Week 2 Writing Homework
Writing Prompt: Describe exploring an abandoned tree-house on a windy night.
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- Due Date : August 9, 2025
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Writing Prompt: Describe exploring an abandoned tree-house on a windy night.
Please upload your homework as a comment below:
6 thoughts on “Week 2 Writing Homework”
Abandoned treehouse
The treehouse glinted evilly in the moonlight,silver beams casting a brilliant,blinding white glow on one side,the other shrouded in darkness.It leers at me,mocking me with an evil grin.I grasp the frayed rope ladder,and begin to carefully climb the treehouse.The frail rope creaked under my weight; each creak was a moan of agony that would last an eternity.When
I finally hauled myself up onto the platform, my hands burning red and raw from the rope,shaking with exhaustion.I glance around at the treehouse-musty,mysterious and the question that’s been asked for decades finally solved.The crooked planks hang limp in the moonlight,stretched in a position of agony, and the smashed windows glitter like the diamonds of the fall of a great empress.But then I hear it.The steady heartbeat of the treehouse,despite a wound that has worsened,the treehouse is still alive.But as I glance around,I realize something.It’s dying.I glance at the half-collapsed cabinet,the beanbag chair slumped in a corner,and the rotting chair,all not even willing to fight,but to just leave this world.I suddenly realize I have to help this treehouse,to restore it and turn it into something better.As I slowly climb down the ladder,I start making small plans to improve the treehouse.And walking back,the icy wind tearing at my exposed flesh,the plan is fully formed.
Abandoned treehouse
The treehouse glinted evilly in the moonlight,silver beams casting a brilliant,blinding white glow on one side,the other shrouded in darkness.It leers at me,mocking me with an evil grin.I grasp the frayed rope ladder,and begin to carefully climb the treehouse.The frail rope creaked under my weight; each creak was a moan of agony that would last an eternity.When
I finally hauled myself up onto the platform,my hands burning red and raw from the rope,shaking with exhaustion.I glance around at the treehouse-musty,mysterious and the question that’s been asked for decades finally solved.The crooked planks hang limp in the moonlight,stretched in a position of agony, and the smashed windows glitter like the diamonds of the fall of a great empress.But then I hear it.The steady heartbeat of the treehouse,despite a wound that has worsened,the treehouse is still alive.But as I glance around,I realize something.It’s dying.I glance at the half-collapsed cabinet,the beanbag chair slumped in a corner,and the rotting chair,all not even willing to fight,but to just leave this world.I suddenly realize I have to help this treehouse,to restore it and turn it into something better.As I slowly climb down the ladder,I start making small plans to improve the treehouse.And walking back,the icy wind tearing at my exposed flesh,the plan is fully formed.
Please see the attached PDF for the feedback.
2-Y4-Alina Cai
Branches clawed at the sky as I crept toward the tree-house, its crooked silhouette swaying under the weight of time. The house loomed above me like a forgotten watchtower, perched in the gnarled arms of an ancient gum tree. The damp, cold ladder groaned beneath my feet, every wooden rung splintered and cold like forgotten bones. My heart thudded in my chest. I climbed higher, each step echoing inside me, until finally, I reached the platform.
I paused. Something thudded a dull, echoing noise and I was frozen. Shadows danced on the ground like restless spirits. The air smelled of wet bark, old soil, and something musty, like a suitcase left too long in the attic. My torch flickered weakly in my hand. Somewhere behind me, a kookaburra laughed, sharp and jarring in the stillness. Every sound felt too loud for this. The air tasted like damp moss, so I grabbed the first rung. It was slick and rough, the grain raised and split from years of storms and silence. The door to the tree house was hanging off one hinge, swinging slowly in the wind, a breathless invitation. I stepped inside, the floorboards moaning underfoot, and the smell of mildew wrapped around me like a damp blanket. The walls were covered in peeling posters, faded by sun and rain, their once-bright colours now ghosts of childhood. A broken lantern lay on its side. Crayon drawings curled at the edges, pinned to the wall with rusty nails. A curtain flapped in the shattered window, whispering secrets to the night.
Branches clawed at the sky as I crept toward the tree-house, its crooked silhouette swaying under the weight of time. The house loomed above me like a forgotten watchtower, perched in the gnarled arms of an ancient gum tree. The damp, cold ladder groaned beneath my feet, every wooden rung splintered and cold like forgotten bones. My heart thudded in my chest. I climbed higher, each step echoing inside me, until finally, I reached the platform.I paused. Something thudded a dull, echoing noise and I was frozen. Shadows danced on the ground like restless spirits. The air smelled of wet bark, old soil, and something musty, like a suitcase left too long in the attic. My torch flickered weakly in my hand. Somewhere behind me, a kookaburra laughed, sharp and jarring in the stillness. Every sound felt too loud for this. The air tasted like damp moss, so I grabbed the first rung. It was slick and rough, the grain raised and split from years of storms and silence. The door to the tree house was hanging off one hinge, swinging slowly in the wind, a breathless invitation. I stepped inside, the floorboards moaning underfoot, and the smell of mildew wrapped around me like a damp blanket. The walls were covered in peeling posters, faded by sun and rain, their once-bright colours now ghosts of childhood. A broken lantern lay on its side. Crayon drawings curled at the edges, pinned to the wall with rusty nails. A curtain flapped in the shattered window, whispering secrets to the night.
Please see the attached PDF for the feedback.
2-Y4-chasenew