Imagine if you was asked to write something totally unique – what would you write? When you take your GCSE exam in June this year [June 3rd] you may asked to do something totally unique in section B of the exam. 

Here is an example of something I ‘stumbled’ on just now. I did not get half way through before the tears hit. As one with a family of 2 little ones, I am all too aware of the content of this piece of writing. Read and see what I mean. 

***

A Letter To My Former Family

A Gonzalez

I will never forget the last time I saw you. Maybe because I always hated going for car rides and that day you left me at the shelter I thought at first we were headed to the dreaded vet — who I hadn’t seen in three years anyway but still remembered — but no, that day we took a far worse trip together. That day, you took me to the shelter.

You couldn’t even look me in the eye or answer my cries in the backseat of your car like you used to when you’d take me to the vet.

“Shhh, sweetie,” you’d say when I howled inside my carrier back then. 

This day, you had nothing to say. We drove across town in silence, you didn’t even have the radio on. I wasn’t sure what I’d done or why you wouldn’t even speak to me. I’ve been a good girl. I always use my box and I try not to knock things off the table I’m not supposed to be on and I even try not to scratch your couch but it would have been really nice if you would have bought me my own scratching post so I wouldn’t have to.

You pulled my carrier out of the car and I knew before you even opened the door to the shelter that this place was bad. It was very, very bad. My heightened sense of smell tipped me off no sooner than you’d taken a few steps toward the shelter but I know you could smell it too, because I swear for a moment you stopped and almost turned around. I thought maybe you’d made a wrong turn and taken us to the wrong place because surely you wouldn’t leave me, your loyal friend, in a place like this.

You’d turn around, put me back in the car, drive us back home and we’d all have a good laugh later about that time you accidentally drove us to the shelter when you meant to take me to the pet store to pick out new toys.

I know this might sound weird to you, my human, but I could feel the pain and loneliness of every single animal who had ever died in that building before we even walked in. There are baby kittens and puppies who never knew the love of a human to call their own but also — and worse — the longing of cats and dogs who once knew the joy of a family, of sharing their lives with a beloved human until they ended up in that bad, bad building for whatever reason. I’d like to think you felt that pain too, and that’s what stopped you just before you opened the door but for whatever reason, you kept going.

“This can’t be happening,” I said to myself, sitting quietly in my carrier in the lobby as you talked to another human about “paperwork” (whatever that is). I think you told them you are moving. Or you are allergic to me even though I have slept on your pillow next to you for the last 5 years and you never once even sneezed. Or you have a new boyfriend and he doesn’t like me. I really don’t remember, I was too busy trying to close my eyes and make myself wake up from what had to be a bad dream.

The cat next to me in the lobby was desperately clawing at the latch of his carrier trying to get out and I thought maybe, just maybe, if I show you what a good girl I am, you’d change your mind and take me back home. So I didn’t say anything. I tucked my front paws under myself and tried to make myself invisible, thinking if they can’t see me, they’ll think you’re crazy and laugh when you say “I need you to take my cat” because obviously there was no cat in the carrier you brought in.

I shifted on my haunches in the cold, hard carrier — you didn’t even put a towel down for me this last time I ever saw you. I remembered resting in this very carrier since I was a kitten, sometimes taking a nap there while you were at work when it felt like an eternity as I waited for you to come home.

And then they took me away. You didn’t even say goodbye. I looked at your face hoping to see something that told me this was your only option, that for whatever reason, you thought this was the right thing to do but it still hurt your heart to leave me here in this place that smells of death the moment you walk in the door. But you turned away and then you were gone.

This is the bad part.

Let me tell you about the shelter, human. There are good humans and there are bad humans. And a lot of noise. Oh the noise. I used to get annoyed when you’d stay up late watching TV or bang around in the kitchen when I was trying to take a nap but there is nothing like the noise of the shelter. Again, I closed my eyes tight and tried to wake up from this nightmare and find myself on your couch with you petting my head saying “shhh, there there, you’re just having a bad dream.” But no, you never came and I never woke up from this.

All the animals know this is not a good place. The dogs never shut up, they howl and bark and scream all hours of the day and night. The people who work at the shelter and the volunteers try to take them out for walks and play with them so they quiet down a little but there are so many dogs and so few humans, the dogs end up really frustrated and making all kinds of noise most of the time.

The cats, too. They cry. They growl. They make sounds I have never heard another cat make ever and I always considered myself a pretty vocal cat. These aren’t normal sounds, we are all scared and some of us just cry and cry hoping someone will come pull us out of that cage and bring us home.

Still, I mostly sat quietly in my tiny little metal cage and thought if I can just be a good girl, maybe you will come back for me.

Sometimes, humans sneak us good stuff, and those same humans are the ones who volunteer to come spend time with us when they can. There are just so many of us that even the best volunteers can’t spend time with all of us but they sure do try. They’re really good about being gentle, even with the cats who are extra scared in the shelter. Most of us are extra scared.

