Creative writing: The last speech.

This term in English, we have been working on creative writing. We have been looking at different skills, language features to improve our writing. We were then given three classes to plan and write our creative writing piece about a risk or challenge. I based my writing on my 2017 end of year head student speech.

Reflection:
Over all I am proud of my work. I think I did a good job describing the feeling of anxiety being up in front of 200 people. I tried to give Maya her own language tone, like how we all have different ways to speak the same language.
Next steps:
I think my next steps are to improve my sentence variety, using more simple sentences and more complex punctuation.




The last speech.

The pew beneath me is hard wood, tagged countless times by students who must have been extremely bored at mass. I don’t blame them, Father Marco really likes the sound of his own voice. Mrs Smith is still talking about the success we have had this year, much more enthusiastic now than she has been throughout the year. Good to know she puts in some effort. For goodness sake Mrs Smith, we are a primary school, half these kids don’t even know what the heck you are saying. I fumble with the folded paper in my pocket, the edges aren't smooth and there are fold marks all over the sheet. What a great example I am setting. Well, hopefully next years head girl knows how to fold paper correctly. I have read this speech a hundred times, but I can barely remember what it says.

“Alright, I think I have spoken enough for now. I would like to bring up this years head students”. Her voice is quite whiny, now I think about it; a car screaming to a halt, for thirty minutes straight. Wait...Oh...THAT'S ME. The blood drains from my face, please don’t mess this up. We walk to the front of the church, standing beside the altar. I did not realise how many people were here…

James seems to have it together, but maybe he is panicking too… He starts his speech. His voice keeps unintentionally changing tones, maybe he’s finding out what sounds better. He doesn’t have his paper. Of course, he memorised the darn thing. Of course. I can’t feel the tips of my fingers, but I can see them twitching. I have no control over them. His inconsistent  voice stops, it’s my turn, OH GOD. I bring the paper out of my pocket and unfold it. The fold lines are extremely obvious, non symmetrical, like one of the new entrance five year olds folded it. My face feels cold, my mouth is dry. The hair at the back of my neck is matted with sweat. Do not stutter, do not stutter, do not stutter, DO NOT STUTTER. I know I’m speaking, but it sounds like static, like no words are actually being formed. Of course, they must be, or the middle aged Mums would be giving me the death stare right now.

I'm done. We step down from the raised floor and walk back to our seats. Please don’t fall. “Thank you James and Maya, this year's Head Students, now its time to move on to the year eight slideshow”.  Thank goodness.

If that was the most stressful part of the eight years I have spent at this school, High School is going to be absolutely world ending.Well, I say bring it on.