Week 2 Writing Homework
Writing Prompt:
REDO WEEK 1 HOMEWORK Write a story with first sentence as ‘The first crash of thunder silenced the crowd…’ Include a trigger symbol, varied syntax, 5 senses, self-conflict, intense emotional description (400 words)
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- Due Date : August 5, 2025
- Feedback will be shared in 3-5 days
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Like a staccato rhythm in the sky, the thunder rolled across the stadium and stopped every cheer, every clap, even the beating of hearts. For a moment, everything stood still. Thousands of faces turned upward as silver lightning ripped through the clouds. The sky, once sunny and blue, had turned a deep, angry grey, and the first cold raindrops slapped the ground like warning taps.
Sophie’s fingers tightened around her ticket, now damp and wrinkled. Her seat was near the front, close enough to see the players’ expressions, but she barely noticed the game anymore. The noise of the storm reminded her of something her grandfather used to say, “When thunder speaks, listen.” She never knew what he meant, until now.
Another flash lit up the sky, and in that moment, Sophie saw something strange on the pitch: a small, dark shape, half-hidden by the rain, right where the winning goal had been scored moments ago. No one else seemed to notice. The crowd was too busy pulling on ponchos and searching for cover.
But Sophie stayed still. Her heart pounded harder than the rain, and a strange feeling prickled down her spine, like the storm was calling her. She rose slowly from her seat, eyes locked on that spot. Her shoes squelched as she stepped onto the grass, water soaking through her socks, but she didn’t care.
She reached the centre of the field. The shape she’d seen was clearer now, a metal tin, the size of a lunchbox, half-buried in the mud. With trembling hands, she pulled it free. A flash of lightning lit up the lid, carved into the surface were three letters: her initials.
She gasped.
Her grandfather had disappeared three years ago, the same day a storm just like this one had swept through the city. No one had ever found out where he went. No accident, no note, no clues. Just gone. But he had always told her stories, wild, wonderful stories, about hidden maps, secret clues, and objects waiting to be found. She used to think they were just bedtime tales. Now she wasn’t so sure.
Sophie opened the tin. Inside was a note, dry despite the storm, folded neatly beside a small compass. The note read:
True north isn’t always a direction, it’s a decision.
The compass was old, brass and glass, with a needle that shimmered faintly in the lightning. But it didn’t point north. It spun slowly, then stopped, pointing toward the far end of the stadium, toward the tunnel where players entered and exited.
Sophie looked up at the storm with rain washing over her face. She smiled because she knew the adventure had just begun.
The first crash of thunder silenced the crowd faster than a cat chasing a tasty group of mice at full speed. White zig zags illuminated the sky like a lightbulb, revealing the many hundreds of faces across the rows of stadium seats. John could hear his heart hammering against his ribs pleading to escape. His mind flashed with thoughts – Will this end good? Will I be able to leave this stadium alive? This feels just like the time my parents brought me here! I hope I turn out to be okay. The wind turned from breeze to blaze, picking up astonishing speed. Suddenly, a metallic shine soared through the sky, landing with a ‘THUMP!’ on John’s lap. He gasped. It had his initials on it – JK, Johnathan Kirby. Suddenly the winds roared with a deafening silence, and John could here nothing but the whispers of a prophecy – and then something that nearly made young Johnathan whip his head around away from the blinding rips in the sky to the chattering of the many onlookers who came to watch the match. John stared at the score board for a moment, then at the field. 5-3, Real Madrid. He saw the players scoring goal after goal, playing fearlessly into the aggravated night. John looked back down at the tin can in his hand, bearing his initials. Suddenly, his mind flashed with memories. The can which he kicked around like a soccer ball in matches with his friends. The can which gave him so much. The can which changed his life. He bore his initials in this when it was time to let go. When his parents went missing, family member after family member left him. What if this is my call? He recalled the words immediately that his father had spoken to him the night before the disappearance. One day, anger will pass. The next, it will spread. It will spread to the only person who lets it spread, and they will be chosen by a falling holder. Maybe this is what it meant! he thought. Maybe he was the chosen one. And hopefully, he would be safe. He left the stadium and headed toward the door, but the storm looked like it had other plans. The rip in the sky ran down into the earth, smashing down pieces of ceiling, blocking the way out. And at that moment, at that cause, at that point in time, John thought – was this just some wild weather, or something a bit more sinister?
The first clap of thunder silenced the crowd like a loud note from a tuba, stopping every cheer, clap, even the beating of hearts. Time stood still. Like an orchestra perfectly in sync, the crowd’s eyes turned to the sky as lightning flashed, ripping through the sky. The sky, which used to be sunny and a light blue, transformed into a mysterious shade of grey. Rain pounded the stadium walls, a timpani.
“Evacuate! Evacuate now!” hollered Kate. Her pale face and anxious expression was illuminated in the sudden spark of lightning, casting an eerie blue shadow. She shrieked with panic as part of the stadium cascaded down, crumbling away. Reaching her hand out to clutch the microphone, she yelped “Get out of there now! It’s not safe!” Her mind drifted away from the moment and she lapsed back to the time when the curse had been delivered and sealed.
