Day 2 Writing Homework
Prompt :
Write a short narrative (300-500 words) about a character who discovers an old, forgotten river near their home. Use the river as an extended metaphor to reflect the character’s journey through a significant life change (e.g., loss, growth, or rediscovery). Incorporate at least three senses (sight, sound, touch, smell, or taste) to immerse the reader in the scene. Include a single, recurring symbol (e.g., a stone, a fish, or a boat) that evolves to represent the character’s emotional or thematic development. Ensure the metaphor, sensory details, and symbol work together to create a cohesive and memorable story.
Slides: https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/19dLXDtFuNhFvyJNXiuUx7BZGs8ALR6Gh?usp=sharing
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- Due Date : October 2, 2025
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Eliza had always felt a disconnect, a hollowness that echoed in the quiet corners of her heart. Since her grandmother’s passing, the world seemed muted, the vibrant colors of life replaced with a dull gray. Then, one crisp autumn afternoon, while wandering through the overgrown woods behind her house, she stumbled upon it: the forgotten river.
The river, a ribbon of silver hidden beneath a canopy of rustling leaves, was a secret whispered by the wind. The air hung heavy with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, a smell that usually repelled her, but now, strangely, comforted. The sound of the water, a gentle murmur against the stones, was a soothing balm to her frayed nerves. She sat on the bank, a smooth, gray stone nestled in her palm. It was the first of many she would collect, each one a silent witness to her journey.
At first, the river was a mirror of her grief. Its waters, sluggish and choked with fallen branches, mirrored the stagnation in her own life. The stone felt cold, heavy, a burden she couldn’t seem to shed. The sight of the water, once a source of peace, now evoked only sadness. She remembered her grandmother’s stories of the river, how it used to be a lively place, filled with laughter and children.
As weeks turned into months, Eliza began to visit the river daily. She started clearing the debris, pulling out the dead branches and fallen leaves. The physical act of cleaning the river seemed to cleanse her own spirit. She noticed the subtle changes: the water, slowly but surely, began to flow more freely. The stone in her hand, warmed by the sun, began to feel less burdensome.
One day, she saw it: a flash of silver, a small fish darting through the clear water. It was a sign of life, a symbol of hope. The river, once a reflection of her sorrow, was now a testament to her resilience. The stone felt lighter now, a reminder of her strength.
The river, like Eliza, was healing. The sound of the water was no longer a mournful sigh but a cheerful song. The scent of the earth, now mingled with the fresh smell of blooming wildflowers, was a promise of new beginnings. Eliza realized that the river was not just a place, but a journey, and she, like the river, was finally flowing again. The fish became a symbol of her own renewed vitality.
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2-10(3)-kritinkarthik
Eliza had always felt a disconnect, a hollowness that echoed in the quiet corners of her heart. Since her grandmother’s passing, the world seemed muted, the vibrant colors of life replaced with a dull gray. Then, one crisp autumn afternoon, while wandering through the overgrown woods behind her house, she stumbled upon it: the forgotten river.
The river, a ribbon of silver hidden beneath a canopy of rustling leaves, was a secret whispered by the wind. The air hung heavy with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, a smell that usually repelled her, but now, strangely, comforted. The sound of the water, a gentle murmur against the stones, was a soothing balm to her frayed nerves. She sat on the bank, a smooth, gray stone nestled in her palm. It was the first of many she would collect, each one a silent witness to her journey.
At first, the river was a mirror of her grief. Its waters, sluggish and choked with fallen branches, mirrored the stagnation in her own life. The stone felt cold, heavy, a burden she couldn’t seem to shed. The sight of the water, once a source of peace, now evoked only sadness. She remembered her grandmother’s stories of the river, how it used to be a lively place, filled with laughter and children.
As weeks turned into months, Eliza began to visit the river daily. She started clearing the debris, pulling out the dead branches and fallen leaves. The physical act of cleaning the river seemed to cleanse her own spirit. She noticed the subtle changes: the water, slowly but surely, began to flow more freely. The stone in her hand, warmed by the sun, began to feel less burdensome.
One day, she saw it: a flash of silver, a small fish darting through the clear water. It was a sign of life, a symbol of hope. The river, once a reflection of her sorrow, was now a testament to her resilience. The stone felt lighter now, a reminder of her strength.
