Week 1 Writing Homework
Writing Prompt:
Write a story with first sentence as ‘The first crash of thunder silenced the crowd…’ 400 WORDS
Please upload your homework as a comment below:
- Due Date : July 29, 2025
- Feedback will be shared in 3-5 days
Writing Prompt:
Write a story with first sentence as ‘The first crash of thunder silenced the crowd…’ 400 WORDS
Please upload your homework as a comment below:
51 thoughts on “Week 1 Writing Homework”
Like a giant drum in the sky, the sound 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 like claws. 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, 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, but he had always told her stories about hidden maps, secret clues, and objects waiting to be found.
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.
Sophie looked up at the storm, rain washing over her face. She smiled. The adventure had just begun.
Please see the attached PDF for the feedback.
1-Y5_Schol-Varoon
Echo in the Thunder
The first crack of thunder silenced the crowd, an abrupt hush falling over the stadium. Janet watched as the rain began to patter down, a noisy yet synchronized orchestra playing an unexpected overture. Time seemed to freeze, every face in the stands tilted skyward in unison. The stadium lights flickered and faltered, surrendering their artificial glow to the raw, dramatic theater of nature. Silver-blue lightning danced across the bruised clouds, briefly illuminating Janet’s pale features as her fingers clutched a crumpled ticket. The air thickened with anticipation – what message did this tempest herald?
In stark contrast to the stadium’s sudden chaos, Janet remained motionless, a solitary figure amidst the growing disarray. Memories flooded her mind, cascading like the raindrops now teeming from the heavens. The vacant seat beside her, stark and empty, proclaimed his absence louder than any words could. A lump formed in her throat as she traced the torn edge of the ticket, her father’s familiar handwriting still legible in the margin: “Remember this moment.” The second thunderclap reverberated through her chest, a physical blow. The storm clouds swirled above like ancient, restless spirits. Janet tilted her chin towards the tempestuous sky. This wasn’t merely nature’s performance; it was a sign, a culmination.
As others began to flee for shelter, a torrent of humanity rushing towards the exits, Janet moved against the current. Her father’s last message, she knew, awaited discovery. Droplets drummed a desperate rhythm against the cold metal railings as Janet descended toward the pitch, each step carrying the weight of loss and longing. The stadium’s floodlights sputtered and surged, illuminating her path in broken, intermittent fragments. Three years ago to this very day, they had sat together in this exact stadium. His voice echoed in her mind, a comforting whisper against the storm’s growing growl: “When thunder speaks, listen carefully.”
The centre of the pitch glistened, a dark mirror reflecting the fractured sky above. While thousands huddled beneath inadequate shelter, Janet stood exposed to the elements’ full fury. With trembling hands, she unfolded the ticket fully, revealing a set of coordinates hidden beneath a forgotten crease. Her heart quickened with a jolt of recognition. The storm’s voice crescendoed around her, like an orchestra reaching its terrifying apex. She knelt, pressing her palm against the sodden grass. Here, beneath this exact spot, something awaited her—something her father had known she would one day be ready to find. Her fingers excavated the softened earth, mud marring her manicured nails without a second thought. What secret could be worth this peculiar pilgrimage? The rain’s steady patter provided a rhythmic percussion for her racing thoughts.
Fifteen centimetres down, her fingertips brushed against something solid. A thrill of anticipation, raw and electric, rippled through her body as she unearthed a small metal box, its surface engraved with her initials. The storm above raged with uncontrolled fury, while Janet’s movements became methodical, precise. The box’s lid protested with a rusty groan as she forced it open. Inside lay a compass, gleaming like a captured star. Janet’s breath caught as she recognised her father’s prized possession — the very instrument that had guided him through countless explorations. Attached was a small, waterproof note: “True north isn’t always where the needle points.” Her fingers trembled as they caressed the cool metal. The storm began to subside, its intensity waning, yet within Janet’s chest, a new tempest stirred, a storm of understanding and renewed purpose. She clutched the compass to her heart, tears mingling freely with the last of the raindrops on her cheeks.
Echo in the Thunder
The first crack of thunder silenced the crowd, an abrupt hush falling over the stadium. Janet watched as the rain began to patter down, a noisy yet synchronized orchestra playing an unexpected overture. Time seemed to freeze, every face in the stands tilted skyward in unison. The stadium lights flickered and faltered, surrendering their artificial glow to the raw, dramatic theater of nature. Silver-blue lightning danced across the bruised clouds, briefly illuminating Janet’s pale features as her fingers clutched a crumpled ticket. The air thickened with anticipation – what message did this tempest herald?
In stark contrast to the stadium’s sudden chaos, Janet remained motionless, a solitary figure amidst the growing disarray. Memories flooded her mind, cascading like the raindrops now teeming from the heavens. The vacant seat beside her, stark and empty, proclaimed his absence louder than any words could. A lump formed in her throat as she traced the torn edge of the ticket, her father’s familiar handwriting still legible in the margin: “Remember this moment.” The second thunderclap reverberated through her chest, a physical blow. The storm clouds swirled above like ancient, restless spirits. Janet tilted her chin towards the tempestuous sky. This wasn’t merely nature’s performance; it was a sign, a culmination.
As others began to flee for shelter, a torrent of humanity rushing towards the exits, Janet moved against the current. Her father’s last message, she knew, awaited discovery. Droplets drummed a desperate rhythm against the cold metal railings as Janet descended toward the pitch, each step carrying the weight of loss and longing. The stadium’s floodlights sputtered and surged, illuminating her path in broken, intermittent fragments. Three years ago to this very day, they had sat together in this exact stadium. His voice echoed in her mind, a comforting whisper against the storm’s growing growl: “When thunder speaks, listen carefully.”
The centre of the pitch glistened, a dark mirror reflecting the fractured sky above. While thousands huddled beneath inadequate shelter, Janet stood exposed to the elements’ full fury. With trembling hands, she unfolded the ticket fully, revealing a set of coordinates hidden beneath a forgotten crease. Her heart quickened with a jolt of recognition. The storm’s voice crescendoed around her, like an orchestra reaching its terrifying apex. She knelt, pressing her palm against the sodden grass. Here, beneath this exact spot, something awaited her—something her father had known she would one day be ready to find. Her fingers excavated the softened earth, mud marring her manicured nails without a second thought. What secret could be worth this peculiar pilgrimage? The rain’s steady patter provided a rhythmic percussion for her racing thoughts.
