Point of View in Narrative Writing

(1) Headmaster
I stood in the heart of the room, the ornate walls surrounding me. Adjusting my onyx robes, I cleared my voice, such that it was blaring enough to be heard. “Ladies and gentlemen, the light of knowledge.” My portly assistant clutched in his hands a lighted candle, its flame strong and searing. He passed on the flame to a petite young boy, his graceful pupils mirrored a future of knowledge and success. Carefully, he allowed his palms to move towards his partner, passing on the light of knowledge. I was appeased, my coral lips turned into a smile, for I knew the light of knowledge would enlighten their hearts and fill their souls throughout the years they will be in the school.

(2) A new student
His half-opened eyes were fixed upon me as he held an awkward mechanism in front of himself. A sudden flash… The stinging siren of the bagpipe infiltrated the peace like an incoming wave. We marched into the hall as we took our seats on a few wooden benches, their texture reflected upon their age, its sides were peeling off. Instantaneously, a bald man in swaying black robes ascended the stage. His deathly tone repelled every tinge of laughter and anticipation in the hall. “Gentlemen, what are the four pillars?” His blaring voice shook the hall. I did not know what the future in this school meant for me. I rotated my neck, only to see my parents staring back at me…

Reflections on Past Lessons

The Language Arts lessons in Term 1 have certainly fulfilled my expectations of the English language. For once, I had a clearer idea on the direction we were moving towards. This term, we largely focused on the techniques of characterization and the elements of a short story, through the use of two stories, To Kill a Mockingbird and All Summer in a Day, in order to prepare ourselves for our short story assignment.

Perhaps, we could learn more efficiently through the use of these two stories because it provides us with a platform where we can groom our writing skills as these stories are written by elite writers who have bountiful experience is writing stories which could captivate readers. As our objectives are to learn how to emulate their writing styles, this is a rather good approach.
Hopefully, the Language Arts programme could be modified as to boost the self-learning of students since our ACE for the current term has been currently narrowed down to a single aspect which is blogging. Although I do appreciate the influx of Infocomm Technology and the fact that blogging enables us to provide our views in various matters, I hope that the submissions for ACE could be expanded into various categories which will cater to the different areas of Language Arts.

Language Arts lessons have been fulfilling this term, especially during lessons where we can get into groups to discuss ideas and eventually come up with a solution which we can share with the class. This perfectly blends into the structure of the system in Hwa Chong as the school aims to develop us into gentlemen who can speak and work with others. Therefore, I think this is a strong aspect of Language Arts lessons which can continued in Term 2.

The Bronze Horse

As the students continued with their solemn morning walk along the terraces, the coral sun was like an egg yolk, its rays stretching across the illuminated skies. The bronze horse stood on the dew-coated evergreen grass, its countenance impassive. One could imagine its brilliant onyx mane flowing in the wind, exuberating a surprising calmness and commanding pride. In its backdrop, the elegant Clock Tower, its beige façade reflecting almost a century old of culture. The octogenarian was located at the heart of the campus, its clock ticking as always, like the golden sun. It has been the beacon of the school for ages and continues to represent the identity of students. As the strong voices of the cohort began to sing the National Anthem, the roof of the trees were caressed by the slow breeze moving across the school, its arms started swaying under the influence of the breeze. As the students made their way back to their classrooms, the bronze horse was alone again…

Characterisation: Story Excerpt

Story Excerpt:
Hitler was trudging down the war torn lands of Germany. Once a great leader, he was reduced to a bruised and battered figure. Death filled the air as soldiers lay beneath his feet. His shuffling gait was evident in the stinging silence. He had sworn to save Germany but now, his motherland lay in ruins. His prominent moustache was smart as ever but his face revealed an overwhelming sadness, a form of disappointment. There was dirt on his face and his crooked lips spoke for themselves. Then, a war cry ensued. A German soldier was mercilessly bayoneted by a few Soviets. Blood spilled onto the ground. Hitler grew more solemn by the second. “Take my hand, my dear,” Hitler spoke with great affection despite the ongoing conflict. His love took him by his wrists and dashed for their lives. The intensity of the war grew and the Soviet forces had isolated Berlin from the rest of Germany. There was no way out. Hitler never cried for as long as he could remember but today, he realised that it was inevitable. His glistening cheeks blended into the bleak background of Berlin. He removed his pistol and raised it to his temple. Then, with a click, a loud blast reverberated throughout the city. Hitler lay on the cold hard, hard ground, his pupils void of life.