The river, like Eliza, was healing. The sound of the water was no longer a mournful sigh but a cheerful song. The scent of the earth, now mingled with the fresh smell of blooming wildflowers, was a promise of new beginnings. Eliza realized that the river was not just a place, but a journey, and she, like the river, was finally flowing again. The fish became a symbol of her own renewed vitality.
I hate this place. The land, the house, the garden. Eli would have loved all of this. But I am not Eli. And Eli is dead.
The house looks alive with preparations for the new year. Eli would be helping Mum cook the turkey and bake the bread. He would be running around the house hanging up decorations while singing out of tune 80s songs. Mum has tried so hard to make things as normal as possible, but life will never be the same without Eli.
I sit down on the steps, head in hands, crying. I hate Mum, who made us move on. I hate the driver, who crashed into Dad’s car. And most of all, I hate myself. Why can’t I move on like Mum has? Why does life have to be so hard? Most of the time, Eli is here to comfort me. To cheer me up and make me laugh. I choke on my tears just thinking about Eli’s laugh.
Through my tears, I notice something in the distance. I sit straight up at the strange sight. A river. Not just a river. A murky, overgrown river, forgotten and silent. I have never seen a river before, as it’s always too dry where we used to live.
Yet I see something else. A paper lantern, caught in the reeds. A red one. Just like the ones Eli used to make. Every single new year. Excited about my discovery, I run to the river.
I have never mentioned this before, but I love running. It’s what kept me human in the early days of Eli’s death. Every time my emotions got out of control, I would run. The wind whipped at my face, sharp and stinging. The slash of the water is soothing, washing away my stress. I watch as the lantern floated peacefully along the stream. A smile played at my lips. In 1 year, the pain and misery lift, and I feel like the girl I was before.
The next day, I came back with my own lantern. It looks crumpled next to the other one, but for my sanity, I made another one. And another. Before long, the river was full of lanterns. The smell of the smoke and damp leaves isn’t overwhelming anymore. The river, with its lanterns, reminds me of Eli — and that even in the darkest times, he is still with me.
I hate this place. The land, the house, the garden. Eli would have loved all of this. But I am not Eli. And Eli is dead.
The house looks alive with preparations for the new year. Eli would be helping Mum cook the turkey and bake the bread. He would be running around the house hanging up decorations while singing out of tune 80s songs. Mum has tried so hard to make things as normal as possible, but life will never be the same without Eli.
I sit down on the steps, head in hands, crying. I hate Mum, who made us move on. I hate the driver, who crashed into Dad’s car. And most of all, I hate myself. Why can’t I move on like Mum has? Why does life have to be so hard? Most of the time, Eli is here to comfort me. To cheer me up and make me laugh. I choke on my tears just thinking about Eli’s laugh.
Through my tears, I notice something in the distance. I sit straight up at the strange sight. A river. Not just a river. A murky, overgrown river, forgotten and silent. I have never seen a river before, as it’s always too dry where we used to live.
Yet I see something else. A paper lantern, caught in the reeds. A red one. Just like the ones Eli used to make. Every single new year. Excited about my discovery, I run to the river.
I have never mentioned this before, but I love running. It’s what kept me human in the early days of Eli’s death. Every time my emotions got out of control, I would run. The wind whipped at my face, sharp and stinging. The slash of the water is soothing, taking care of my stress for the day. I watch as the lantern floated peacefully along the stream. A smile played at my lips. In 1 year, the pain and misery lift, and I feel like the girl I was before.
The next day, I came back with my own lantern. It looks crumpled next to the other one, but for my sanity, I made another one. And another. Before long, the river was full of lanterns. The smell of the smoke and damp leaves isn’t overwhelming anymore. The river, with its lanterns, reminds me of Eli — and that even in the darkest times, he is still with me.
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2-10(3)-Siqi Tang
Done here is the file
The Forgotten River
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2-10(3)-Felix
My homework
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https://docs.google.com/document/d/13KcWeI1zWphRaBXfuwXkVSOmmVYfVEBp4SyvIFZQbFQ/edit?tab=t.0
The Abandoned River
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2-10(3)-Amber Wong
Bianca Walker flopped onto her dull, stiff bed and glared at the lifeless room, she did not want to be and environmental conservatist like Bell, her step mother. Bianca resented Bell’s wild recreation tales of rebelling against her own mother to become a guardian of nature and she hated even more the everlasting lectures of being yourself and choosing your own choices that shrouded every corner of her life. HA! Bianca thought bitterly tossing of her raven black hair, isn’t she here to do the same thing? Sure, she is changing the career option but is there any difference compared with the method of my step grandmother? Zero.
