Y10 Creative Writing Piece: Fallen Angel PDF

Will Griffith Y10 Creative Writing Piece: Right is Italy and left is back down the mountain. Shafts of sun pulse through the corner of my tinted goggles like stardust. My tangerine and white skis are in snow plough after just managing to stumble and slide off the chairlift. I face the two s...

Will Griffith Y10 Creative Writing Piece: Right is Italy and left is back down the mountain. Shafts of sun pulse through the corner of my tinted goggles like stardust. My tangerine and white skis are in snow plough after just managing to stumble and slide off the chairlift. I face the two signs in my bright blue, perfectly fitted fleece coat; beaming yellow, snow-covered salopettes; a thick, woolly blue snood; and a bulbous helmet that could be mistaken for a black bowling ball if placed in a bowling alley’s rack. I turn my head to the left and spot the fluorescent coat of my mum closer to the slopes rim. I make my way over to her, pulling my knees closer to my chest than usual because I am not used to treading with long planks of poplar as feet. I see the family friends we are staying with - who we traversed up the mountain with - on the very right side of the slope. There are around a dozen of them, and they begin to plunge over the boundary, diffusing through the white airy wall of mist. We both come to the edge. My mum encouraged me. “Come on, there isn’t any other way down.” I take 1 more step and I jostle through the white walled exterior. A finger clicked and a hopeful world of discovery and thrill now felt like a possibility that could never come true. I slide diagonally right, blinded by the chaotic haze of snow and tremendous gusts of the most powerful nature. My skis are fractious as the ice beneath me is unpredictable. An abrupt turn jolts me back to the left and I plummet further downwards unable to decelerate. I pull my mind back into focus. Edging my feet to the left, I finally slow myself down. I decide to remain where I am, keeping my skis across ways and lowering myself down to the rear of my skis. I face the direction which I think is the middle of the course while leaning to the right on the slope. My eyes still prove to be useless as I can now only hear whales from across the battlefield. I turn to face right, and I can’t fix my eyes on my mum anywhere. I see the bleakest of silhouettes appear. Although she seems far away, she tries to reach for me as if from nowhere. She’s only a meter away now. “It’s ok, it’s going to be fine, we’ve just got to keep on going,” my mum said reassuringly. I nodded while lacking confidence. “We should take our skis off, so we don’t slide down and so we can stay where we are – that’s the best thing to do,” my mum called out in a hopeful tone. However, behind that hopeful face you can see how many shards she has been broken into already. Only trying to hold the fractures together for my sake, trusting that sometime soon this tempest clears to allow the pieces to fuse themselves back together. My mum gradually takes her right ski off and I remain on the ground. Unaware of my sudden lack of balance, I start to slip, curve and then... I fall. Blindfolded. Alone. I seem to never stop. For all I know I have already toppled over the jagged boulders on this side of the slope. I am consumed with this almighty but tranquil longing; a longing to keep on breathing beneath the buffeting of the waves. The little light that is left spills into murky water, but the nethermost caverns are too strenuous for the light to reach. I’m tumbling in slow motion, into a stygian trench of endless time. The ice melts, the snow melts, the wind melts as I seep into an ever-growing plunge pool of despair. It creates hurdling cannons of pressure as my feelings flood and diverge across the seabed. I am a falling angel. My arm gradually starts to fold down into my chest; each hair loosing its glowing flicker of a reflection; each finger drooping elegantly, curling up into my clasp as they begin to blur when they float past the extent of my vision. Until I sink into a state close to blindness. Until only a singular drop of Adam’s ale remains settled on my tongue. Until, with a last glimmer of sight, I see a hand. Like a celestial ghost. An ethereal hope. I am terrified. “Don’t be afraid.” A skier, and He is skiing like no one I have ever seen. Like walking on water. He slows me down and encourages me to stand. I begin to stand but I scan my surroundings and observe the harshness of the squall. I start to fall and speed up again and I joltingly shout, “Save me!” “Why did you doubt me?” He says. I don’t reply. I just pour my trust into Him as He brings me to an almost mystical halt. Then He drifts down the slope like a skimming stone across a lake. The deity who has saved me.  I rotate around and I spot the cloudy shape of my mum staggering down two or three metres above me. She is calling out. She sees two faces, two minds, two sets of eyes. One pair portraying a sharp like hint mirroring horrific terror. The other pair still stunned with a crystal-like angelic quality. Extended biblical metaphor highlighting beautiful imagery - Fallen angel - Like light spilling into murky water but not being able to seep into the emptiest caverns. - I am falling in slow motion into a stygian abyss of endless time - My arm gradually began folding down into my chest, each hair loosing its glowing flicker of a reflection, each finger drooping elegantly, curling up into my clasp as they begin to blur when floating past the extent of my vision. - Water mirrors god’s beautiful creation Walking on water bible semantic field ideas: - Buffeted by the waves - Walking on the lake - They were terrified, it’s a ghost, they cried out in fear - Don't be afraid - But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, “Lord, save me!” - Why did you doubt? - When they climbed into the boat, the wind died down - His hands reach down for me