Writing a Powerful Story

 This is another piece of narrative written by one of my students, Violet.  She uses "the black hole" technique that I teach, and includes characterisation very effectively to make a gripping read!

My fear of turbulence started from a very young age. Now, getting ready to board the plane, the trembling of my hands was starting to get to me, I could feel the nerves creeping in faster and faster. The plane took off and I could hear my heart, thumping in the back of my mind. I felt like throwing up. 

After a while, my anxiety had lowered and so I held a cup of steaming tea and ravenously ate cheese and ham toastie. It definitely was not the best food I had ever eaten, however when I am nervous, my stomach grumbles until it seems I haven't eaten for days.  Despite my fear, I was extremely excited to go to America to see my family; my mother had already travelled over, so I was alone on the flight. Flight agencies nowadays are less lenient than they were about children under 16 flying alone in ‘her day’, as mother says, but she had won the argument with the company and so the flight was quite a lonely one, at least the part of the journey we were actually on the plane…

Suddenly the plane started to shake, my cup of tea poured onto my lap, my thighs burned like hell. I felt like I was a kite being flown in the strong winds, vigorously being thrown up and down out of my seat. The screaming of terrified children pierced my ears; I attempted to hold onto my seat so I wouldn’t slam into the roof above; the force of the plane jolting about was seriously testing my strength. The mother in the row next to me was holding on to her child for dear life: the fear in her eyes sent chills down my spine. Her head spun to the right: I followed her glance and flames were aggressively blazing from the engine. This wasn’t just turbulence. We were going down. Fast.

Trees loomed over me. I awoke and I couldn’t remember what had happened. I don’t know how long I was unconscious for, however there was a ringing in the back of my mind, and my head ached like never before. Slowly I rose, crows cawed and the noise echoed through the forest. What had happened? Where was I? I could hear the faint spinning of an engine behind me; I turned around cautiously and stared at what lay before me, mouth wide open. Dead. Everyone was dead. My knees weakened and I fell to the floor, my head in my hands. 

I heard an odd noise; it wailed and wailed until I looked around and wondered whether it was the wind making the howl. Ahead of me I saw a boy. Tears were streaming down his face. His blonde hair was stained with red. His arms were cut to pieces; one hand was held firmly to his shoulder. He leaned over one of the bodies that were lying lifeless on the ground. His eyes were red raw from crying and he held their hand tightly. I had seen him earlier on the plane; I was going to say hello but he seemed preoccupied watching Netflix. I called to him. He looked up: he was as shocked as I was to see someone alive in this site of death. 

It was like he was glued to the ground. Fear. 

I limped over to him: my leg had been sliced open by what I presumed to be a tree branch. Every time I took a step, pain surged up my leg. Even though I didn't know him, I knew that if we were going to survive this, we needed to work together and find supplies otherwise we would join the rest of the passengers in death. From what I could tell on the flight, we were flying over the Atlantic ocean, and we must have crashed into a small island. 

‘Are you ok? We should get out of here; it’s dangerous; the other engine could blow.’

No reply.

‘I know it's scary but we need to go.’ This time I didn't wait for a response and dragged him away. He put up a fight, but eventually he gave up and I let go of him. He walked reluctantly behind me; I kept glancing back to make sure he hadn’t run off.

After walking for around 10 minutes we reached the end of the forest. Waves of heat rose off the rock we walked on, and beads of sweat started to form on my forehead. The trees could no longer protect us from the heat. I saw a crack in the cliff ahead and we decided to take cover there until the midday heat passed. The opening lead to a large cave. Obviously we decided to explore. The deeper we went, the colder it got; it was a nice break from the glaring heat outside. 

The boy barely spoke. Just the odd, ‘OK’’, ‘I’m fine’, or even just a grunt. I may as well have just spoken to myself. There was an area of flat ground, so I decided to sit down and he did the same. I told him to go and look for some dry wood and he did, but he said nothing, just got up, went, came back. No words. I think he was in shock. I managed to get a fire going as I wasn't sure if search and rescue would find us before night came, and it was better to be overnight in the cave than vulnerable outside.

After a while I decided to look around, as I had got the suspicion someone had been in the cave before us. Faint footsteps lay on the floor; I wandered around, my leg still burning with pain; I had tied my jumper around the large cut to stop the bleeding as much as I could. Something lay in the distance, a square black object. My pace increased as I walked over to it, praying there was something inside that we could use to help us get off the island. To our luck I found some basic first aid. A couple of antiseptic wipes and a small bandage that I could use to help the boy’s cuts on his arms. I dug deeper into the box and I found a flare; my eyes lit up and I knew this was our ticket out of this place. 

I ran as fast as I could back to the boy; my leg was killing me but I didn’t give in to the pain. I got to where he was sitting, and I explained to him what I had found; a smile appeared on his face and I could tell that he was filled with hope. Still no words. 

We got a fire going outside as well so that if we saw a plane we could light the flare and they would be able to see the flames to pinpoint our exact location. Around half an hour later we could see a faint, star looking object, moving in the sky above. I knew it was a plane as I could see a flashing light coming from each side (the wings). I lit the flare however to our despair they carried on, and we didn't see another for a good while, and anyway, there were no other flares we could use. Hope slowly drained as the minutes went by. 

A light shone above me, awakening me from my sleep. I got up, shocked, my heart racing. It wasn't the boy. It was a man dressed in red with fluorescent silver lining along parts of his jacket. I finally realised. It was search and rescue! The plane must have seen our flare and reported to rescue teams who sent over teams after communication when our plane was lost. I boarded the helicopter, and I didn’t even feel the nerves; all I cared about was going home. 

My mother had flown back from America after she heard our plane went missing, and so when I arrived at the airport she was waiting there for me. Worrying. I sprinted to her even though I had been told to stay in the wheelchair they had given to me; I could barely feel the pain in my leg because I was so happy to be home, safe in my mother’s arms. And so was the boy.