“Bianca, come here and read this nature study.” Bell called “it will be interesting!”
“Later mum,” Bianca moaned, she needed to get out of the house before her stepmother suffocates her with another stack of nature conservatist homework. Swiftly and silently, Bianca pulled out a few of her old bedsheets, knitting them into a coarse, homemade rope while thinking of the movies she used to watch, yes that’s what she wanted to be an actor. A female heroine would be a lot more exciting than another of those little boys with the painted 6 packs, wouldn’t it?
Within moments she was trudging into the forest, eyes glued to the ground, damp grass yielding beneath her sneakers as insects unleashed a series of sharp chirps. Suddenly all the racket paused. Bianca looked up.
Azure blue birds chattered in the emerald green canopy, each caw syncing into the tinkling harmony of the cold, clear waterfall she was facing. Forgetting all grudges Bianca reached for her phone, needing intensely show this to Bell. But when she clicked open the camera the waterfall was gone, mystified, Bianca took a few steps forward, eyes locked on the screen. She had almost convinced herself that it was an illusion when she plummeted into a pool of fresh water. She let out a laugh, this is what she wanted to film about, not the pool itself but the sheer magic of it. She had listened to her heart and she understood it. Somehow it seemed, that in the light of her confidence the water shined just a little brighter.
Quickly, she scaled the rope, hurriedly cramming it under her bed before steeling her nerves. She was going downstairs to tell Bell that she believed being a nature conservatist is a boring job. For an unknown reason that seemed a million times more frightening than it sounded when she practiced by the waterfall. Inhaling the musty air of her room she headed downstairs, by the time she was at the bottom step fear had full control over her mind and she was petrified by what she was about to do “I’m sorry Bell but Ireallyhatebeinganenvironmentalconservatist” Bianca burst out before fleeing the kitchen.
Bianca slept fitfully that night often drifting off to Bell rotating between looking injured and furious while chanting I really hate being an nature conservatist around in her mind. Finally, Bianca decided enough was enough and she slid to the ground with her rope when she arrived at the lake it glistened in the moonlight shifting between shades of silver and blue. Bianca felt undoubtedly that the lake had a guilty aroma so much like the one that Bianca carried with her. She concluded that she had been too harsh on her stepmother and tried to think of a more delicate way of expressing it. The young girl was just about to dose off when she recalled the speech that Bell so often recited and the next morning she returned home through the front door. “Bell,” she said with a painful expression. “I’m sorry for not liking the career of a nature conservatist but that is your passion not mine, my dreams are to become an actor and if you remember what you felt like when you were my age, please let me chase my dreams.” Bell suddenly felt a shiver down her spine and Bianca’s image blurred, a desperate longing and denial rose up in her and with a start she realised what she was doing. In her speech 20 years ago, she said that everyone deserves a chance and this was her turn to give a chance to the quivering child before her. She nodded and somewhere in both of their minds a shimmering waterfall shone.
September 30th Writing Class Task
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2-10(3)-Joyce Lu
The Stone’s Whisper
Piddle walked along. Around him, the apple trees stood, unpicked, weathered vines almost choking their branches. Frayed bark peeled in long strips, pale like old paper, and the limbs, once reaching, now sat sagged. The fruit had dropped weeks ago, now sunken and soft underfoot, their skins torn open, leaking sweetness into the soil. A thick, fermented scent clung to the air, and beneath it, a rancid aroma curled into his nostrils.
The path had vanished, blanketed by moss and crawling roots. Grass rose between scattered stones, its blades slender and trembling in the faint light. Each step pushed aside leaves that had lost all colour, their edges curled and brittle with age. The orchard didn’t feel dead, though. It felt like it had been left behind, something cared for, but soon forgotten.
Near the centre, where the trees grew dense and the air felt still, he paused. One tree stood apart, its trunk broader than the rest, leaning away from itself as if burdened by memory. The bark near its base had split wide. From the wound, sap bled slowly in thick lines, catching in the cracks. Something darker oozed beneath. A low hum rose from inside the hollow, steady and deep, like a sound that had always been there.
