Homework, October 5th, 2015

This week I would like you to read the following short story, which I can publish on here because I wrote it! The purpose of this is to get you thinking about how short stories are structured. I would then like you to fill in the story planning sheet which I gave you (I tried to copy and paste it here but the format got messed up). Basically, you have to write down:

1. The title

2. Who the protagonist(s)  and antagonist(s) are

3. Whether it is in the first or third person

4. Whether it is in the past or present tense

5. What the setting is

6. What happens in the beginning, middle and end

The Day the School Caught Fire

When I wished something interesting would happen at school, a fire wasn’t quite what I had in mind, but it certainly did give us a break from boring lessons. Now, you’re probably worried that people were hurt – maybe even killed – in the fire, but I can assure you that no children or animals were hurt in the making of this story.

                It all started during my morning Maths lesson. Mr Pinel was going on and on about triangles, as he always does, wearing that stupid brown jacket that he always wears, with his tangled hair just kind of sitting on top of his head like a pile of straw. Sometimes I wondered if he practiced making my life miserable, or if it was something that just came naturally to him. While he droned on, I stared out of the window, thinking about whether or not I had any sympathy for Walter White (that will only make sense if you’ve seen Breaking Bad), when I heard Boris Cooper shouting out of an upstairs window from the other side of the playground.

                ‘Fire, fire!!!’ he yelled.

                A few seconds later, the loud, shrill sound of the fire alarm came blaring out of the red box on the wall and pierced our ears, as if a team of medieval archers was firing arrows us.

                ‘Okay everyone, try and remain calm,’ Mr Pinel said as we all ran around screaming.

                After a few chaotic seconds, something resembling a sense of order fell over the room, and we made our way out towards the playground.

                ‘I don’t know why we have to stand in the playground,’ said Rita Buchanan as we made our way through the corridor.

                ‘Quiet!’ Mr Pinel bellowed.

                ‘I mean,’ she continued in a whisper, ‘in a way, it’s kind of the worst place you could be, because I heard that when glass gets hot it breaks and flies outwards, which means if you’re standing in the middle of the playground, you’re going to get covered in broken glass!’

                ‘That’s rubbish,’ said Tim Masterson.

                Before Rita could snap back with a retort, which I knew she would because she hated people disagreeing with her, even over the tiniest thing, Mr Mastrodomenico, the headmaster, appeared ahead of us. He didn’t say anything; he didn’t need to. Everyone was terrified of him and so stopped talking immediately. It helped that he was the headmaster, obviously, but it was more than that with him: everything about him was scary: his face, his eyes … even his name was terrifying, although that might have been because no-one knew how to pronounce it.          

                We spent a good ten minutes standing out in the playground while various teachers hurried around talking to each other in hushed tones, until eventually the glorious news came: we were being sent home. I felt a wave of euphoria rush through me as the news was delivered. It was like I’d won the lottery or something. I probably should have been more worried about the possibility of people being burnt, but I’m a teenager and teenagers just don’t always think about these things. We’re kind of selfish like that. As we filed out of the school through the main gates, the sound of fire engine sirens wailed through the air, getting louder as the red beasts got closer.

I spent the rest of the day at Gordon Sumner’s house playing X Box, kicking a football around and watching episodes of Walking Dead on his mum’s Netflix account. It might be a bit of an exaggeration to say it was the best day ever, but it was pretty close.

                The funny thing about all of this is that the fire, apparently, wasn’t actually that bad. In fact, there wasn’t even really a need to call the fire brigade; all that had happened, Paul Hewson told me the next day, was that someone had knocked over a Bunsen burner during a science lesson and the teacher, Ms Howard, had panicked like she always does over the tiniest thing. Whatever, I don’t really care – the important thing is that no-one was hurt and we all got to chillax for the afternoon.