Fifteen centimetres down, her fingertips brushed against something solid. A thrill of anticipation, raw and electric, rippled through her body as she unearthed a small metal box, its surface engraved with her initials. The storm above raged with uncontrolled fury, while Janet’s movements became methodical, precise. The box’s lid protested with a rusty groan as she forced it open. Inside lay a compass, gleaming like a captured star. Janet’s breath caught as she recognised her father’s prized possession — the very instrument that had guided him through countless explorations. Attached was a small, waterproof note: “True north isn’t always where the needle points.” Her fingers trembled as they caressed the cool metal. The storm began to subside, its intensity waning, yet within Janet’s chest, a new tempest stirred, a storm of understanding and renewed purpose. She clutched the compass to her heart, tears mingling freely with the last of the raindrops on her cheeks.
Echo in the Thunder
The first crack of thunder silenced the crowd, an abrupt hush falling over the stadium. Janet watched as the rain began to patter down, a noisy yet synchronised orchestra playing an unexpected overture. Time seemed to freeze, and every face in the stands tilted skyward in unison. The stadium lights flickered and faltered, surrendering their artificial glow to the raw, dramatic theatre of nature. Silver-blue lightning danced across the bruised clouds, briefly illuminating Janet’s pale features as her fingers clutched a crumpled ticket. The air thickened with anticipation – what message did this tempest herald?
In stark contrast to the stadium’s sudden chaos, Janet remained motionless, a solitary figure amidst the growing disarray. Memories flooded her mind, cascading like the raindrops now teeming from the heavens. The vacant seat beside her, stark and empty, proclaimed his absence louder than any words could. A lump formed in her throat as she traced the torn edge of the ticket, her father’s familiar handwriting still legible in the margin: “Remember this moment.” The second thunderclap reverberated through her chest, a physical blow. The storm clouds swirled above like ancient, restless spirits. Janet tilted her chin towards the tempestuous sky. This wasn’t merely nature’s performance; it was a sign, a culmination.
As others began to flee for shelter, a torrent of humanity rushing towards the exits, Janet moved against the current. Her father’s last message, she knew, awaited discovery. Droplets drummed a desperate rhythm against the cold metal railings as Janet descended toward the pitch, each step carrying the weight of loss and longing. The stadium’s floodlights sputtered and surged, illuminating her path in broken, intermittent fragments. Three years ago to this very day, they had sat together in this exact stadium. His voice echoed in her mind, a comforting whisper against the storm’s growing growl: “When thunder speaks, listen carefully.”
The centre of the pitch glistened, a dark mirror reflecting the fractured sky above. While thousands huddled beneath inadequate shelter, Janet stood exposed to the elements’ full fury. With trembling hands, she unfolded the ticket fully, revealing a set of coordinates hidden beneath a forgotten crease. Her heart quickened with a jolt of recognition. The storm’s voice crescendoed around her, like an orchestra reaching its terrifying apex. She knelt, pressing her palm against the sodden grass. Here, beneath this exact spot, something awaited her—something her father had known she would one day be ready to find. Her fingers excavated the softened earth, mud marring her manicured nails without a second thought. What secret could be worth this peculiar pilgrimage? The rain’s steady patter provided a rhythmic percussion for her racing thoughts.
Fifteen centimetres down, her fingertips brushed against something solid. A thrill of anticipation, raw and electric, rippled through her body as she unearthed a small metal box, its surface engraved with her initials. The storm above raged with uncontrolled fury, while Janet’s movements became methodical, precise. The box’s lid protested with a rusty groan as she forced it open. Inside lay a compass, gleaming like a captured star. Janet’s breath caught as she recognised her father’s prized possession — the very instrument that had guided him through countless explorations. Attached was a small, waterproof note: “True north isn’t always where the needle points.” Her fingers trembled as they caressed the cool metal. The storm began to subside, its intensity waning, yet within Janet’s chest, a new tempest stirred, a storm of understanding and renewed purpose. She clutched the compass to her heart, tears mingling freely with the last of the raindrops on her cheeks.
Please see the attached PDF for the feedback.
1-Y5_Schol-Sophia Zhang
Sorry- I accidentally sent too many times
The first crash of thunder silenced the crowd like a stroke of glimmering, radiant paint from the clouds. Lightning darted and swooped across the The cacophonous chatter of a tuba quickly dwindled to nervous squeaks like a flute. Eyes went huge, and faces were pale, pale as snow, pale as the parchment of which the curse was written. Raindrops pounded on the stadium walls, sounding like a timpani. The sky was lit up with rapid brilliance, the prickling of goosebumps rising along her back becoming more and more noticeable. Her pale pink shirt was pelted with heavy raindrops, but she ran on to the huge stage.
“Evacuate! Evacuate now!” hollered Emma. 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 dripped away from the moment and she lapsed back to the time where 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, to her bedraggled brown hair.
Shiba’s crooked teeth break into an abhorrent grin. Bony fingers clutch the quill. ‘Shiba’ is written is curling letters, the black ink settling into the white parchment.
“The deal is sealed. Once this parchment experiences the thousandth storm, it shall bring a tempest, capable of destroying everything with no hesitation. I have added words of binding which mean that this paper can never be found or destroyed. However, you must give me my payment, as I figure I have done my part quite well.”
“Of course, that would only be beneficial for both of us,” chuckles Tim unpleasantly. “You may reach into this bag and pick out five handfuls of treasure. Only then will I leave.”
Shiba reaches her frighteningly gaunt arm into the bag, closing her eyes as requested.
“They… wriggle quite a lot, don’t they?” proclaimed Shiba. Tim nodded. After the witch was done, Tim cackled.
“You really did fall for it! A girl will now try to save them all, but will not succeed. Your great great granddaughter, Shiba.” And with that, Tim took the parchment with him and left Shiba with five handfuls of mice and snakes. His wings flapped with pride and wretched happiness.
Gasping back to reality, Emma 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 anyways. 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.
