amyneave
Feb 4, 2015
Writing Feedback / The House At The End Of The Driveway - iGCSE descriptive coursework. [2]
How can i improve this piece of writing to comply with the above exam board requirements for top grades, any help would be greatly appreciated! Thanks!
A house but not a home: Standing empty. Smashed windows littered the bitter stone walls, the troubling images of bruised and bloodied faces hovered between them, mutely screeching. The ivy formed bars that turned the building into a prison. Slowly scaling, the juvenile creature bound itself around the desolate framework. Yellow tinged soldiers that seemed to stand to attention coated every inch of the forlorn driveway.
Paint that had been white was not so peeled off that it looked out of place amid the dark of the rotting wooden twin doors. These doors hung loose on their hinges supressing the indistinct shadows that at times resembled the former inhabitants. The ash coloured slates appeared to be nearly all pure albeit upon closer inspection only a few of the weather-beaten tiles were misplaced, the majority over the five sections of decrepit decomposing window frames that had once accommodated the formerly perfect panes of glass.
Pointed turret-like ends confined crumbling columns that once arrogantly held a sextuplet of cinder block chimneys, but had been left stained with soot and now seemed to stand crooked and discouraged.
The rarity in the front driveway that was gravel crunched underfoot as she apprehensively approached the sizeable double doors, she gently placed her quivering hand upon the door. Sodden scraps of veteran oak had cemented themselves to her clammy hands. She felt a shudder ricocheting down her spine as the door creaked open moving a centimetre at a time abundant with the centuries of neglect.
She was careful where she stepped as there were already several murky holes where the rotten planks of wood that had made the floorboards had snapped, powerless from the mould and pressured downwards from the sheer weight of the dust that lay over every surface like dirty snow. Aged chipped teacups lay on a claret stained coffee table encrusted with dried up mould and what appeared to her as three smeared fingerprints in a preserved dull brown substance. Shafts of light burst through gaps in the boarded up windows and then through the once thick heavy velvet curtains that dangled off the remaining rungs on the rusted up curtain pole,
The echoing sound of dripping water broke the suffocating silence that was slowly choking her. Dangling from a rust covered bar that was suspended from the cracked stone ceiling was a rope. Stained dark brown and fraying all over. A bucket lay kicked over underneath the rope, seeming never to falter in the draught, a dark mix of brown mud, stagnant water and blood stained both the inside and outside of the once silver pale. Strangely a bitter metallic taste invaded her mouth, the sickening tang of blood. Now another sound accompanied the drip. Drip. Drip of water: her useless whimpers.
Arriving at the foot of the stairs, she paused. Peering at the top, wondering just how capable the stairs were of fulfilling their intended purpose. She summoned the strength and tiptoed her way up. Each step intensifying the moaning and creaking. She turned to her right and met her final destination. The door did not give way easily. A dresser seemed to have been pushed against it, tearing up the threadbare carpet in the process and attempting to deny anyone entry. She could just make out the silhouette of a bed on which a toy dinosaur lay, missing its head. The sheets spattered with a dark colour. In the corner of the room a little chair began to rock slowly. The room had once belonged to a boy. The thin strips of wallpaper showed little trucks and crayon markings scribbled upon the wall where wallpaper used to stick. Little picture frames remained face down on the carpet.
It was as a howl echoed through the house and all the doors slammed shut at once, did she realise exactly what she had disturbed and just how difficult escaping the supernatural really was.
Assignment title: A nightmare world.
How can i improve this piece of writing to comply with the above exam board requirements for top grades, any help would be greatly appreciated! Thanks!
A house but not a home: Standing empty. Smashed windows littered the bitter stone walls, the troubling images of bruised and bloodied faces hovered between them, mutely screeching. The ivy formed bars that turned the building into a prison. Slowly scaling, the juvenile creature bound itself around the desolate framework. Yellow tinged soldiers that seemed to stand to attention coated every inch of the forlorn driveway.
Paint that had been white was not so peeled off that it looked out of place amid the dark of the rotting wooden twin doors. These doors hung loose on their hinges supressing the indistinct shadows that at times resembled the former inhabitants. The ash coloured slates appeared to be nearly all pure albeit upon closer inspection only a few of the weather-beaten tiles were misplaced, the majority over the five sections of decrepit decomposing window frames that had once accommodated the formerly perfect panes of glass.
Pointed turret-like ends confined crumbling columns that once arrogantly held a sextuplet of cinder block chimneys, but had been left stained with soot and now seemed to stand crooked and discouraged.
The rarity in the front driveway that was gravel crunched underfoot as she apprehensively approached the sizeable double doors, she gently placed her quivering hand upon the door. Sodden scraps of veteran oak had cemented themselves to her clammy hands. She felt a shudder ricocheting down her spine as the door creaked open moving a centimetre at a time abundant with the centuries of neglect.
She was careful where she stepped as there were already several murky holes where the rotten planks of wood that had made the floorboards had snapped, powerless from the mould and pressured downwards from the sheer weight of the dust that lay over every surface like dirty snow. Aged chipped teacups lay on a claret stained coffee table encrusted with dried up mould and what appeared to her as three smeared fingerprints in a preserved dull brown substance. Shafts of light burst through gaps in the boarded up windows and then through the once thick heavy velvet curtains that dangled off the remaining rungs on the rusted up curtain pole,
The echoing sound of dripping water broke the suffocating silence that was slowly choking her. Dangling from a rust covered bar that was suspended from the cracked stone ceiling was a rope. Stained dark brown and fraying all over. A bucket lay kicked over underneath the rope, seeming never to falter in the draught, a dark mix of brown mud, stagnant water and blood stained both the inside and outside of the once silver pale. Strangely a bitter metallic taste invaded her mouth, the sickening tang of blood. Now another sound accompanied the drip. Drip. Drip of water: her useless whimpers.
Arriving at the foot of the stairs, she paused. Peering at the top, wondering just how capable the stairs were of fulfilling their intended purpose. She summoned the strength and tiptoed her way up. Each step intensifying the moaning and creaking. She turned to her right and met her final destination. The door did not give way easily. A dresser seemed to have been pushed against it, tearing up the threadbare carpet in the process and attempting to deny anyone entry. She could just make out the silhouette of a bed on which a toy dinosaur lay, missing its head. The sheets spattered with a dark colour. In the corner of the room a little chair began to rock slowly. The room had once belonged to a boy. The thin strips of wallpaper showed little trucks and crayon markings scribbled upon the wall where wallpaper used to stick. Little picture frames remained face down on the carpet.
It was as a howl echoed through the house and all the doors slammed shut at once, did she realise exactly what she had disturbed and just how difficult escaping the supernatural really was.