4 December 2012
This is the story I have used for my GCSE Coursework: Narrative Writing.
In a field of white, with nothing but a single set of footprints marring the sparkling blanket, was a young boy. Smiling, as he always did, he played with the chain in his hands. The cold didn't seem to bother him at all; he just sat there. A gift box sat by his side: its ribbon tangled carelessly on the floor, and yet the wrapping paper had been cautiously removed in a successful attempt to remove it without ripping it. Far from shiny and new, the chain was rusty. However, that somehow failed to take away any majesty from its hypnotic beauty. The scene was serene: peaceful, happy, and beautiful.
In a factory below the ground, children worked, making lockets. Rust and oil coated their hands and clothes. Bags surrounded eyes. Lank greasy hair. Grimy, parched mouths. Despite their suffering, none of the children complained. Silence, apart from the clinking of tools, and the whirring of machines. An air of evil filled the dank, dark room. It looked evil, smelt evil, sounded evil. The air tasted of pain and suffering, and a prickling sensation coated the skin of anyone who had the bad fortune to have to enter.
In the corner of this room sat a man. He looked grimly at a rusted locket. Even rusted, and missing its chain, it was impossible to draw your eyes away from its hypnotic beauty.
The man hunched over his locket, quivering. He sucked in a breath through his pursed lips. Turning to the girl next to him, and trembling with barely controlled anger, he spoke.
“What do you mean you lost it?”
The girl shook, her golden hair, caked in grime, amplified her trembling. On her hand was a tally. *|||| |||| . 10. 10 years of suffering. The star meant birth. Her pretty blue eyes were wide, blinking often. Biting her lip, she steeled herself.
“Exactly what I said.”
A hand with a locket flew towards her, and the world disappeared, the dim bulb in the ceiling engulfed by the black.
The Gift (part 1) • Opuss № I