Narrative: Bull Ring
Given this picture, students were asked to write a narrative.
This is the beginning of CC’s:
Sandy and exhausted, an old man shuffled into the mammoth sized stadium, rivers of sweat dribbling down his head. He strolled over to the stack, took a brush and slowly formed a central sand spiral. The crowd was astonishingly loud, roaring as loud as thunder and the musty smell that was encased in the stadium was too much for anyone to handle. As he swept, he shifted the sand so gracefully. It was really surprising because he was a bald, very old man, who thought of nothing but himself.
His red shirt was as bright as a towering flame and he grumpily mumbled as he worked as hard as a lawyer…
and LEW wrote:
The matador came out scared to the bones, slowly lifting the silk cloth. The bull came charging out with red eyes puffing and bellowing. He saw the red cloth and took all his anger out on it. Galloping towards the soft silk cloth the tip of his horn pierces it and rips the cloth out of his hand. Confused he smashes into the wall. The matador pulled out his sword and pierced his stomach. The blood mixed with the sand. As his legs collapsed his last thoughts were about freedom. Then he died.
