English Language iGCSE – Coursework Assignment 2, Narrative Writing

The following is an example of a piece of narrative writing based around the death of Simon in Lord of the Flies. You can use this as an example of a Band 1 piece of work. Remember! You CANNOT copy this for your coursework but can use it for inspiration.

Mr Pollard

The Dance

Trotting by my side as I walked along the beach, Piggy’s forehead was glistening with sweat. I had so many questions invading my mind. Why was Jack so intent on ruining things? Why didn’t he realise why the fire was so important? Piggy kept bombarding me with irritating questions; I didn’t answer them, I had questions of my own.

As we went around the corner the sun peeped over the horizon as it plunged into the ocean.

Far overhead the dark clouds plotted and laughed as a deep rumble spread fear amongst us.  The grey sky turned darker, ever darker, as we approached Jack and his tribe.

The waves crashed onto the shore with a ferocity I hadn’t seen before, they angrily pounded the sand in fury. The fine spray covered my face and was refreshing for only a moment, then the oppressive heat returned in force.

As we got closer to Jack’s tribe the heat from the fire burned my skin with cruel fingers, this was no signal fire; this was a fire only Jack could be proud of. Nervously, Piggy kept close by my side as the first of the hunters began to notice our arrival. I cleared my throat and was about to say why we had come, but Jack stole my voice before I could start.

Like a bully at school, Jack barked orders at his hunters and two boys with painted faces brought Piggy and myself a juicy chunk of piping-hot pig flesh for us to devour. The juices ran down my face and it made me forget, for only a moment, just how terrified I really was.

All around us the boys tore savagely at their meat like hungry wolves. The sounds of bones being cracked and flesh torn made me feel uneasy.

The whole while, Jack just sat there staring at us. Like a tribal Chieftain he sat on his throne like the King of the Island. I was still supposed to be the Chief, but looking at him perched on the branch with the boys following his every order – I didn’t feel in charge.

The tension around the fire was obvious, the boys were reluctant to talk to Piggy and me in case Jack took it as a sign of rebellion. But eventually, after Piggy was burned by a passing chunk of meat and everyone began to laugh at his painful dance, the tension was relieved and normality restored. I remember then, thinking how angry I was at Jack; he could organise a feast, but couldn’t keep a simple signal fire going? Typical.

I whispered to Piggy how ridiculous Jack looked in his war paint; Piggy agreed and laughed nervously. Piggy felt only fear when he was faced with that sight.

It was when Jack began to refer to them as ‘his tribe’ where I couldn’t take it anymore. I threw down my meat and began to shout insults at him, every insult I had thought since first laying eyes on him.

We argued and argued, we shouted and yelled; ultimately, we became true enemies that day. I will never forget the hatred that burned through his angry stare and dug its way into my soul.

There was silence around us as the boys witnessed this uncomfortable spectacle.

The silence was obliterated by the brilliant flash of light that tore through the sky and was followed shortly by a booming crash that filled the island with the sound of a thousand drums.

The rain fell hard around us and began to subdue the angry fire; darkness crept in around us and brought fear with it.

Roger started the game I think. The most dangerous of all the games; the game that ended in death. They played out a hunt, an anonymous savage in the middle being circled and prodded with fearsome spears. Soon all the boys joined the circle, that became the dance.

Relief grabbed me with rough hands and forced me to dance around that fire; forced me to say those words; forced me to grab the boy next to me and be grateful for the warmth and safety of those around me. Kill the Beast…Cut his throat…Bash him in… Is this what I had become?

My fear fell away from me and was replaced with a vicious longing….to kill. I had become a savage too.

We danced and danced; with each movement I felt safety and happiness wash over me. Was this how it felt to be part of Jack’s tribe? I began to see the appeal. The flames roared and were an inferno; turning the rain to steam and reminding me of the need for fire. Why did we need a fire again? My memory grappled with the thought.

The little ‘uns joined in too, dancing around us in an ever widening circle. The darkness usually caused them to cower and hide; the dance gave them safety too it seemed.

It was one of the little ‘uns who spotted it. Emerging from the forest, dark and foreboding.

‘Look!’ I remember he cried, ‘the Beast!’

The chant died. Silence fell. Terror.

We charged as one, spears raised; teeth bared. We fell on the beast together and with all our strength we tore at the evil thing. I struggled to get close, there were so many boys trying to tear at the glimpses of flesh before us. Finally I managed to get close enough to tear my claws down the beast’s face; I remember the sensation I felt as I reached its eyes and one gave way under my long nails. Blood.

Then savages with spears took over, stabbing down frantically into the beast’s evil, yet small, body.

It was then I noticed how small a beast it was; how it had hair like us. It looked a lot like…Simon.

I took a step back, in horror of what I had done. But before I realised it, I had leapt forward again and began pounding at that familiar face. I let all the anger, all the hate, all the fear, channel into my savagery.

I knew I was killing Simon. I knew I liked it.

When he finally gave up it was down by the sea. He tried to pull his way toward the water like it would save him, judging by the long trail of blood he left in his wake, I knew there was nothing that could save him now. I stood and stared at the grisly sight and it finally dawned on me what we, what I, had done.

The storm that had witnessed our evil still thundered overhead; the lightning briefly shone on to Simon’s face and showed the grisly empty eye socket where my anger had been focused. The wind folded waves over Simon like a blanket; then helped him out to the final safety of the ocean. His body, faced down, slowly slid away. As the storm clouds parted and the noise died down, I could swear I saw something fly overhead and out to sea. What was it he’d said? About a man on the mountain?

We stood together, as one, and watched the small body disappear into the moonlit horizon. It seemed like a thousand tiny lights covered him; what they were I will never know.

Then the panic hit me like a train. I was a murderer. Evil. Savage.

Without bothering to even think of Piggy, I ran into the jungle, away from that awful place, away from the crime, and towards the safety of the shelters. I cried myself to sleep and prayed I would forget that night’s events.

After I had run through the dank forest, I blundered into the shelter and buried my head in the leaves. Shaking, it took me a long time to find sleep – my mind was full of screams.

Eventually my body gave in to its exhaustion and I spent the night battling demons in my nightmares, demons with blue eyes and dark hair.

When I woke my body was covered in cuts and bruises; every movement was agony. I crawled slowly out of the shelter onto the warm sand. The sky above was free of clouds and the sun blazed down; it seemed as though yesterday had never happened.

I made my way to the platform where Piggy was staring into the distance. After he greeted me, he returned to his daydreaming. I kept interrupting him, it felt like his anger was growing. When I told him we were murderers he stood and shouted at me. We’d both been there last night, but Piggy was coping in a very different way.

I walked to the shore, the sound of the waves rolling in always soothed my emotions. This time, as I stared into the azure blue water, all I could picture was a child’s body drifting out on the ebb of the tide.

What was I feeling? Guilt? No, guilt was what I was supposed to be feeling. Guilt was what a normal boy would feel. I was feeling…pride. Dirty, selfish, murderous pride. The worst thing? I wanted to do it again.

 

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