Ðề: Nhật ký riêng tư.......!
Essay preview
GCSE WRITING TO INFORM, EXPLAIN AND DESCRIBE
It was a beautiful day.
The sun rose in a hurry, as if trying to make up for setting so early the evening before, bouncing into the sky like a great fiery yo-yo and sending what was left of the moon packing. The sky, with blatant disregard for the overuse of alliteration, was a brilliantly bright baby blue, and perched picturesquely on the leafy branches of the trees in the park below, birds sang. Which is to say that they chirped, tweeted and warbled incessantly. A bit like Britney Spears without the eye candy.
At the very end of the park, where the park-keeper's job ended and Mother Nature's began, was a cliff which overlooked the sea. Black railings ran around the edge of this cliff, having been installed for safety after one too many children had blindly chased their runaway ball through the foliage and found themselves travelling rapidly southwards at a rate of ten newtons per second on the tail of a scream. The sea below was eternally hungry, and had teeth of jagged rock.
At a particular point along the top of the cliff, where the ground suddenly tapered into an ever-narrowing overhang, was a wooden bench. It was the kind of bench where young Romeos took their sweethearts at sunset, in the fervent hope that the romantic view of the sea swallowing the sun an inch at a time would distract them from the fact that their bra-straps had magically come undone, and put a stop to all that 'not-until-there's-a-ring-on-this-finger' crap. It was a bench where lovers loved, canoodlers canoodled and painters painted. And, right now, it was a bench upon which DC McDougall sat.
DC McDougall was a man in a quandary, which was hardly surprising given that within the next few minutes he planned to throw himself headfirst over the railings and into a watery grave, thus bringing an end to it all. What was surprising, however, was that this was not the source of his dilemma.
The problem was the suicide note. He had never written one before, on account of never having killed himself before, and he didn't know how to begin. On his lap was an A4 sized notebook; scrawled on the first page were a number of starting lines that he had crossed out as being unsuitable. He tried again.
'The time has come, my friends, for me to shuffle off this mortal coil and leave
---------- Post added at 10:27 ---------- Previous post was at 10:26 ----------
Essay preview
GCSE WRITING TO INFORM, EXPLAIN AND DESCRIBE
It was a beautiful day.
The sun rose in a hurry, as if trying to make up for setting so early the evening before, bouncing into the sky like a great fiery yo-yo and sending what was left of the moon packing. The sky, with blatant disregard for the overuse of alliteration, was a brilliantly bright baby blue, and perched picturesquely on the leafy branches of the trees in the park below, birds sang. Which is to say that they chirped, tweeted and warbled incessantly. A bit like Britney Spears without the eye candy.
At the very end of the park, where the park-keeper's job ended and Mother Nature's began, was a cliff which overlooked the sea. Black railings ran around the edge of this cliff, having been installed for safety after one too many children had blindly chased their runaway ball through the foliage and found themselves travelling rapidly southwards at a rate of ten newtons per second on the tail of a scream. The sea below was eternally hungry, and had teeth of jagged rock.
At a particular point along the top of the cliff, where the ground suddenly tapered into an ever-narrowing overhang, was a wooden bench. It was the kind of bench where young Romeos took their sweethearts at sunset, in the fervent hope that the romantic view of the sea swallowing the sun an inch at a time would distract them from the fact that their bra-straps had magically come undone, and put a stop to all that 'not-until-there's-a-ring-on-this-finger' crap. It was a bench where lovers loved, canoodlers canoodled and painters painted. And, right now, it was a bench upon which DC McDougall sat.
DC McDougall was a man in a quandary, which was hardly surprising given that within the next few minutes he planned to throw himself headfirst over the railings and into a watery grave, thus bringing an end to it all. What was surprising, however, was that this was not the source of his dilemma.
The problem was the suicide note. He had never written one before, on account of never having killed himself before, and he didn't know how to begin. On his lap was an A4 sized notebook; scrawled on the first page were a number of starting lines that he had crossed out as being unsuitable. He tried again.
'The time has come, my friends, for me to shuffle off this mortal coil and leave