Elijah's Life Experiences

"It was all my fault" tells an unfortunate story when feelings got in the way of action ...              It was all my fault.             It all started from the rivalry my cousin, Fenton and I had. Fenton was the most filthy rich pupil in my class. He was unbelievably intelligent too. What made him a source of perfection was that he was extremely handsome. His raven dark hair and huge dark eyes certainly attracted lots of attention. In comparison, I was poor. Ever since Father’s demise, Mother needed to work hard so as to make ends meet. Furthermore, I was not even the least bit intelligent. The last straw was that I paled in comparison to Fenton where looks was concerned. I was corpulent and not to mention, had a pimply face. Why is God so unfair? My jealousy continued till that fateful day.             “Nicole, Timothy and Rayson, would you like to come over to my place for a dip in my swimming pool?” Fenton asked the three of us during recess. Nicole and Ti

Disappointment             It was too late to cry over spilt milk.             It was just like any football practice with my friends, Fred, Nathan, Dominic and Sean. It was our routine football practice with my best friends in school. All of us were in the school’s football team and we were competing with a neighbouring school in four weeks time. As such, our coach had insisted on consistent training.             That was when tragedy struck.             Our faces beaded with perspiration, I was just about to deliver a goal when Fred barrelled into me. An agonizing crack drifted noisily in all directions as my friends stared at my awkward figure sprawled on the football court. It was not long before help arrived. Fate was harsh that day as I had twisted my ankle and I could not play football for a fortnight.             Replaying the events that had unfolded that fateful Friday, I stood with my crutches supporting me. Misery blatantly etched across my face as I

Here's my attempt at a "short description of a poor boy in the rain".             The trees shook like rag dolls as the strong winds blew unrelentingly. Occasional streaks of lightning would light up the sea of darkness which engulfed the skies. Every now and then, there would be a rumble of thunder sounding out. Raindrops fell incessantly like arrows. Just then, a boy appeared. His tattered flannel shirt was fluttering wildly under the wind’s cruel mercy. His raven dark hair was like a rat’s nest – shaggy locks so long that they almost touched his shoulders. The boy’s eyes were looking unusually wild. Incomprehensible mutterings could be heard under his breath as he trudged along the pavement. Menacing shadows loomed out of the distance as the boy disappeared suddenly into the abyss of darkness. If you like reading this, browse this catalog here for more works from my classmates and me ...  Till the next post, Elijah Wee, Singapore

Here's a "short description of my school".             The chatter. The jovial laughter.             I love my school for many reasons. It is a place of joy and fun. A second home to me. Whenever I am in my school uniform, I feel a sense of pride for my school.             Firstly, the teachers there are kind, especially my form teacher, Mr Chin. With his bleached curly hair and his skin as tightly drawn as the skin of an onion, he did not fit into the typical mould of a form teacher. However, what lies below his unusually quirky appearance is the heart of pure kindness. He always encourages us to do better the next time whenever we fared badly in our tests. While he does flare up at times when we get out of hand in class, he never reprimands us unreasonably. Mr Chin will forever remain in my mind as a kind and motivational individual.             The next thing about my school which comes to mind would be the school canteen. Stepping into the canteen, I

"What should not have happened (losing my temper)" was one of the essays I did up in school .             A second chance.             It was the annual Sports Day. I was one of the players participating in the soccer event. Time passed and soon, the referee blew his whistle shrilly.             The match had started.             Face beaded with perspiration, Justin kicked the ball towards me. Dribbling the ball around the startled defenders, I barrelled into the opponent’s goalkepper, Davin and sent the ball flying into the goalpost. “Goal!” I yelled at the top of voice, a mirthful smile spreading across my face. No sooner had I said that than I heard the familiar whistle.             Looking around, I saw Davin sprawl on the field. His face was contorted in pain and his teammates attended to him. From the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the referee flashing the yellow card unceremoniously. Dismayed that I would miss my next soccer match, I trie