GCSE Writing: Trapped

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GCSE Writing: Trapped

Postby Simon Templar » 22 Apr 2013, 17:26

I had to write on the subject 'Trapped' for roughly 1500 words. I got full marks on this piece. i don't think it's great, but here it is, anyway.

It was dark in the New Forest. All the tourists had gone back to their 'olde worlde' hotels, the ponies had reluctantly accepted that there were no more people driving around to feed them and so had gone to sleep, and the park rangers had settled themselves down in their huts, ready for a cosy, uneventful night in, watching endless re runs of Friends.

The car was parked on the edge of a clearing lined with pine needles and wild flowers. A ring of trees whose twisted branches formed a cool green canopy above the clearing enclosed it. In the daylight, it would have been an idyllic sight; a watercolour scene; the ideal lovers' lane. At night however, it seemed threatening. The gnarled branches of the trees cast eerie shadows, all of which could be interpreted by the paranoid as that of a figure behind a tree, or a demon, or whatever their particular fear.

The girl inside the car had only one fear at that moment. Where was he? Her eyes flickered constantly from the window of the car to her phone, desperately wanting to see one incoming call or even a text message from HIM - and then back to the window. He'd been gone two hours now. Two hours to walk a mile!

She thought back to earlier, as they had finished their business, and as their panting died away, he regretfully glanced at his watch and concluded that they had better start going home. Then that Gur-gur-gurgling noise and then a spluttered POH! as the engine made it clear that it needed more petrol. She winced as she recalled for a fleeting moment how she had considered whether he had deliberately stalled the car in order to get a little bit more action, before telling herself fiercely that he would never even contemplate doing such a thing. The look of worry on his face had reassured her of his purely honourable intentions. He said that there was no point in them both going, and that she should stay in the car nice and warm while he went to a petrol station a mile or so back. He’d left her his flying jacket so that she could stay warm in his absence. With a cheery mock salute, he had trudged off into the distance. That was her last view of him, a lone figure in army fatigues carrying a jerry can…

That had been three hours ago now, according to the clock on the car dashboard. Its red figures glowed insolently at her in the darkness, as if enjoying her agony of puzzlement over him. She’d spent a whole hour on a flashback without even realising how long it took! What the hell was coming over her?

Why wasn’t he back yet? He’d been gone three hours now. Three hours to walk a mile! If he’d been a couch potato, perhaps, but given he played rugby, it seemed fairly unlikely. He could easily get back in half that time. Well, she would go and look for him. He was her boyfriend, so she should always help him in everything he needed. She should not abandon him when he might urgently need her help, alone and scared in a forest. Yes, she decided, she would go to his aid. She made a small movement towards the door handle, and then drew back sharply. No, she would only lose him in the dark, causing infinitely more problems than if she simply stayed put and waited. Anyway, he’s probably just got delayed. Maybe he was having trouble finding the car, or maybe the petrol station was further back than he had expected. There you are, she told herself, simple explanation for it all. No, she told herself. You are extremely scared, and so don’t want to leave the only refuge you know, but are trying to convince yourself that you are not going out and looking for him for a good, unselfish purpose. Actually, no. There was no point in endangering her own life. Who was it again who said that true beauty was in self-preservation? Yes, she decided, if a jury of saints were to try me on these actions of mine, they would acquit me. Definitely12-0. After all, he could look after himself. A rugby player would be formidable opposition. What did she know about self-defence anyway? Wait –she was jumping to conclusions. Who had said anything about danger? Obviously something has messed up, that’s all. Nothing about danger. After all, if you were to go down that route, then according to the compulsory rules that all horror films must abide by, the lone teenage girl is the first one to go. Nastily. They all said, “Who’s there” and went into dark places. Not her. A good reason for not leaving the safety of the car. Yes. If she was in a horror story, she would survive. She had watched enough horror films to know all the tricks. As long as she didn’t answer the phone, say “I’ll be back” or congregate with chaps rambling on about their mothers, censors, or Johnny whilst brandishing axes, chainsaws, or any other sharp implements, she’d survive. But she wasn’t in a horror story! It was real life. She had a duty to help her boyfriend. Yes, she’d look – in 5 more minutes to give him time to get back…and then a few more…and a few moments more… and she drifted off to sleep.

She woke the next morning to a soft but repetitive tapping. She blearily opened her eyes to see first the unprepossessing grey material lining the car roof. She turned towards the window, rubbing her blurry eyes. When she had picked the chunks of sleep out of her eyes, she was then able to identify the source of the disruption. it was a police officer, resplendent in black uniform and high helmet; every foreigner’s idea of London, along with England

“Can I help you, miss?” he enquired politely. “It’s just that we got a call from a dog walker who said a car had been parked here overnight, and this being a conservation area, there is no parking allowed-“. “Please help me” the girl whimpered before breaking into racking sobs as she thought desperately about what could possibly have happened to him. At last, she managed to choke out the words “my boyfriend has disappeared”. Then, encouraged by the officer’s look of sympathy mingled with curiosity, she explained how they had run out of petrol, and he had gone to get some more, but had never returned. The officer took out a notebook. “Did he leave a bag here? Its contents may provide us with some clue concerning his whereabouts." The girl looked at the back seat where their bags had been unceremoniously dumped: her fake Gucci, contrasting sharply with his tattered army kitbag. But the only bag in sight was hers, the ugly brown leather squished against the seat, its’ folds seemed to resemble a sneering face, inectasy at her discomfort. No sign of the kitbag. She checked the floor. Half a packet of Marlboro and an old copy of OK Magazine. No bag. She straightened up, a look of dismay upon her face. “It-it’s gone- I don’t understand”. She looked round for his jacket he had left her. His wallet had to be in there. There was no sign of that either. The policeman, in the meantime, had popped open the car boot, and was inspecting it. In it were the spare tire, a tool kit – and the jerry can her boyfriend had taken with him. The officer unscrewed the cap, and felt inside. “It’s bone-dry” he said ‘’hasn’t been used for quite a while." She desperately looked around, searching for some-any proof that he had even existed. But there was nothing, but the police officer, looking at her still curiously, but now mixed with an alarming degree of worry.

“Boyfriend, you say miss?”

Those that live by the sword get shot by those who don't.

I went to the museum and saw a Van Gogh painting. Underneath it said "Loaned anonymously."
I went to the front desk and said, "I’d like my Van Gogh back now, please."
Simon Templar
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