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Monday, August 24, 20094:50 AM
English Homework- The 3 Fictional Stories D:
Hello :D As some people might not have received the handout, I have typed the stories out because the posting of photos take very long to load D: Sorry, because I probably gave out the handouts when half the class were not in, and probably due to that, some people did not receive it. If you'll need the handout, I can print it out, you can just sms me. Once again, I repeat- for this homework, we have to do a summary for EACH of the fictional stories, around 150 words per summary. The summaries have to be on school foolscap. Andand, it's due tomorrow! Sorry, Blogger has a problem, so I can't upload the third story. If you need the story, I'll send it to your email. You can sms me about this too. THANKS AND GOD BLESS, DORCAS :D STORY ONE The break-in It was late, about midnight. A full moon lurking behind a thick veil of angry clouds peered through momentarily. A slim figure prowling in the darkness tapped his watch. The damned thing had stopped again. The front door opened, and he ducked hastily behind a bush near the front gate. In the stillness, he heard the plaintive cries of a cat being unceremoniously evicted. What on earth were they doing up so late? He hadn't counted on this. The lounge room light was still on. He crept forward across the damp grass towards the window and cautiously peered in. The old man was watching television. He couldn't see the woman. An expensive brown leather chesterfield stood proudly along the edge of a large blue and gold. Persian floor rug. The man reached out for his full cognac glass on the table. Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous sprang to mind. The television set was one of those new brands with the extra-large screen and stereo speakers. Very hard to carry. On top of it was a small video recorder. He wondered where they kept the camera. One wall was lined with heavy, leather-bound volumes, interspersed with a variety of ornaments. He wondered what their value might be. A large, gilt-framed oil painting of a cattle muster took pride of place on the wall fathest from the window. Was it an original? The woman appeared carrying a large tray, on which sat a silver teapot (real silver?), two dainty china cups and a plate of cream biscuits. Didn't they do things in style around here! He ran nimbly around the side of the house. A shiny Mercedes was blocking the driveway. Why wasn't it locked in the garage? He glanced towards the end of the driveway. Because the gates were locked, that's why. No doubt with one of those new-fangled electronic devices with which he had no experience. While he was planning his next move, the heavens erupted in a downpour of immense magnitude. Lightning streaked across the sky and the moon scurried for shelter behind another heavy, rain-bearing cloud. He cursed, wishing that he had brought a thicker jacket, and ran around to the rear of the house, seeking shelter. The back door was locked, as was the garage. He returned wearily to the front of the house, and sought refuge under the striped canvas awning stretched over the lounge room window. He squatted, wrapping his arms around himself for warmth and, not for the first time that evening, wondered why he had allowed himself to be talked into this. The front door opened again and he heard the woman calling "Puss, puss". Well, you couldn't have a cat with wet, muddy paws trampling all over the Persian rugs, could you? He shivered, wishing he was safely tucked up in his soft, warm bed. He had been grounded for a month for staying out late and for his careless choice of friends, in his mother's considered opinion. For once, he wished he had oveyed her. This was no weather for nocturnal enterprises. His brother would kill him if he knew what he was up to. So would his parents. Well, if it didn't stop raining soon, he'd probably catch pneumonia and save them all the bother. As if reading his mind, the rain stopped as abruptly as it had started, and the lounge room light, reflecting on the grass before him, disappeared. At least, he thought, they've gone to bed. He waited a respectable time and then crept around, carefully trying the windows and doors. Drat! All locked. Well, what could he expect? With all those valuables, they would hardly leave out the welcome mat. He stood back from the house. There had to be a way in. He wasn't about to give up now. What would his friends think? He noticed the drainpipe. To one side was a window. Now, if only that window wasn't locked. He shinned up the pipe with youthful agility. Victory! It was open. What fools they were to think that it was safe to leave it unlocked just because it was on the second floor. They would think twice after tonight. Very slowly he pushed up the window and crawled inside. The room was dark. He stood still as hiseyes adjusted to the darkness. Near him was an ironing board and opposite, a sewing desk. He removed his shoes and tiptoed towards the door. He gripped the handle, then froze as a male voice called out from the other side. "Go to bed, and stop worrying. You're always hearing things." A couple of doors closed and then there was silence. Slowly he turned the handle and the door swung open noiselessly. That was the beauty of these rich homes. They took care of things like squeaky hinges. He was in a corridor, and he tiptoed forward, more confident now, and with a triumphant grin on his face. Then a dim light appeared beneath the second door. Didn't these people ever sleep? Foorsteps. He darted back in to the room behind him and shut the door, cursing the squeaky floorboards beneath his feet. He stood, trembling with cold and fear, and held his breath. "Please don't let me be caught now." he prayed. He pressed his ear to the door, straining to hear. There was silence. He took a step sideways and stumbled over something concealed in the dark. Suddenly the door burst open and a figure pounced on him, knocking him to the floor. He cried out in pain as the man grabbed him in an