“No, not now,” she mumbled as she fell into darkness, hearing the raindrops clatter onto the floor next to her head, onto her bedraggled brown hair.
Ivy’s crooked teeth broke into an abhorrent grin. Bony fingers clutch the quill. ‘Ivy’ is written in curling letters, the black ink settling into the white parchment.
“The deal is sealed. Once this parchment endures the thousandth storm, it shall bring a tempest capable of destroying everything without hesitation. I have added words of binding, which mean this paper can never be found or destroyed. However, you must give me my payment, as I believe I have done my part quite well.”
“Of course, that would only be beneficial for both of us,” chuckled Tim unpleasantly. “You may reach into this bag and pick out five handfuls of treasure. Only then will I leave.”
Ivy reached her frighteningly gaunt arm into the bag, closing her eyes as requested.
“They… wriggle quite a lot, don’t they?” proclaimed Ivy. Tim nodded. After the witch was done, Tim cackled.
“You did fall for it! A girl will now try to save them all, but will not succeed. Your great-great-great-granddaughter, Ivy.” And with that, Tim took the parchment with him and left Ivy with five handfuls of mice and snakes. His wings flapped with pride and wretched happiness.
Gasping back to reality, Kate felt her world crumble. She was the daughter of a witch. With a trembling hand, she closed her hand around the microphone, feeling like her flame of hope had dwindled to embers.
“Please listen,” she said in a choked voice. Her eyes welled up with tears.
“This storm can destroy the world. It was created by a warlock with powerful magic. Only our friendship can stop it.” She didn’t know how much of that was true, but she doubted anyone would listen anyway. But her microphone glowed with power, shifting through crimson to lilac all the way to verdant green. Cautiously, she took it off the stand, and there it was. The yellowed parchment written decades ago. The scroll that caused this fiasco. The trinket that could end all this.
Kate stared at the crowd, who gaped back at her. The paper in her hands, she prepared to rip it. Her heart sank as she was overcome with a realisation. ‘Never be found or destroyed’. Well, I could find it, she thought. Let’s see if it can be destroyed.
As she prepared to destroy it, hail battered her face and hair. Now. Do it now. And with that, she flung the parchment out into the eye of the storm. It lit up with an unearthly glow, shining bright in the obsidian sky. Suddenly, forked lightning zapped it into cinders, shattering the rainbow of colours. The fierce winds that whistled around her ears had calmed into a warm breeze. The heavy raindrops that had peltered the stadium turned into puddles on the ground. The lightning was gone. Kate smiled, her cheeks rosy and pink. She had defeated the storm. “Thank you, Ivy. You did some bad things, and some good things, and this storm wouldn’t be here if you didn’t conjure it, but since you did, thank you for helping me find the answer,” Kate said, bowing her head.
The first crash of thunder silenced the crowd, like a radiant stroke of bright yellow paint from the darkening clouds. Raindrops pounded the stadium walls, drumming a staccato rhythm that slowly lead up to deafening crashes of lightning, illuminating furrowed brows and eyes slammed shut. Daisy’s heart rattled in her ribcage. Her fist gripped her ticket with white knuckles, the drooping, golden paper wet and dull. It squished between her fingers, the frigid water sending slight tremors down her spine. Clutching the envelope, she quickly slipped it into the pocket of her pale pink puffer jacket,.Wind howled around her ears, batting her face with freezing air. Gasping for breath, she realised she could hear something. Tilting her head to the stage, Daisy could faintly hear the orchestra’s tubas and double basses rumbling nervously, unsure whether to continue or not. The bows moved agonizingly slowly, gradually harmonising with the tubas. Flutes slowly joined in, raising the silver bar to their mouth and blowing. Soon, the entire orchestra was playing, with trombones confidently moving their slides and saxophones creating a growing crescendo. Daisy squinted, scrunching up her eyes, and thought that she saw a pale barrier in the sky, as if holding back the lightning and thunder. Abruptly, thunder slammed claws onto the stage, growling and hissing at the band. With wide eyes and pale faces, white as snow, the orchestra dropped their instruments instantly. At that exact moment, the film preventing the thunder from coming through broke, and Daisy heard a distant ringing and shattering sound, like glass. She unconsciously patted her pocket, recalling when her father had first given her house glass window panes. They bought three sheets, all they could afford. Daisy clearly remembered that moment: first, the intense, overjoyed grin that traced her face from ear to ear, wide and large. The laughing, at how they finally got something Daisy loved. The freedom, of knowing what was outside and being able to see it. She snapped back into reality, hearing that ringing and shattering once again. The crowd looked up in confusion, trying to find the cause of the sound. But Daisy knew. She knew the root of this storm. She knew how to end it. She just needed to tell the band.
“Keep playing!” hollered Daisy. “It can stop the storm!” Her father had always told her ‘Listen when storm speaks: there is always a meaning.’ She couldn’t have felt her father’s words buzz in her head more. Everything clicked into place now. The jigsaw had finally been completed. In a way, she was grateful for this storm, or she might have grown and died without knowing how much her father had taught her.