Emma 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 colors. The fierce winds that whistled around her ears had calmed into a warm breeze. The heavy raindrops that had pelted the stadium became puddles on the ground. The lightning was gone. Emma smiled, her cheeks rosy and pink. She had defeated the storm. “Thank you, Shiba. 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,” Emma said, bowing her head.
Please see the attached PDF for the feedback.
1-Y5_Schol-Aria Cui
By the way, in ‘across the The’ it’s meant to be ‘across the darkening sky. The’
Done
The first crash of thunder silenced the crowd
Please see the attached PDF for the feedback.
1-Y5_Schol-Vivaan Gupta (1)
The first crash of thunder silenced the crowd, at a snap of a finger. Rigid strikes of opal bruised the obsidian sky, a subtle warning of a threat that seemed like to be awared a millennium ago. A signal that always alerted me with unspoken words.
In the crowd, with thousands of anticipated fans chanting and cheering, there stood myself who shouted the loudest. On the performance stage stood Mum. Her chestnut hair hovered above her shoulders and rested upon her ears. Mum was dressed in vibrant shades of yellow, my favourite colour. Her alluring fingers gently plucked the strings of her harp, an instrument that only angels could perform. My ears adored the way her melody smoothly resonate through the state, how her voice erased all the pain that lies below. I was in the very front, so close that I could smell Mum’s citrusy perfume, so sour, so sweet.
Suddenly it happened. I gasped. Music stopped. My heart hammered relentlessly like a wild animal trying to escape from my chest. My heartbeat pulsated erratically as adrenaline acceleration through my veins. My jaws were clenched as a held such a tight fist- my knuckles turned white. Ghost like strikes pierced through the atmosphere, forcing a halt to the concert. Boom. Crack. Crash. An ear-piercing roar of deafening thunder suddenly reverberated through the air and streaks of incandescent lightning began flashing across the dismal sky. Pellets of icy raindrops descended haphazardly from the clouds, before gushing down in sheets like a water fall. Mum collapsed. She was left agonized in the middle of the stage, her arms turning black. Lightning struck her. I accelerated my steps up the stairs, I rushed next to Mum.
Crimson blood dripped down her arms towards her legs, all the manifestation written on her face. Through the rain, doctors rushed on stage, Mum was still suffering from pain. They took her on the ambulance as the sirens were louder than the lightning, every second, every mistake might separate me and my Mum forever. However, I had never thought that it would be my last time seeing Mum through the rowdy roar of sirens. Not even the accompany of her harp. Not even a person to love me from now on. Not even her citrusy perfume- so sour, so sweet.
Please see the attached PDF for the feedback.
1-Y5_Schol-Tiffany Gu
Here’s my writing.
Scholarly W1
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1-Y5-Schol-Tricia Yi
The first crash of thunder silenced the crowd. Jaws dropped wide open as the crowd mumbled like a screechy flute. Pale goose bumps prickled across my skin while the lightning struck evilly like a raven. I could feel the harsh heavy raindrops hitting my skin shouting, “You will never beat me!” I hid my face under the crowd, hoping the storm would go but the moon chuckled with an unnatural grin while putting a curse on my wish to disappear. Heads spun around the sky as if it was the ruler to be placed onto the throne. My furrowed eyebrows matched everyone else’s. I bit my colourless lip while taunting visions swelled in my distraught mind. Our hearts ached when the stars contrasted under the untrusted blanket of the pitch black sky.
Tears filled up my eyes even more than a tsunami could hold. The clouds turned into the shade of a black cat and the wind rustled passed the wrinkled up leaves. The clouds seemed to have red menacing eyes while the rain flooded the battered pathway. The raindrops had long fingers reaching further than the street. Using all my might, I stared up at the villainous storm trying not to scream my lungs out. Lightning struck brighter than the Milky Way, almost making my eyes go blind. I placed my sweaty hand on my white face.“Oh please, please go away!” I yelled in my hand until it echoed back at me. The crowd stood with an eerie hush each time the thunder roared.
The storm was the only present sound swirling in my ears. My head would burst after the frequent alarming thunder, which strangely played videos about an envious beast. The lightning struck in just a blink of an eye, wanting to beat the speed of light. “Why would you even want to stop me? Why do you need to test me when you know I’ll win?” The strom wrote on the dull sky.
I slouched my head, pointing at the direction where insects scurried and hid under a fallen leaf. I could feel my body rip into pieces every time the storm played another of its spells. The strom only got worse as if it was testing us on our bravery. The tumultuous thunder and lightning wanted power to take over the world. The lightning struck dazzlingly causing my heart to pump louder and my head swirl with trepidation. I looked over my shoulder and felt a warm spirit grasp on my hand. She was gentle and was light blue like the vast ocean. Even with the notorious storm, the spirit almost seemed like she was pointing her mouth upwards.
The storm leisurely settled to a peaceful sprinkle of dancing raindrops. The moon glowed with written letters repeating, “peace is the way to bring harmony and needs to be maintained.” The swift harsh wind paced slowly to a soft breeze. The crowd wondered their amused heads with thoughts, thoughts of the sudden disappearance of the iniquitous storm.
Please see the attached PDF for the feedback.
1-Y5-Schol-Lihini
United: A Percy Jackson Fanfic
The first crash of thunder silenced the crowd. Like a churning vat, a storm had brewed up inside the crowds, and malicious black clouds poised to begin the storm. With the first beat of thunder came the force of the strongest hurricane, the mightiest torrent of rain, and a surge of booming thunder and lightning that struck down more than a few structures, and even hit some people.
With the ambush of a sudden storm, people panicked. Some collapsed on the ground, crying. Others responded by aggression. A tiny percent of people kept their heads on, and ran for their cars. But everyone soon began to realise the sense in going for their cars. Slipping and sliding, everyone dashed for any vehicle, a bike, a car, booking taxis or buses if the roads were blocked.
They left cars, valuables, money, anything behind in their haste to get away from the storm. In a matter of hours, Times Square was utterly deserted. It would have made a wonderful photograph at that time of year, when Times Square was flooded with tourists.
But there was only one person there. And he had no intention of taking a photo.
“What do you want, Zeus?” he murmured, staring up at the raging skies.
~~~
On Mount Olympus, the situation was grave. The gods were seated calmly, but internally they were probably screaming something like: ‘Zeus has gone CRAZY!’
