Heat rose in great pulsating waves, an army of blistering redness, turning people's own minds into deadly weapons of confusion and madness. There was no escaping it. The ground cracked, rippled, and shifted incessantly, a wild creature desperate to be free from the tyrannical reign of the Sun. The endless buzz of flies and whispering of tumbleweed was as final to all travellers as the slow, sombre beat of a funeral dirge; to all except one, that is.
She had been travelling for weeks now. At least, she thought it was weeks. She stopped counting the days; they marched on regardless. Time was the only constant thing in her life, but she knew by now not to trust consistency; it was all for show. Sweat ran like an untamed river down her forehead, carving into her and washing away her essence. Soon, there would be nothing left of her - nothing but an empty shell, a re-animated corpse cursed to wander in the desert forever more.
With hands quivering from overuse, she reached into her bag and pulled out a water-skin. It felt hot to the touch, and she squeezed her eyes shut and uttered a desperate prayer: Please don't let it be empty. Unscrewing the lid, she sighed in relief. There was still some left. She drank it gratefully. That may not be the case next time.
A single vulture circled overhead. Its black wings provided a sharp contrast against the blue sky, creating a deadly silhouette that she'd come to recognise. Thinking about it, that was what she'd become, wasn't it? A vulture, a creature of death, always circling, always waiting.
In her hometown, they had tried to hang her. Sat on the floor, her water running out, she asked herself (not for the first time):
What would've been the best way to die?
YOU ARE READING
Language Paper 1 Question 5
Short StorySample answers for question five (write a story/description) that I've written throughout my time at high school.