There are a few good doctors, too, and some humans who work there are nice. But mostly it feels like there are a lot of humans in gloves always poking and prodding and writing stuff about us on clipboards.

I would talk to the cats in cages around me late at night when no one but the cleaning crew and maybe a spare vet were wandering around the shelter and they would tell me about their humans, about their homes, about where they came from and how they ended up here. I told them my story too, I said I just didn’t know why my human left me here, but I wish I knew what I did wrong because I never meant to make my human mad.

Some of the cats have been here before. Some lived on the streets all their lives. Some really didn’t like humans and those were always the cats to go first. They went into the “Room,” the place in the back where if you go, you never come back.

In this shelter, the humans take the dogs to the Room first. They pile a bunch of dogs in cages onto a cart and then they come into the cat room and pick us out one by one to go too. You’d think you’re going on some fantastic trip by the way the humans try to talk you into not freaking out but we all know better. You go into the “Room,” you’re not coming out.

An old cat in the cage next to me told me what happens there.

Once, when he was young like me, he was in the shelter and the humans came to take him away into the Room. It felt like forever from the time they loaded him into a cage on the cart and pushed him down a long hallway.

Then you smell it. Death. This room is death. Even the humans pushing you into it don’t like it. There are thousands of animal souls floating around out there crying out, all day, every day, just crying. But no one can ever come to get them because they are gone. They can’t rest, they just wander that long hallway looking for their humans.

The old cat said the humans brought him into the room, scribbled a few things on his “paperwork” (I still don’t understand what that is) and then just as they were holding him down while another human waved a giant needle at him, some other human walked in and took him out.

He said a rescuer heard he was going into the Room and wanted to save him. The shelter humans put him into a box and sent him off to a great place where he spent a few years enjoying the love of a human home until he ended up right back here. Like me, he wasn’t sure how that happened but he knew if he went into the “Room” again, no one was going to come bust him out this time.

“Whatever you do, don’t go into the Room,” he told me.

So I tried real hard to find another human. The other cats told me that’s what you have to do, lest you end up in the dreaded Room. Every time a stranger came by my cage, I would purr and smile and rub my chin on their hand hoping they would take me home. I especially loved the volunteers. They would tell other humans the nicest things about me; how sweet I was, how cute I was, how gentle I was. I wished one of them could take me home but I knew they already had a lot of cats at home.

Day after day, I continued this but no one ever took me home. Day after day, my friends in the cages all around me either went home or — worse — went to the Room, never to be seen again.

New cats came, and those of us who had been here awhile would tell them the stories we were told in the hopes that no matter how scared we all were, maybe if we had each other and knew what to expect, we might all be OK.

And then it happened. I got sick. I felt terrible; my eyes burned, my nose was stuffed, I kept spraying toxic green snot on my cage walls. My friend the old cat had long gone to the Room and never came back when he started sneezing. I knew I was next. Would you know, my human, that I still held out hope that you’d come back to get me? Maybe you’d hear I was sick and you’d feel bad and change your mind and come get me.

You never did.

I knew that morning by the way the shelter vet looked at me that it was my turn to go to the Room. He narrowed his eyes, scribbled a bunch of stuff on a piece of paper and would barely touch me. I felt so awful at that point I hardly cared. Fine, bring this Room then, it’s surely better than a lifetime of this.

The other cats — even the ones I called my friend — would barely speak to me that night. It was almost like if they talked to me, then they might have to go to the Room too. It was so quiet in the shelter that night. I barely heard the loud dogs and the sad cats. I could barely even open my eyes then, so I just slept and waited for the shelter humans to come and take me away to the Room.

And then, the strangest thing happened. To this day I don’t even know how it happened but just when I thought this is it and at least I won’t have to keep carrying on in a tiny cage trying to find a home, a human came to get me.

It wasn’t you, my human. It was a human I’d never met before, but next thing I knew the shelter humans were boxing me up and bringing me out to this human.

She opened my box, looked down on me — MAN I had to look horrible with my eyes practically glued shut and snot pouring from my nose — and said in the softest voice “It’s OK, sweetheart, you’re safe now.”

She touched my head like I was the prettiest thing she’d ever seen in her life even though I had green snot dripping from my nose and couldn’t have felt less pretty if I tried. I couldn’t even lift my head to look at her, that’s how bad I felt. I didn’t need to, I could feel her, her gentle hand reaching down and pulling me out of this hell I still couldn’t wake up from.

Even though I had no idea who she was, even though my own human had betrayed me, even though I spent the last few weeks watching cat after cat get dragged off to the Room to get killed, something told me when this human said I was safe, I could trust her.

It took a few weeks for me to shake my shelter cold but my new human was great about giving me medicine (ugh) and I even got to eat fried chicken because I was so stuffed up I wouldn’t eat cat food.