After all, it had been many, many eras before he’d shown power like this.
Zeus himself was flickering between his usual form- a formal business suit that gave the Zeus vibe of ‘Worship me or die’- and a man in a Greek toga, radiating power. Even when Zeus was keeping himself under control, Mount Olympus shook with sheer force.
He paced the room, murmuring to himself. On Earth, the disaster level had hit a new record. At least according to the humans. When Zeus overthrew his father, Kronos, he’d shown slightly more power. But only just.
Zeus sighed, and looked up. His usually sky-blue eyes were dark with the colours of sullen storm clouds, and thunderstorms. Hera took this as an opportunity to calm Zeus down.
“My lord-“
Zeus raised a hand up to silence her. “I know what you’re going to say. And what you are thinking.”
“I have lost sight of our true goal. Athena, any wisdom for the council?”
The gods were shocked for a minute. Could Zeus have admitted his mistake.
Athena stood up. “I recall when we were in a similar situation occurred. The Second Titan War? We relied on heroes to carry us across the line.”
Apollo cleared his throat. “Heroes save the day. Could it help with this problem? Apollo says yes.”
The other gods groaned. Clearly, they had seen enough of his haikus.
“Well, it is settled. We shall hire a hero,” Zeus agreed, “Morpheus, tell a hero in a dream.”
“I already ha…” yawned Morpheus, before dropping back into slumber. An astral figure appeared next to Annabeth, of Morpheus.
“Well, dear. What are you going to do?” asked the spectral figure, “You are awakened by another. Remember the night is an illusion, but the things in it are not.”
~~~
“Annabeth!”
Annabeth heard the voice long before she realised who it was.
“Seaweed Brain!”
Percy practically bounded over to her. “Nice to see you, Wise Girl. I have bad news, Zeus is angry. Like super angry.”
“I know, but he’s not the problem,” Annabeth replied.
She remembered what Morpheus had told her. The night was not scary, the things in it were. And who could shake up Zeus that much, and be a night person.
“Nyx. She was kind of a lady of the Night, even more powerful than Kronos. If I were Zeus, I’d be scared too.”
The sky rumbled in warning.
Percy frowned. “Kronos was hard enough. Now some ancient girly, more powerful.”
Annabeth nudged him. “Or what we call a regular Friday in the demigod business.”
Percy laughed.
“I know we’ll be chosen for this quest. And Grover’s on leave, so he can come too. Old times?”
Percy smiled back at her. “Just like old times.”
Annabeth leaned back, and they watched the sunset. Night was coming. But they could face it. With the gods, demigods, everyone.
United.
-Myra
United: A Percy Jackson Fanfic
The first crash of thunder silenced the crowd. Like a churning vat, a storm had brewed up inside the crowds, and malicious black clouds poised to begin the storm. With the first beat of thunder came the force of the strongest hurricane, the mightiest torrent of rain, and a surge of booming thunder and lightning that struck down more than a few structures, and even hit some people.
With the ambush of a sudden storm, people panicked. Some collapsed on the ground, crying. Others responded by aggression. A tiny percent of people kept their heads on, and ran for their cars. But everyone soon began to realise the sense in going for their cars. Slipping and sliding, everyone dashed for any vehicle, a bike, a car, booking taxis or buses if the roads were blocked.
They left cars, valuables, money, anything behind in their haste to get away from the storm. In a matter of hours, Times Square was utterly deserted. It would have made a wonderful photograph at that time of year, when Times Square was flooded with tourists.
But there was only one person there. And he had no intention of taking a photo.
“What do you want, Zeus?” he murmured, staring up at the raging skies.
~~~
On Mount Olympus, the situation was grave. The gods were seated calmly, but internally they were probably screaming something like: ‘Zeus has gone CRAZY!’
After all, it had been many, many eras before he’d shown power like this.
Zeus himself was flickering between his usual form- a formal business suit that gave the Zeus vibe of ‘Worship me or die’- and a man in a Greek toga, radiating power. Even when Zeus was keeping himself under control, Mount Olympus shook with sheer force.
He paced the room, murmuring to himself. On Earth, the disaster level had hit a new record. At least according to the humans. When Zeus overthrew his father, Kronos, he’d shown slightly more power. But only just.
Zeus sighed, and looked up. His usually sky-blue eyes were dark with the colours of sullen storm clouds, and thunderstorms. Hera took this as an opportunity to calm Zeus down.
“My lord-“
Zeus raised a hand up to silence her. “I know what you’re going to say. And what you are thinking.”
“I have lost sight of our true goal. Athena, any wisdom for the council?”
The gods were shocked for a minute. Could Zeus have admitted his mistake.
Athena stood up. “I recall when we were in a similar situation occurred. The Second Titan War? We relied on heroes to carry us across the line.”
Apollo cleared his throat. “Heroes save the day. Could it help with this problem? Apollo says yes.”
The other gods groaned. Clearly, they had seen enough of his haikus.
“Well, it is settled. We shall hire a hero,” Zeus agreed, “Morpheus, tell a hero in a dream.”
“I already ha…” yawned Morpheus, before dropping back into slumber. An astral figure appeared next to Annabeth, of Morpheus.
“Well, dear. What are you going to do?” asked the spectral figure, “You are awakened by another. Remember the night is an illusion, but the things in it are not.”
~~~
“Annabeth!”
Annabeth heard the voice long before she realised who it was.
“Seaweed Brain!”
Percy practically bounded over to her. “Nice to see you, Wise Girl. I have bad news, Zeus is angry. Like super angry.”
“I know, but he’s not the problem,” Annabeth replied.
She remembered what Morpheus had told her. The night was not scary, the things in it were. And who could shake up Zeus that much, and be a night person.
“Nyx. She was kind of a lady of the Night, even more powerful than Kronos. If I were Zeus, I’d be scared too.”
The sky rumbled in warning.
Percy frowned. “Kronos was hard enough. Now some ancient girly, more powerful.”
Annabeth nudged him. “Or what we call a regular Friday in the demigod business.”
Percy laughed.
“I know we’ll be chosen for this quest. And Grover’s on leave, so he can come too. Old times?”
Percy smiled back at her. “Just like old times.”
