classes where an inmate can sign up which may equal time off there sentence if done so, but then the question is posed that weather an inmate is taking a class for the actual help or the benefits that it gives.

By any means America is another scale of things a lot of people cannot begin to understand. This is because of different laws and regulations in America and it is hard to compare the both as they aren’t comparable.

However, in Britain it has been shown to light by recent developments that some british convicts will commit more crime once they are out of jail so they will be put back in. Many ex cons say prison is a comfortable environment. “3 meals a day, a bed and a place of a socialisation.” The prison system is overcrowded as it is so people who do this accumulate more and more people in the prisons

Creative Writing Coursework – YA opening

November 22, 2014 / / 1 Comment

It seemed my family wanted me to go, not that I liked them anyway, they always assumed I was popular I mean who in their right mind would think a black haired, Goth child would be popular, although they may just be putting it on, trying to act as if I’m popular to give them self some hope to say they haven’t failed in life.

One of my socially admitted friends turned up, it was more awkward then fun, he was a 6ft big build blonde haired beach boy and my mum was 46 year old drunk women at a party this wasn’t going to end well. I sat in my bedroom with a bit of cake and a drink all night, I thought I might take a trip and walk down the hall towards the steps and I could see my drunken mum dancing away, then I see my dad. They start kissing, it was vaulting, he picked her up and started walking her to the stairs, I tip toed back to my abode.

Several minutes have passed and I start hearing slaps and sobbing, I know what’s going on but as usual I’m too much of a wimp to do anything, I wonder for a few seconds and I catch the view of my packed bag in the corner of the room. With tears in my eyes I grab my coat, run down stairs get a few bottles of water, lace my shoes up and back to my room in all under two minutes.

The house was still full of ‘party animals’ and with tears running down my face now I didn’t want to go through them or for anyone to see me at all. I pack a radio and some spare batteries, along with my flick knife and some food. I didn’t want to go without leaving my mum something so I wrote on a piece of paper saying ‘see you on the other side’.

Then I opened my window hopped out and was on my way.

I woke up in the forest around two miles away from my house, I woke up feeling refreshed and free, which hasn’t been my emotions in a long while. I turn my radio on and sit up against a tree, the wind whistles past my air and I can get a faint smell of autumn. I fall into a relaxed mood which is then broken a bbc radio talk host who reports of a boy missing, I shudder at the thought of being ‘missing’, the thought of people not knowing where I am, it gives me a buzz.

I thought I might as well keep walking and watching and waiting for something exciting to happen, something to take away all the pain and hatred I have for my father.

My father’s name is jack, jack chikly, he’s never really been there for me he just comes and goes when he feels so and never says hello, and as you have probably guessed hes abusive, how dare he lay a finger upon my mother who does he think he is, bloody goon, and my mother does nothing, nothing at all. One day he will get his up and coming, I will not let an indecent and selfish man walk around this earth touching whoever he feels like.

It’s dark. I’m still trekking through the forest trying to find somewhere to sleep. I’m on high alert, any noise or movements sends my head on the point like a laser. i see someone on the road, well an outline at least, I grasp my flick knife. The figure starts approaching, I get scared, don’t think, i pull out my knife while i flick it out and thrust, stabbing and stabbing until blood runs up my sleeve.

That’s when it all began.