Five, four, three, two, one. The gong sounded loud through the arena. I sprinted off my metal plate and headed for the jungle. My breathing too fast for my liking, I hid behind a large, green bush, watching the other tributes. Suddenly, I saw Finnick, eyeing the bush where I concealed myself. He started to head my way, but I was one step ahead of him and I was gone, into the dark, green jungle where I knew he couldn’t follow. I heard him call my name, “Katniss, Katniss” but I kept running. I really wanted to stop but I knew I couldn’t; my heart was beating incredibly fast…
Congratulations to Mady whose 100WC made it to the showcase this fortnight! Visit www.100wc.net to see her name up in lights!
Our class worked on rich writing after we had participated in an Anzac Day Prayer Service and looked at some of the Anzac information loaded on our blog. In snapshot writing, the goal is to make the reader feel like he/she is right in the moment of what is happening. The focus is on the senses – what can I see, smell, hear, taste and touch and how do these things make me feel. Here are some samples of our writing:
Suffering and Mateship 8/7/1917
I see people leaping for cover as blood pours all over the dusty ground, the sounds of the enemy coming closer and closer. Suddenly, I hear an ear splitting cry! I spin around (one eye still on the enemy’s guns) and I see a fighter lying on the ground, holding his stomach. I sprint to the spot where he lays and fall to my knees at his side. I look around desperately at the surrounding chaos. I see the boat we arrived on. I pull and pull, yanking his arm over the rim and lie him down. I take off my shirt and wrap it around his wounds. “You’ll be alright, mate” And I know this is only the beginning!
Anzac Snapshot: Death and loss.
Here I stand on muddy ground with bodies and blood sprawled everywhere. Here I look, there have been so many lives lost and these bodies are no longer able to return to their loved ones. Here I ask myself, why did I ever come here? What’s the point of fighting when so many soldiers go to war and so few return. I never wanted to be a murderer and yet here I am, deeply regretting what I have done on the shores of Gallipoli.