“Tubas! Bassoons! Violas! Flutes! Clarinets! Saxophones! Percussion! Piano! Listen! Your playing will create a barrier that can stop the storm!” Daisy cried.
“Give us proof!” boomed a flute player, his voice skeptical but his eyes shining with hope.
“Up there! You can see a film forming when you play and don’t stop! Music ignites our hearts!” she added, repeating another of her father’s favourite mantras. The band nodded, believing in the only theory that they had. Their notes rose, creating a barrier on the obsidian black sky. Clouds roared and snarled, sending jagged lightning hurtling towards the band. They fearlessly played on, their pieces igniting their night sky. Daisy’s eyes shimmered with hope.
“Please work,’ she whispered, her voice barely audible. The sky screamed and barked furiously, helpless and unable to ruin the concert. The barrier was thick and sturdy, weaved with treble clefs and middle Cs.
“I think it worked,” breathed Daisy, sighing with a wave of sudden relief. Stars twinkled merrily at her, as if they didn’t notice the raging battle that had lasted for three hours. The crowd was silent, absolutely speechless. They abruptly erupted with cheers, whooping and clapping. Daisy felt her cheeks tinge pink.
“Thanks, dad,’ she smiled, taking out her envelope and slipping out the faded image of her father in black and white.
“You where the real hero today. You and your mantras that I always thought were so annoying. They saved the day,” she whispered to the photograph.
Sorry can you please give feedback on this one?
The first crash of thunder silenced the crowd, like a radiant stroke of bright yellow paint from the darkening clouds. Raindrops pounded the stadium walls, drumming a staccato rhythm that slowly lead up to deafening crashes of lightning, illuminating furrowed brows and eyes slammed shut. Daisy’s heart rattled in her ribcage. Her fist gripped her ticket with white knuckles, the drooping, golden paper wet and dull. It squished between her fingers, the frigid water sending slight tremors down her spine. Clutching the envelope, she quickly slipped it into the pocket of her pale pink puffer jacket. Wind howled around her ears, batting her face with freezing air. Gasping for breath, she realised she could hear something. Tilting her head to the stage, Daisy could faintly hear the orchestra’s tubas and double basses rumbling nervously, unsure whether to continue or not. The bows moved agonizingly slowly, gradually harmonising with the tubas. Flutes slowly joined in, raising the silver bar to their mouth and blowing. Soon, the entire orchestra was playing, with trombones confidently moving their slides and saxophones creating a growing crescendo. Daisy squinted, scrunching up her eyes, and thought that she saw a pale barrier in the sky, as if holding back the lightning and thunder. Abruptly, thunder slammed claws onto the stage, growling and hissing at the band. With wide eyes and pale faces, white as snow, the orchestra dropped their instruments instantly. At that exact moment, the film preventing the thunder from coming through broke, and Daisy heard a distant ringing and shattering sound, like glass. She unconsciously patted her pocket, recalling when her father had first given her house glass window panes. They bought three sheets, all they could afford. Daisy clearly remembered that moment: first, the intense, overjoyed grin that traced her face from ear to ear, wide and large. The laughing, at how they finally got something Daisy loved. The freedom, of knowing what was outside and being able to see it. She snapped back into reality, hearing that ringing and shattering once again. The crowd looked up in confusion, trying to find the cause of the sound. But Daisy knew. She knew the root of this storm. She knew how to end it. She just needed to tell the band.
“Keep playing!” hollered Daisy. “It can stop the storm!” Her father had always told her ‘Listen when storm speaks: there is always a meaning.’ She couldn’t have felt her father’s words buzz in her head more. Everything clicked into place now. The jigsaw had finally been completed. In a way, she was grateful for this storm, or she might have grown and died without knowing how much her father had taught her.
“Tubas! Bassoons! Violas! Flutes! Clarinets! Saxophones! Percussion! Piano! Listen! Your playing will create a barrier that can stop the storm!” Daisy cried.
“Give us proof!” boomed a flute player, his voice skeptical but his eyes shining with hope.
“Up there! You can see a film forming when you play and don’t stop! Music ignites our hearts!” she added, repeating another of her father’s favourite mantras. The band nodded, believing in the only theory that they had. Their notes rose, creating a barrier on the obsidian black sky. Clouds roared and snarled, sending jagged lightning hurtling towards the band. They fearlessly played on, their pieces igniting their night sky. Daisy’s eyes shimmered with hope.
“Please work,’ she whispered, her voice barely audible. The sky screamed and barked furiously, helpless and unable to ruin the concert. The barrier was thick and sturdy, weaved with treble clefs and middle Cs.
“I think it worked,” breathed Daisy, sighing with a wave of sudden relief. Stars twinkled merrily at her, as if they didn’t notice the raging battle that had lasted for three hours. The crowd was silent, absolutely speechless. They abruptly erupted with cheers, whooping and clapping. Daisy felt her cheeks tinge pink.
“Thanks, dad,’ she smiled, taking out her envelope and slipping out the faded image of her father in black and white.
“You were the real hero today. You and your mantras that I always thought were so annoying. They saved the day,” she whispered to the photograph.