Annabeth leaned back, and they watched the sunset. Night was coming. But they could face it. With the gods, demigods, everyone.
United.
-Myra
Please see the attached PDF for the feedback.
1-Y5-Schol-Anurekha
A Crash Of Meaningful Thunder
The first crash of thunder silenced the crowd. Everyone was in a state of taciturnity. People froze like a musician making a mistake in front of thousands of audience. while they spend their time processing the shock, The air was filled with astonishment. Even so, everyone knew what was going to happen next. Uzi looked at the sky and sighed a sign of relief just like the moment that she was given a parcel from her thought-to-be-dead brother.
As the clouds got bigger and bigger people were deceived from the peaceful thoughts they once received. The black as cat clouds ensnared the stadium and surrounded above. The thunder crashed like cymbals being hit against each other and the air moved like a rapid bow of a violin. Lightning crashed almost a hundred times! The crowd panicked in trepidation because of the anomalous, constant CRASH’s! Lightning and thunder were conveying a irresolute message to Uzi. Everyone hastily sought shelter and hurried to safety. The sense of the air was transformed into tension. The smell of malevolence scented reality. Everyone felt burdened from the abrupt pressure. crashes of the continuous thunder conquered the stadium.
All hope of peaceful time was broken but this abruption would once result into a reward that could change the fate of the whole country. That moment came now when the last crash of fearsome thunder finally ended after a session of endurance. The reward was the drippy phenomenon that the whole country was desperate for. The air was not filled with amazement nor tension but a strong fragrance of content ,joy and peace!
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1-Y5-Schol-JASH
The first crash of thunder silenced the crowd. The silent air opposed the clouds in the epic battle. The arena held it’s breath as the players were called off. The finals game of cricket, finalists India and Bangladesh. The just-hit ball by India soared through the air, but no Bangladesh players left out in the open to catch it. The air and clouds battled fierce, but one BOOM! sounded and the battle was over. The clouds had one. It was all over. But wait – there is always still a Hell once Hell controls. The thunder crashed the party of Earth, slamming trees down like feathers, destroying houses like nothing, and flying freely like a bird. The people from the fields and parks are next. Unaware of the criminal upon them, he strikes – CRASH! The sound of trees smashing to the floor echoes through the once-calm air of the world. The strike of white rips the sky in half like a child’s scribbling, but this time, deadlier. The sky rips like paper, revealing the darkness underneath. Echoes of screams fly through the night, combining with the crashes like a rhythmic tribal beat. Cars speed like monkeys past highways, trying to get out of the bolt’s reach. but in any battle, nature always beats man. The thunderstorm takes control of the area, getting bigger and bigger, escalating the people’s screams to the maximum. They screamed. They yelled. They yelled. For help. For need. For recovery. But it never came. The need of people, ignored. It seemed like nature was getting it’s revenge. The humans’ brains flooded with thought faster than a waterfall, more filling than a buffet in a grand restaurant in a grand hotel. But the grands are gone now. They thought about how they treated nature. How the treated animals. How they treated animals. How they treated themselves. They stared at the sky in need, hoping for the storm to soften every so often. But the more they waited, but the storm roughened still. They thought it could not get worse, but it did. It was like Hell was freezing over, but without the demons. Soon, as if by miracle, the thunder paused for a moment before continuing. And that moment gave the people hope. It ignited their fire and burnt their fears away, singed them into getting up and rebuilding their lives. The people kept fighting, and the storm did too – the other way. With the storm retreating, they kept fighting, and soon, the world was back to normal. The plants started to sprout back up, and the animals started creeping forward. But this time they didn’t get forced to retreat back by the once-violent humans.
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1-Y5-Schol-AryanR
The first crash of thunder silenced the crowd, immediately stopping every single body in the desolate stadium. The clapping stopped, the cheering stopped, essentially everything stopped, it even felt like time had stopped. Amelia jerked her head up. What once was a blue, cloudless sky was now a dark, grey angry monster, preparing to pounce. The vivid light flashed before her eyes, like a dragon slowly clawing its way out after millions of years of being trapped. She froze. Something in the sky shifted. Like the rumble before an angry storm. Onlookers gasped, immediately putting up their umbrellas or seeking cover. The first pitters of cold rain began to fall. A storm was coming, and it was coming now. Time started to tick, every second priceless. Beyond what was happening behind her, Amelia didn’t back down. She stood, rooted to the ground that seemed like an enemy too. It was a race against time. ‘It’s not about what comes to you, it’s about what steps you take,’ Her dad’s voice rang in her head. Amelia looked up into the menacing sky, daring to face its wrath, but she stood defiant. She was ready to strike.
The bright, coursing light struck the ground, ripping up the roots of what should stay hidden. Secrets whispered. The crowd shrieked, pushing at the front entrance. Amelia took a step and something metallic caught her at the corner of her fierce eyes. Her feet began to move, squelching in the wet, cold grass. Dirt flew up as ripples of thunder grabbed the ground. She picked up her pace. Every step getting faster. When she reached it, she realised it was a watch, not just any watch, the one that her dad always wore. Amelia picked it up. It was a day like this when her dad mysteriously died in a storm. It was unexplained. She flipped it over, a wave of hope washing over her. She checked the back, opening the cold metallic cap. Amelia was right, it was still there, the little gap where he stored a note, where he said that she could read it when he passed it on to her. She took a deep breath, the thunder impatient. It read ‘The answer always lies within reach, but only if you’re willing to take the steps in order to get it,’ She grinned. The lightning struck the ground. The great journey had just begun.
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1-Y5-Schol-Summer
A Daring Speech
The first crash of thunder silenced the crowd. In that moment, every cheer and whispered conversation vanished, swallowed by the sky’s trembling voice. Lightning shook light poles and hearts.
That’s when the wind surged into chaos. Rain pounded the plaza like drumming fists. The crowd scattered. Vendors abandoned their stalls. Mara stood there frozen as the storm took her chance away. Her goal was to deliver a small speech at the town gathering but all hope has collapsed under the storm’s power.
As a gust flung water into her face, a faint image flickered. A flash of sea breeze, of childhood summers. She was seven years old, watching the angry storms roll off her grandmother’s porch. Wind whispered secrets past her ear as Mara’s eyes lit up at every strike of lightning. She saw her grandmother’s hand resting on her shoulder while thunder cracked overhead. That time, fear had gripped her until Grandma whispered, “The storm passes, dear. So do the troubles.”
