Everyone thinks you are an ordinary teenager, living an ordinary life. No-one knows, nor must they ever find out, that you have powers which can only ever be used fro the good of humankind. Write about a day in 'The Secret Life of...'. [25]
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“Goodbye mum. I love you.” I said, and meant every word.
“Have a good day son.” she smiled, and drove away.
During roll call, when the teacher called my name, I only lifted my hand. There was no verbal reply, like all the other kids who cried “Here!” to accompany their raised hands.
At lunchtime, I ate alone. The table to my right sat 6 girls. They were chatting, with occasional giggles about some handsome boy. To my left, there were 8 boys who were furiously discussing “X-Men Origins: Wolverine”. I longed to join them, to speak, to communicate with others my age. But I was scared.
My name is Scott Fuller. I am 17. I’ve often overheard many a complaint from my peers about how their parents never listen to them. I have a bigger problem.
People always listen to me, and no matter what, they always obey.
I don’t - and probably never will - know how I came upon this power. It was sometime when I began adolescence. I discovered that my commands were never disobeyed.
That evening back home, news broke that terrorists had taken 17 people hostage on the second floor of a building just six blocks from where I lived.
“Forget about me.” I told the taxi driver after I had got down and paid my fare. I quickly walked on.
A crowd had gathered around the building, watching the spectacle as the police laid siege to the building.
Dressed in a grey sweater, a hood pulled over my head, I made my way over to the nearest policeman I could find.
“Please take me into the building by the back way.” I shouted at the top of my voice. When we had reached the back entrance, I said to the two policemen stationed there, “Let me in.” As I entered, I said, “Forget about me.”
I was alone now.
Going up the flight of stairs, I took every step slowly. It was so quiet. I found myself at the door of the second floor.
‘How big is the room?’ and ‘Will they all hear me from behind this door?’ were questions that entered my head all at once. I took a leap of faith.
“Drop all weapons! Surrender to the police! Release the hostages! Forget about me!” I shattered the silence.
Back home, I was still shaking when I heard a newscaster on TV announced that the terrorists had tamely surrendered themselves to the police. I was glad; I would never use this power in a petty situation.
My father was an alcoholic. He would sometimes beat up my mother when she wouldn’t give him the money he needed to buy beer. “Your father loves us. He just... has this problem he can’t face alone.” she once said to me.
I now understand.
“Why don’t you just go and die?!” I had said one day in a fit of rage. He had smiled kindly and left.
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What do you think? Badly written? Award winning? Too corny? It's really only supposed to be 350 - 450 words, but the essay above is a re-writing. The first one got a 10/25...
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