armlock and pushed his face on to the cold, unforgiving floorboards. Another figure near the door switched on the light. It was the woman. She wore a pink flannel nightgown and held a high-heeled shoe in her hand. It was too late to regret his foolishness. He should have known he would never get away with it. He just wasn't cut out for this type of activity, and he wondered how his friends might have handled the situation. He looked up, blinking into the bright light, and smiled sheepishly, "Hi, Mum!" STORY TWO Perfect Timing A car thief and handbag snatcher from way back, Jimmy Burrowes wanted to move into the big time. "I've been watching Sergeant Garrison for months," he said to Wayne Hicks. "He's a creature of habit : does his rounds of the town at 10.30 every morning and pops into the First General Bank at 10.50. He's never there for more than a couple of minutes and his car is alwasy parked outside." "Let me get this straight." Wayne scratched his head. "We're going to walk in and rob the bank at the same time that the copper is in there?" "That's why it will work, Hicksy. No-one would expect anyone to rob the bank while the local sergeant is there. We go in behind him, tell everyone to freeze, and make Garrison throw down his pistol. And while the teller is stashing the cash from the safe into money bags, my mate Tony Palmer will be outside hot-wiring the cop car." "We take off in the patrol car?" Wayne was still dubious. "Just to the other side of town where my car is parked. We take the balaclavas off, switch to my car and take off. We'll be home free, Hicksy. And Sarge Garrison will be left high and dry with no means of giving chase." Tony Palmer came by and showed Wayne how he could open the door of a locked car and then switch the ignition on. "It'll be a real pleasure working my magic on a cop car," he enthused. "I'm looking forward to it." And the more Wayne thought about it, the more he realised the Jimmy's plan was foolproof, capitalising on the everyday routine of life in a country town. Tony Palmer whistled as he drove home-because he had a little scheme of his own. Friday, the day planned for the robbery, was warm and clear. Jimmy, Wayne and Tony left the car in quiet, shady Corrigan Lane and walked the four blocks to the First General Bank. Sergeant Garrison didn't let them down. At 10.50 he parked the patrol car outside the bank and wandered in. Jimmy nodded to Wayne and they followed, drawing the pistols which Jimmy had provided. "Everybody freeze!" Jimmy barked. "Sergeant, turn around slowly and drop your gun to the ground, I've got a pistol aimed at your head." Silence hung in the air as the policeman turned slowly, and dropped his gun. Wayne told the teller, "Place all the cash from the safe into money sacks. Now!" And as he spoke he heard the po,lice car engine roar into life outside. Tony had successfully worked his magic. Two blocks away, Robyn Honeywell strolled into the branch office of the Network Building Society. There was one other customer, and two tellers behind the counter. The first of these flashed a ready smile at Robyn as she approached. The smile crumbled suddenly into and expression of fear as the teller watched the serene, doe-eyed brunette take a pistol from her handbag. "No need for a fuss," Robyn said quietly. "Fill a large money sack with cash. You've got one minute exactly before I start to panic and pull the trigger." At the same moment that the building society teller turned to the safe, Jimmy and Wayne dashed out of the bank, each with a sack stuffed with bills. There was the patrol car, its engine revving. Tony behind the wheel. As Jimmy's hand reached for the door handle, he saw a strange, mocking expression in Tony's eyes as he pressed his foot hard down on the accelerator and sped away. For a few seconds, Jimmy and Wayne stood on the kerb, looking after the vanishing car. But that was all the time Sergeant Garrison needed.Retrieving his pistol from the floor, he charged out of the bank. "Drop those guns and raise your hands in the air!" He wondered why someone had chosen just this moment to steal the patrol car. "It's going to be one of those days," he thought. "I can just feel it." Robyn walked down the street to Corrigan Lane. Tony, in the police car, was entering from the opposite end. They put the money sack into Jimmy's car and sped off. Robyn removed the brunette wig, revealing her own head of short, blonde curls, as Tony took off his balaclava. They doubled around the block and back into the main street. Robyn had parked her car here earlier. A place like this, where they could blend in with the activity on the main street, was the best spot to switch cars again. With the money sack wrapped in a rug, they got into Robyn's little car. "Do you still think Jimmy will tell the cops you were his driver?" Robyn asked as they drove away. "He'll dob me in for sure."Tony chuckled, "but they'll never believe him. I simplu tell the cops I've been at your place all morning. They've no reason not to accept your word. And there's nothing to connect you with the brunette who robbed the Network Building Society." He flashed her a triumphant grin. "We've got our own small fortune all to ourselves, and you're rid of the boyfriend who's been threatening to mess up your face if you leave him. Jimmy will be put away for some time." "And I get myself a new boyfriend into the bargain." Robyn laughed, thinking of their ideal alibi. There wasn't a shred of evidence to suggest that she hadn't been home all morning, in the company of Tony. That was wwhen, from the corner of her eye, Robyn saw a whitish blur on the far side of the windscreen. Her breath caught in her throat. No, surely not! She hadn't noticed it when she'd got into the car. She hadn't seen the signs when she'd parked the car earlier. Pegged under the windscreen wiper, its corners flappingin the wind, was a white parking ticket. On its surface, clearly visible, were the date and the exact time of the morning that the ticked had been made out. |
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