That brief vision, triggered by the sound, the rain, the electric scent in the air. It had brought clarity.
Snapping back, Mara inhaled a lungful of storm laced air. She realized her task wasn’t ruined, it was transformed. Instead of timidly calling people back under cover, she raised her voice, letting it carry across the storm rattled square.
“Friends! This storm reminds us how quickly calm can flee, but it also shows us how power returns. Stand with me!”
Her speech, carried with honesty and rooted in memory, drew people back to her side. Shelter mattered less than connection. The storm eased as she spoke, as if listening. Everyone clapped, her daring bravery leading a speech even while the darkness swallowed all hope. Mara was the spark to the fire in the darkness.
A Daring Speech
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1-Y5-Schol-sonya613@hotmail.com
attached below
Scholarship Writing Wk 1
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1-Y5-melodyc
The first crash of thunder silenced the crowd. A million faces turned to scared confusion, like tiny ants stuck in a metal cage. Petrichor suddenly covered the gigantic stadium like a supernova, as a silver streak of light passed through the clouds and raced to the ground, then went into the damp, soggy grass below. A static explosion happened as sparks of electricity went up into the air like balloons. Not long after, another bolt came, splitting through the sky, and like the end of a crowded concert, people scrambled to find their belongings, while the thunder rumbled angrily like the bang of a timpani. The piano seemed to follow with a dissonant chord, as the lightning had reached the stadium, and a concrete part fell off like a sizable cookie crumb. With a drenched jacket and a weighty backpack in hand, Ellen frantically looked around for that black crystal. ‘That one,’ She thought, ‘The one that that stupid merchant gave me.’ Even though it had been barely one hour, she could not find anywhere in her head what that merchant looked like. All she could remember was that he sat at the giant entrance among the other shops nearby at a creaky wooden table with a tiny crystal in his wrinkled hands.
And just as orchestras don’t stop in the middle of pieces, the now raging storm did not give up in trying to ruin the football field. In fact, almost half of the fences around the stadium completely gave in, and had transformed into useless chunks of concrete and metal, planted inside the moist soil. And yet here Ellen was, checking every single seat to see if it was there. And yet it had disappeared, like a ghost vanishing into thin air. Then, lightning struck from the skies again, illuminating the bottom row of the seats for a millisecond, but she saw it. The crystal, just rolling lifelessly on a soaking jersey that had been left behind. She didn’t waste a single second. She sprinted to the bottom and quickly yanked the crystal from its hiding place in the middle of two seats. It was cracked open and there was a wrinkled paper, dry as a bone, in the direct center of the storm. It was glowing with a strange purple, through what seemed like cracks on the side of it. Carefully, Ellen flipped it.
And there was something inside that she found extremely useless.
A letter.
Dear Mother,
When you send the extra dark chocolate to Mark, could you make sure he eats it right away? Hopefully you bought the correct brand, because we want the flavour to be nice and violent. When he says it tastes bad, then reveal the precious little secret.
From Jacob
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1-Y5-Nathan Zhou
done
here
Felix SUN Week 1 Schoarship Writing
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1-Y5-zhuyingdorahotmail-com
here is the writing
writing week 1
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1-Y5-Tracy-lau
The first crash of thunder silenced the crowd like a referee whistle in a soccer match making everyone stop in an instant. Faces turned white in fear as the lighting vigorously twirled in the
melancholy sky. In a blink of an eye, the arena went silent and everyone was frozen in dismay. Sitting in the corner Jack stood up scanning the arena where small crowds huddled in scattered groups. The storm grew more and more intense as the rain poured down from the sky. People start murmuring about going out and leaving. Jack stood still as drops of sweat rolled down his head. He stood in shape looking at the fierce storm. Suddenly, the storm stops as Jack grips onto a squished piece of paper in his pocket tightly. It was true.
Jack sat on a red bench in the arena as his memory came back. He found this paper yesterday when he was walking down the road when it got stuck on his bag. When he went home he placed his bag on the table, when he saw the piece of paper. He thought it wasn’t that much of a thing so he closed the lights and was about to have a small doze. Suddenly, Jack saw a glimpse of light right at the corner of his eye. He suspiciously glanced over to the bag where he saw the piece of paper. Glowing. Glowing? Subconsciously he leans towards the light like a desperate moth’s desire to
feel the burn of a flame it cannot understand. Drawn not by logic, but by some natural gravitational pull towards the glow that somehow they believe promises warmth, truth maybe, or at least the illusion of it. As shadows stretch long behind him, he inches closer, unaware if he seeks revelation or ruin when suddenly, the hypnotisation gets interrupted. Words start appearing on the paper, letter by letter. “Tomorrow you will go to the arena. There will be a great storm. And…” And…and what?! Jack anxiously shakes his head as he finds himself back at the red bench in the arena. Desperately reaching into his pocket for the paper he had stuffed in this morning only to reveal that the last part disappeared. Sounds of the crowd suddenly goes hazy, tingling sensations travel from the tip of his fingers to the bottom of his toes. Jack runs to a security guard for help but goes right through him and falls to the ground. An electrifying shock hit Jack to his realisation, still attempting to reach another but this time. No surprises. His hands went right through the person’s body. Jack panicked as he tried to find an exit when suddenly his head started aching, his vision started to blur, breathing felt heavy. And then. Thud.
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1-Y5-kathleenhao@gmail.com
“The first crash of the thunder silenced the crowd…”
The lightning struck right in the middle of the field, as everyone who looked beyond were blinded by the light. The players on the field stood in shock, and not wasting a second, ran back into the locker rooms. Chaos erupted inside the stadium, as security ushered the disgruntled and panicked people out of the stadium.
No one understood the meaning of the sudden storm, but Chuck looked horrified. He saw a face in the sky; A furious, seething face. He knew The Gods would never show mercy to any mortal that embarrassed them. They would never relent in searching and finding the man that made them look like fools. The lightning only struck inches from his sweaty body, but no one saw it. It was an immeasurable force pitted against him, like many strong men surrounding an ant. And what was the only advantage of the ant? The cracks.
