P5 Composition A Bad Decision
It has taken me ages to type out both the P5 and P6 compositions. The past few months have been hectic as I prepare to open up my own centre mid-August. While my students have been working diligently on their weekly writing, I haven’t had the time to sit down and type out their Model compositions as I usually photocopy the model of the week. Sometimes I wish I had a fairy typist on hand to hand the models to and – presto! – they are typed and saved! Lol
This composition, A Bad Decision was written by one of my P5 students who moved up to my P6 class this year. She is an excellent writer and her stories are always descriptive. Even though she does lose marks for spelling and grammar mistakes, I am always impressed at how much she is able to write in the 50 minutes that I give them. In this composition she used 2 pictures (1st & 3rd) and weaved a simple but descriptive plot. She ended her story with a lesson learnt.
The annoying sound of the alarm clock broke the peaceful silence in my room. Sitting up sleepily, I yawned and rubbed my bleary eyes. Soon, I could hear the noisy sounds from the streets below. The dark sky erupted into a pretty reddish orange colour as I watched in awe at the beautiful sunrise. Glancing at the alarm clock, I bolted to my feet as I realised that I only had one hour left to get to school. Dashing out of the house, I tripped on the stairs. Better not be late! I have my examination! I muttered to myself.
I groaned. No time to waste! I grabbed my breakfast, a plain toast, and walked hastily to the garage. The baby blue bicycle glinted in the morning sun. The spotless, clean blue surface brought a smile to my face. I had gotten this bicycle a week ago as an expensive birthday gift. Just as I was about to sit on it, I saw my father sprinting towards me. “Don’t ride the bicycle! I tested it and one of the brakes is faulty. Take the bus instead,” he said “Huh? Oh great!” I frowned, testing the brakes. True to his words, the left brake was not working well at all. When I looked up, my father was gone. I sighed to myself. Should I or should I not? Any bicycle was faster than a bus. I weighed the choices and decided to ride my bike to school.
By the time I began cycling, I only had forty minutes left to make it for the examination. At first I rode rather slowly, afraid that I would fall but after awhile I gained confidence and began cycling very quickly. Faster and faster I went, racing against time. Soon, I reached the downhill slope. At that moment, I forgot that my left brake was faulty. Pressing the brakes, I was shocked to feel my left brake resisting my grip. As I was fiddling with my bicycle’s brake, I soon noticed that I was heading directly towards a big oak tree.
Everything that happened next, happened in slow motion. My bicycle crashed head first into the oak tree trunk. Pieces of bicycle and tree trunk flew everywhere. Fortunately for me, I managed to jump out of the way before the crash. I could hear my heart pounding in my chest and between my ears as I recalled my close encounter with death. However, my bicycle looked like it was fit for the thrash. I stared at my bicycle, horror spreading throughout my body. Glancing at my watch, I was shocked to find that I was late for school. I had no choice but to leave my broken bike in a bush and sprint to school.
By the time I reached the classroom, my classmates were already putting their bags back at their desks. I realised with horror that I had missed my examination! Mr Chong, my form teacher, noticed me and questioned me, “Why are you so late?” “I..I..,” I stammered, my face turning red as my classmates stared at me. Without waiting to hear my explanation, Mr Chong began scolding me harshly. Not wanting to look him in the eye, I bent my head down, wishing that I could just hide in a small hole.
As the final bell signaled the end of the day, I dashed back to the slope. Taking my shattered bicycle, I dragged it back home with a heavy heart. My father greeted me at the door but when he saw the bicycle, his face darkened and he demanded an explanation. Stumbling over my words, I told my father about the day’s events. By the time I was finished, my father looked like he was about to explode with anger. As soon as my mouth snapped shut, he started shouting at me. I sighed, eyes filled with tears. I had learnt my lesson and vowed never to disobey my father again.
As I lay in bed that night, I thought about the bad decision I had made that had led to the day’s events. I hoped I would never make such decisions again.