Piddle lowered himself to the ground, damp earth pressing through the back of his coat. Something here felt calm. As if Piddle was supposed to be there. His hand reached out and it met a stone. His hand reached out and it met a stone. Its surface, broken by a thin, clean crack through the middle, seemed to hum faintly under his touch – like a heartbeat, quiet but alive.
He ran his thumb along the crack. The orchard shifted, replacing the wound with wood. Leaves stirred above. Above, a few bugs clung to the tips of the orchards branches.
He placed the stone in the roots.
Piddle was soon met with a sense of quiet hope, as if the orchard itself was breathing softly, ready to wake from its long sleep. The air felt warmer, heavier with promise, and the tangled branches above seemed to lean closer, eager to grow again. Where there had once been decay, now there was something fragile and new; a pulse beneath the earth, a whisper of green stirring in the silence.
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2-10(3)-Kian
The forgotten river
Far far away in New York City, a lively, animated place lived a girl named Chloe. Chloe was always very curious about things in her area even though she’ s been to many different places in New York so many times. She always is very helpful to people in her community.
One day Chloe’s dad got a job in the Mississippi. “We have to move to the Mississippi in 1 week.’’ Chloe’s dad said in a face that looked like an only half-filled glass.
“But why?’’ Chloe asked feeling the same way her dad did.
“Because I have gotten a new job there’’ her dad replied.
The next day, Chloe told her friends the news. “You can get our phone numbers for us to stay in contact.’’ Her friends said to her giving a paper weighted with words and numbers. As days passed on to Saturday when her parents were packing their final items to leave this lively city. It was a chilly morning in the month of December and Chloe smelt the icy air which seemed to be saying goodbye to her. She sniffled a bit about the fact that she was moving. “Did any of us miss anything?’’ Dad questioned before shutting the door of the car. Mum and Chloe shook their heads. Once they arrived at the Mississippi, Chloe and her parents started to unload their things out of the car. The new home was sparkly and fresh. Luckily it was school holidays now so Chloe did not have to worry about her new school that much.
Later that day Chloe was exploring her neighbourhood when she noticed a river. It was frozen and it looked abandoned. There was a sign that had fallen down. Chloe went to pick it up. The sign looked a thousand years old. It read: Lake of Bert Hampton. Chloe went home and urged her parents to come. “ Come come!” Chloe called. Her parents came with her. “Ahh now I remember that river from when I was little. I used to play there. Now people have forgotten about it’’ her dad said.
Weeks later, Chloe made many new friends and always talked to her old friends. Chloe and her friends and others from her neighbourhood now go ice skating even the grown ups do. Even in the school holidays her friends come over to visit her and so does Chloe sometimes visit them back in New York. Chloe is now finally having a good time.
THE END
😀
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2-10(3)-Fathima Shaista Mohamed Salman
Please see attachment.
Day 2 Writing
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2-10(3)-Thomas
After moving to his new home, Sam always had a sense of unease whenever he looked out of the window. But on this particular day, he knew that something was wrong. It wasn’t his imagination, it was like a hidden replica of himself screaming to him that something was not right. Thinking of that, he wandered down the stairs hoping to breathe in the smell of warm porridge which meant breakfast was on the table. But there wasn’t any, there will never be. Sam remembered how his mother used to make delicious porridge when he was six and quite coincidently, his mother died when he was the same age. Since then, he has grown to believe in himself.
School was the same. Sam went to a mean, run down little place called River Hill Boys and it was truly horrendous. The teachers were paid at the least possible so lessons were filled with screaming and pushing. Sam was quite a discreet boy and his only friend was a shy person making lunchtimes boring and seen to last forever. It was Monday meaning that there was art and as usual, the teacher told them to do whatever they wanted to do. Sam found himself building a model of himself and despite the hand me down equipment, he actually quite liked trying to make the model look good.
School was the same. Sam went to a mean, run down little place called River Hill Boys and it was truly horrendous. The teachers were paid at the least possible so lessons were filled with screaming and pushing. Sam was quite a discreet boy and his only friend was a shy person making lunchtimes boring and seen to last forever. It was Monday meaning that there was art and as usual, the teacher told them to do whatever they wanted to do. Sam found himself building a model of himself and despite the hand me down equipment, he actually quite liked trying to make the model look good.