He scurried through the tunnels under the stadium, despite his team’s wishes. If he wanted to make it out alive, he would have to run and hide. The second thunderclap deafened his ears. Time seemed to slow down around him, as each step reminded him of his son, the only light left in a world quickly being swallowed by wrath.
Chuck’s lungs burned as he jumped past the maintenance equipment blocking off the narrow tunnel. The air grew heavy—charged, unnatural—as though the gods’ fury had seeped into the very walls. He didn’t dare look back.
Above him, the roar of fleeing spectators faded into distant chaos, replaced by the tremors of the metal underground. Dust rained down from the ceiling with every step. The gods weren’t just angry. They were hunting.
He slipped on a puddle of leaked water, barely catching himself on the wall. His arm scraped along the rough brick, but he didn’t stop. Blood mixed with sweat on his fingers, and he still kept running.
Every sin he had once buried in the sands of ambition clawed its way back to the surface. You mocked them. On the biggest stage of all. You dared.
He hadn’t meant to offend. The mocking gesture, the arms stretched wide as if to challenge the heavens, the crowd roaring in approval—it had been instinct. Pride. Glory. Hubris. And now? Now the heavens had answered.
He turned a corner into a dead end, breathing hard, heart pounding. In the dim red emergency light, he saw it: a metal grate leading into a forgotten crawlspace. A crack. A one that could barely fit him. The ant had found an escape route.
Chuck pulled at the grate with all his strength. It screeched open, metal rebounding in protest. Just as he slid one leg in, a blast of wind surged down the tunnel behind him. Lights exploded. The walls shook. They were close.
He yanked his body into the vent and slammed the grate shut behind him, curling tight into the shadows. He could barely move. His body trembled. His mind raced with one thought: Matthew.
His son. Seven years old. Waiting in the stands with a jersey too big for his frame and eyes full of hero-worship. Did he make it out? Did someone grab him?
A bolt of lightning ripped through the corridor, just beyond the grate. White fire. The whole tunnel flashed, then went dark again. Chuck didn’t breathe. Then—silence. A dreadful, pulsing silence.
At that moment, Chuck finally cried. Not from fear. Not from pain. But from regret. He’d lived for the cheers, the glory, the spectacle. He’d never asked who paid the price. Now, he knew.
The gods would scorch the world to find him. But he would not die like this. Not until he knew his son was safe. He wiped his eyes. His muscles ached, but he crawled forward. Into the dark. Into the cracks. Toward redemption. Toward the only light left.
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1-Y5-Cyrus Chan
The first crash of thunder silenced the crowd, catching the attention of a million eyes. Dark clouds rolled into the sight of the stadium like a wave, clouds toppling over each other. People gathered around at the centre of the stadium, staring at the storm with mouths gaping in awe.
Their eyes were filled with curiosity until the first hints of concern spread across their faces and people backed away slowly. However, some people gazed at the clouds, paralysed in shock. A man covered the eyes of a child, still imitating the sound of a car and holding a small truck.
The crowd went silent as if the world had stopped spinning. Players stood with their team, asking the coach questions with concerned expressions
Out of nowhere, a strike of lightning hit the ground beside a girl, shooting dust and grass towards her yellow-coloured t-shirt. A woman screamed “Grab the children!”, and dashed towards her own, a child crying in the pram.
The Coach came, shouting at the people and guiding them towards safety.
Then, hail came.
Water dove for people, soaking jackets and hoodies. Ice cubes falling at a speed of one hundred miles per hour hit children and adults. The crisp crack of the ice breaking on the head of a girl followed by sobbing was all the Coach could take.
He ran for the girl at the heart of the soccer field like a cheetah, his legs kicking off the ground in a dash.
The Coach sprinted for the child, swiping her away, just in time to miss a lightning strike.
Wiping away sweat, he went for the elderly woman wobbling towards the exit, panting and gasping for air. The Coach led her away from danger, guiding her through the field.
He knew that this stadium was a monument to decay, and he didn’t deny it.
The man went for his pupils, running as fast as he could. The Coach treated his team like sons and would save them at all costs. He ran towards them, neglecting the thought that he could die.
Suddenly, the voice of a man pierced through the atmosphere, a familiar voice.
It was the sound of Ben, the best player in the team. the tape of the group.
The thought of losing a pupil was heartbreaking, like a knife piercing a heart, but the Coach didn’t give up saving the team.
He told them to run towards shelter and go home, and that the game was cancelled due to the storm, and he was off. The Coach guided them and zipped through the air.
He had survived the worst storm in history.
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1-Y5-Tina Y
The first crash of thunder silenced the crowd like the ending of a music performance. A few weeks ago, James had already been waiting for one of the most valuable things he had ever seen. It was a soccer match with his favorite team playing against his least favorite team. James would always dream about it every night, thinking about how the match might turn out.
Anticipation ran through James’ body, hoping for the day to come soon. He wanted to be able to see this game as a reward from his parents because he scored lots of goals in his soccer match, winning with his team cheering for him. Excitement grew every day as it got closer to seeing the grand match between the teams.
He wanted to do everything to make his team he was rooting for would win. James couldn’t sleep the night before the competition he was attending. He really wanted the match to be worth the money because it was most likely the only time he would ever be able to see a match like this. His family was not that rich, and his parents did all they could to pay to see the match. They worked through nights and long, stressful weeks of tiredness.
The day had come; the day James had been waiting for like a famous orchestra was about to play. James was jumping around, enthusiastically thinking about the competition. Waiting in line, people chattered and screamed excitedly like a choir. Everyone was also extremely interested in what was going to happen.
The weather was gloomy and dark with a little bit of sunlight, yet it was still bright with all the fans bringing everything together. Grey clouds hovered over the area. They waited patiently and soon were in the stadium. Soon enough, the match began. James’ team was winning against the opponents.
The first crash of thunder silenced the crowd like the ending of a music performance. Everyone panicked as it started pouring with rain. The match was cancelled. James slumped his shoulders and went home all depressed. His only chance wasn’t successful. All the money. Gone. James’s heart stung, losing all hope in the match and seeing it again.
Days passed, and there was notice about the match. People who attended and had to leave could come and see the rematch. James’ face immediately lit up. He was ready.
