Need help with narrative essay section of English Language? This document contains sample answers to get you started.
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Grado
English
Institución
GCSE
Book
Edexcel IGCSE English A & B
This document contains a great deal of sample narrative essays to help you deal with the essay section of O levels English Language Specification B. They should also assist you in improving your vocabulary!
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Topic: A job I did well
(The following response has been written by Ridwan Abrar)
“Ridwan, why is your handwriting so bad?” my mother shrieked
vociferously.
My pleasant slumber was devastated by this high-pitched voice of my
mother. I was almost about to fall from bed, but it was God’s mercy that
it did not happen.
Within split seconds, my father was present at the spot and he too
began scrutinising my diary as if he was a treasure hunter looking for
treasure. Then a critical analysis came out of his mouth “Did a cyclone
run over your hand-writing? Why do your letters once fly up like an
aeroplane and then land down?” These words might sound funny but I
know that my father hit the roof when he saw my poor hand-writing.
My father is well recognised in the family for his hand-writing but his
son’s writing is definitely not something to be proud of. I often wonder
why we need good hand-writing in the age of typing machines and
printers.
My father left but assigned me with some hand-writing tasks even
when I had other things to study. He took a copy and then handed it to
me. My task was not that easy! I had to write sentences for about ten
pages. If the hand-writing was still not up to his mark, he would return
with glaring eyes and ask me to repeat the same thing. My heart sank
when I thought about the amount of work waiting for me. Improving
hand-writing always seemed a Herculean task for me and I failed that
day too as I had always done. No matter however I held the pen, the
output was always the same.
Prepared by Ridwan Abrar
,I went to bed that day with my hands full of pain and my head filled
with the thought of improving my hand-writing. It was not unusual that
I could not sleep that night. The only solution that hit my mind was
copying someone’s handwriting and who could be a better candidate
for this than Khyrul! He was the topper of our class and received
accolades for his brilliant writing.
Initially, it took me some time to implement this solution. I went to
school and sat besides him. Like a master spy, I took glances at his
paper and tried to imitate his handwriting without making it seem too
obvious. But it was all in vain; my handwriting refused to change so
easily. The following day I adopted a different method: I held the pen
exactly as he did and then proceeded to copy. I tried day after day,
holding the pen like him and repetitively looking at his writing. Deep
down I knew that the only way to be free from the regular scolds from
my parents is to improve my writing. I was determined to do that no
matter what!
After days of trial and error, I found out what I would now call as the
‘golden rule of success.’ I photocopied one of his notes and then carried
it home. Then I wrote on top of the photocopied words and continued
this over a period of month. I got the results of my perseverance soon
enough but the result was as expected: my hand-writing become a
xerox copy of that of Khyrul. Even some of my friends mistook my
hand-writing as his. Everything was okay in my family after this, but
Khyrul was a bit salty about this. Well, you need to make a copyright for
hand-writing these days as well!
Topic : “I was scared stiff”
** The following response has been written by Khyrul Anam Khan.
“Hey, hold it right there! Put your arms where I can see it.”
Prepared by Ridwan Abrar
, Before my brain could even work out what those words meant, I felt my right arm squeezed
between an iron fist. Someone whacked me straight on the face. Blood oozed out like a fountain
from my nose. Someone from behind struck my knees with a stick-like thing which brought me
collapsing to the ground.
I was flabbergasted. Before I could barely catch the drift of the sudden onslaught, I was
kneeling at the middle of the road, piercing the still, morning air with shrieks of agony. It was
only after I had discharged some of my body pain in the form of shrill cries that I looked up to
discover the reason for the sudden turbulence. I saw a tall figure, all cloaked in black,
wearing a mask on his face. The exposed eyes of the figure scowled at me with such fire that
it penetrated my eyes and gave me chills. When I first saw his bloodshot eyes, I knew I was
waist-deep in trouble. I turned my head sideways and found two other well-built men grabbing
me by the arms. By the farthest stretch of rationalism, I could not scour any reason behind that
incident. What did they want from me? Each crazy thought that scampered past my mind
knocked out every possible pillar of explanation. I knew I was not worth even a penny.
Suddenly the cloaked man spoke out in a grumbling voice.
“Don’t move. Give me the MONEY.”
The ‘MONEY’ - I almost forgot. It was the precious bundle of printed papers concealed in my
brown jacket which I needed badly for the operation of the child. That money meant life to me.
They knew about it. I was not afraid for my life, I was worried about the money. Suddenly the
mugger pointed his gun at my forehead- as a last warning. But I could not give up. With a
sudden burst of desperate energy, I shook myself free of the clutches, knocked down the man
standing in front and started running like a blind man.
I wished I could run like a wild dog out of the shackles. But I was virtually limping. Still I pressed
on it. After covering a few yards, when I was about to take a left turn, I heard a whizz past my
ear and a few streaks of fire on the concrete wall. Damn! They were shooting at me. After taking
the turn, I groped my way through a dark alleyway. All the time, I cried desperately for help but
only to hear it fade into the distance- I could not, logically, hope for help at 6 o’clock in the
morning. Added to that was the constant howling of those chasing wolves from behind warning
me to stop; this nearly made my heart throb out of my mouth. Despite an aching ribcage, I
carried on but soon I discovered myself squirming on the street, being rammed into a lamp-post.
I soon found hovering masked faces above my face, their mouths salivating to rip me apart. Still,
like a drowning man would clutch onto a straw, I placed a desperate clutch over my jacket with
all my remaining strength. Like a blessing right from Heaven, I heard the sirens of an
approaching police car. Being fed up with fruitless efforts, the masked hyenas finally took to their
heels. I still lay there- bleeding, gasping, wriggling. I let out a cry with all the air in my lungs- a
cry of victory, a cry of having succeeded!
Prepared by Ridwan Abrar
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