When he finally got home, he felt like an explorer that had discovered something new and then came back. In a way, he thought he had discovered something new, it was being unlucky so many times. Sam threw his backpack on the ground and dragged himself into his room to do his homework. He glanced down at his questions.
1.76×89=
2.37×76=
He didn’t see anymore…
Sam stood up and glanced at his window. He saw the river, it was always there to remind him of something. He just couldn’t piece it together. It seemed impossible that the pieces were in front of him but he couldn’t figure it out. He glanced to his right, and at that moment, it struck him like a bolt of lightning. Seeing the tiny replica of himself had done it. It showed his life. The river, spiralling towards the ocean, represented his life, reaching the top and then spreading open, like the river he had always seen. At that moment, he thought that his life was a path, only continuing in the direction of his future.
After moving to his new home, Sam always had a sense of unease whenever he looked out of the window. But on this particular day, he knew that something was wrong. It wasn’t his imagination, it was like a hidden replica of himself screaming to him that something was not right. Thinking of that, he wandered down the stairs hoping to breathe in the smell of warm porridge which meant breakfast was on the table. But there wasn’t any, there will never be. Sam remembered how his mother used to make delicious porridge when he was six and quite coincidently, his mother died when he was the same age. Since then, he has grown to believe in himself.
School was the same. Sam went to a mean, run down little place called River Hill Boys and it was truly horrendous. The teachers were paid at the least possible so lessons were filled with screaming and pushing. Sam was quite a discreet boy and his only friend was a shy person making lunchtimes boring and seen to last forever. It was Monday meaning that there was art and as usual, the teacher told them to do whatever they wanted to do. Sam found himself building a model of himself and despite the hand me down equipment, he actually quite liked trying to make the model look good.
On the walk back home, Sam thought that his prediction in the morning was right. At first, the teacher told him off for running down the corridor which wasn’t entirely true as he was just trying to run from the bullies. On the walk back, a tree fell and Sam almost got injured, and finally, some bullies stole his money!
When he finally got home, he felt like an explorer that had discovered something new and then came back. In a way, he thought he had discovered something new, it was being unlucky so many times. Sam threw his backpack on the ground and dragged himself into his room to do his homework. He glanced down at his questions.
1.76×89=
2.37×76=
He didn’t see anymore…
Sam stood up and glanced at his window. He saw the river, it was always there to remind him of something. He just couldn’t piece it together. It seemed impossible that the pieces were in front of him but he couldn’t figure it out. He glanced to his right, and at that moment, it struck him like a bolt of lightning. Seeing the tiny replica of himself had done it. It showed his life. The river, spiralling towards the ocean, represented his life, reaching the top and then spreading open, like the river he had always seen. At that moment, he thought that his life was a path, only continuing in the direction of his future.
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2-10(3)-Jayden Zhang (1)
The leap of life
“Do we have to move houses?” I sighed.
“Yes, we have no other option, Arjun,” said Mum. “We only rented this house.”
“Fine,” I snapped.
“Pack your bag. We’ll be starting in one hour,” said Mum.
I would miss my classmates, my friends, and most of all, my house. Before we left, Dad loaded everything into the moving truck while Mum put my pet dog Rex in the back seat. Two hours later, we arrived at our new house. I was surrounded by 500 metres of trees and greenery. Rex came to me and licked my hand. We went inside, and it looked like it hadn’t been used for ages. It was autumn, and the wooden floorboards were freezing cold. Mum told me to clean the cobwebs and wipe the windows while they unloaded the furniture. After hours of cleaning, I finally sat on the couch and turned on the TV, but there was no internet.
“Ugh!” I groaned.
I went to the backyard and sat down on a brown wooden chair. I threw a pebble far into the dense trees. Then I heard, glub glub glub.
I threw another pebble. Glub glub glub.
I explored the woods, and after half an hour of searching, I finally found a river with sockeye salmon migrating. I then remembered my own journey of migration. First, I used to live in Malaysia, then I visited India. Then unexpectedly, Covid-19 arrived, shutting down airports when I was in India and my parents were in Malaysia. I lived with my grandparents until Covid ended. Then, after Covid, I was reunited with my parents in Australia. For one year, I struggled to learn English, and then I moved twice more. I visited the river every day after that.
The river made me feel like I belonged.