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1-Y5-E L
The first crash of thunder silenced the crowd. People’s mouths stopped mid cheer. Eyes widened as another tumultuous thunder illuminated the night sky like a lamp lighting up a room. The players on the match stopped and stared. It was as if someone flicked a switch to turn time off. Someone screamed as a serpent-like thing formed in the ball lightning. A petrifying laughter echoed off the stadium walls. Sophie watches the star player’s face turn ghostly white.
“Remember me? Ronald Mclaine?” shrieked the voice, “The person who you versed one day and that same day, took my fans away?”
The crowd turned and stared at the star player whose face contorted from a smug smile to a terror stricken expression.
“You know Ronald. I soon went flat broke and started to seek revenge. Since you robbed me of my fans and supporters, I will rob you and your fan’s lives!” cackled the voice.
Panic washed over the crowd like a tidal wave. People scrambled for the exit as the serpent descended. Mysteriously, the doors were locked. People were shrieking. Babies were crying. Kids were wailing for their parents. Players ran for cover as the pharaonic serpent wrecked havoc. Sophie stood there as the chaos unfolded. Her great grandpa always told her to stay calm in such situations before he died. Then something hit her. The person must be in the speaker room as you only access the loud speakers if you are in there. Sophie bolted towards the speaker room and opened the door to see a bedraggled man letting out a black hearted laugh through the speaker. His laughter died down as he spotted Sophie staring. The man pounced onto her like a dog with rabies and started scratching her but Sophie grabbed his arms to stop his attacks and spotted a strange necklace with a serpent squirming around inside. She used her teeth to latch around the necklace and she ripped the necklace off his neck. The man stopped resisting. His hands crumbled as he stared at Sophie with wild eyes. Soon he was nothing but a pile of dust. Sophie smashed the necklace on the floor and the serpent disappeared in an instant and people watched as the black clouds cleared out and the sun smiled down at them and they cheered and laughed as people started hugging each other with glee. Sophie had saved the day.
The first crash of thunder silenced the crowd, words of chaos awakening from his sleep. The crowds watched in horror as their colour began to evaporate from their faces. The echo of silver strikes roared like a trumpet playing off key notes, each one a deafening howl.
“No…” I whispered, barely audible. “No, not now… no….” It couldn’t be him. But the tugging feeling in my gut knew it was. I had taken the risk, attending a stormy area, after the solemn warnings, after the last breath of my ancestors, after a dreadful curse. I could still remember the pestering from my parents. All the work done to keep me from going to enclosed public spaces. Yet I had thrown it away like a useless piece of rubbish. Guilt wrapped around me like a sodden cloak, dragging with every step.
A shadow, too large to be human, too small to be a giant, emerged. His cackle-vaguely familiar, the dreadful noise that had froze everyone. His eyes, twinkling with mischief, the ones that stared into your soul. I could make out his figure as it descended from the bloodshot clouds. He was a storm in inhumane skin-horrifying, unpredictable, and impossible to ignore.
“Well, if it isn’t the brave little Athena Walker,” he spread a devilish grin, opening his arms as the crowds’ eyes averted to me. “Named after the Greek goddess of intelligence, and is still stupid enough to enter a stormy area where the curse was played.” I wouldn’t let him hurt all of these innocent people, all because of my family’s rigged curse. No way.
“Zeus,” I mumbled, fighting back the fear trying to appear in my eyes. The Greek god, once almighty and sane, turned into a living demon. “Do not hurt these innocent people, they have nothing to do with our past.”
I could see the deathly pale skin spreading through the crowds, consuming me on the way. Zeus let out a mocking laugh. “You know, you’re fun to play with. That time’s over. I’ll kill you now.” And he struck lightning at me.
Unlivable surges of energy spread through my body, tugging goosebumps in my skin. Not only was strength fading, but my joy, my laughter built up from years. My body trembled. My eyes fought to stay open, the repetitive cold rain not helping. Could I just die here? Great option right now. But there were hundreds of lives on the line right now. They were people. Loved. Cared. And if I gave up, they would all just be pointless toys to add to Zeus’ games. No, even the thought made me wince, just as how my parents got cursed. I felt rage, a burst inside of me. I was flying in the air, golden light surrounding me. I could see shock, even horror in his eyes as they widened.
“Very well, you wanted to play? So be it,” I panted, sent something flying to him, and fell.
I finished my Writing Homework.
Week 1 Writing Homework
Don’t Doubt it!
The first crash of lightning silenced the crowd, the air turning stone cold. Momentarily, not a single sound was made apart from the furious pattering of acrid earthy rain on the solid concrete walls, deflecting the raindrops as if they were mere ants. The stadium burst back into its usual commotion, and laughter, chattering and cheering echoed in my ears once again as if nothing had just happened.
A great force of electricity struck again, clawing the stadium below, narrowly missing it. My ears winced from the noisy sound of the shockwave; it felt like a master cracking a whip repeatedly on a poor, defenceless slave.
Quicker than than the lightning had come and gone, the alarm wailed out, a baby crying due to the absence of its mother. Immobilised, I sat there, frozen in time. Why would I need to leave? The siren isn’t indicating anything, I thought. The thunderstorm is calming, the rain has just even ceased – what could be the problem? Some people even squealed – what was so scary?
A further notice told everyone to immediately evacuate the building. I chuckled at the foolish people draining out the rest of the notice.
By now, mobs of people were streaming out of the stadium like a mouse leaping back into the safety of its hole. The suddenly deserted and disheveled stadium had nothing wrong with it – why were throngs of people trying to squish out of every exit? I surveyed the stadium for any signs of danger, but there were none. I tried again, to find a particular spot on the wall with a crack.
Before I realised it, fire was seeping through the walls like water trickling out of a container with holes, but this was the opposite. Legs betraying me, I stumbled, nose kissing the protective railing. Alarmed, I bolted to the nearest exit, heart trying to break out of my chest. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, and I felt that I could have beat the world record with that speed.
Narrowly escaping the vicious snake, its bright red tongues threaten to engulf me. Scolding myself for my stupidity, I found my car easily in the ‘desert’ and sped back home. I was left with a nasty burn on my arm, a forever reminder of my stupidity, and that everything happens for a reason.
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Scholarly Zoom Writing Week 1