I live in a rescue house now, with a bunch of other cats, and a lot of them have shelter stories to tell too. When I first met them I was a little reluctant to make friends but they were really good about welcoming me and telling me how to manipulate our human into giving us treats (she is SUCH a sucker sometimes, ha!).

This human won’t keep me forever — she’s called a “foster” which is someone who gives animals like me a great place to stay so they have all the time they need to find their forever families — and that’s OK. I like this human a lot but truth be told our house is a little crazy sometimes with all these cats running around, it will be nice to find a family of my own. Hopefully with fewer cats. Don’t get me wrong, I like cats but this is a little nuts, it’s like there’s always a cat coming or going.

I’m sorry things didn’t work out with us, my human. I still don’t know what I did that made you decide to take me to that bad place but I’m not even mad.

Things are great here. We have lots of great toys and cat trees and scratching posts and we eat really good food that doesn’t upset my tummy like some of the stuff you used to feed me when you said you didn’t have time to get to the pet store.

I have foster brothers and sisters to play with when I want to but mostly I hang out in the hammock the human put in the window and watch the birds. I admit I look out that window sometimes and wonder what you’re doing, my human. Whatever it is, I hope you’re happy. I hope you don’t worry about me. I hope you don’t take another cat until you know for sure this time that it’s for life because I don’t want you bringing another cat to the shelter in a couple years like you did me when you decide the cat no longer fits into your life.

I write this in honour of all my shelter friends who went into the Room and never came back. My rescue human helped me write this on behalf of me and the many other cats here in our home who experienced exactly what I did through no fault of our own.

Those of us who have been doing Grace Nichols and Tatamkhulu Afrika’s poems will have heard me mention this in class. 

Halfe–Caste by John Agard

Excuse me
standing on one leg
I’m half-caste

Explain yuself
wha yu mean
when yu say half-caste
yu mean when picasso
mix red an green
is a half-caste canvas/
explain yuself
wha u mean
when yu say half-caste
yu mean when light an shadow
mix in de sky
is a half-caste weather/
well in dat case
england weather
nearly always half-caste
in fact some o dem cloud
half-caste till dem overcast
so spiteful dem dont want de sun pass
ah rass/
explain yuself
wha yu mean
when yu say half-caste
yu mean tchaikovsky
sit down at dah piano
an mix a black key
wid a white key
is a half-caste symphony/

Explain yuself
wha yu mean
Ah listening to yu wid de keen
half of mih ear
Ah looking at u wid de keen
half of mih eye
and when I’m introduced to yu
I’m sure you’ll understand
why I offer yu half-a-hand
an when I sleep at night
I close half-a-eye
consequently when I dream
I dream half-a-dream
an when moon begin to glow
I half-caste human being
cast half-a-shadow
but yu come back tomorrow
wid de whole of yu eye
an de whole of yu ear
and de whole of yu mind

an I will tell yu
de other half
of my story

John Agard

CA Title = Write about a television programme you either love or loathe.

This apparently was inspired by my earlier rant on here. Well done M.

Just what, exactly, happens in someone’s life to make them want to appear on a “reality” television show, and demonstrate to the world, (well those that watch such “entertainment” anyway) just how annoying and petty you really are?

It was bad enough when members of the public offered themselves up for sacrifice to the audience, a baying pack of self-righteous thickos, but to the makers of such intellectually stimulating visual chewing gum, we needed more, we needed … Celebrities!

“I’m a Celebrity get me out of here” “burst”, like a cold sore, onto our screens 13 long (and miserable) years ago with the promise of a real jungle environment, squabbling celebrities and a pretty, bikini clad girl with big boobs spending plenty of time in the “natural” shower.

The format itself is quite clever; lower, quite literally, (but not nearly fast enough in my opinion) the celebs into the “hostile jungle environment”, for a week or two, make them compete for food by winning various tasks with the infamous “bush tucker trial” which invariably involves sticking a creepy crawly up your nose (or worse), and film the lot. The viewing public, up to a very scary 12 million of them, then vote out the biggest numpty (and there is serious competition on this front, believe me) by sending a text (texts cost a very reasonable £380 or something like that; how do they do it and scrape a profit?).

This carries on, somewhat nauseatingly, until there are only two people left. Then, guess what? That’s right, we all get a chance to “vote” again for the “King or Queen of the Jungle” (Queens have not, historically always been women) and should you hate your own money enough you can vote as many times as you like (at this point of my research I was moved to tears by the generosity of the TV company in allowing us, the humble viewer, to be able to demonstrate “how strongly” we feel). It is filmed in Murwillumbah, New South Wales, Australia, the perfect location in my opinion, as the show reflects rather beautifully, the country’s deserved reputation for both sporting fairness and culture.

To give the programme makers due credit, they show a degree of genius in being able to pick, every year, the most annoying person alive from the following categories:

An ex model or “Actress” (must own a Bikini), a “do you remember him or her” pop singer (think David Van Day and Sinitta), a nasty politician (who usually forgets to be nasty halfway through), a TV chef, (excellent for cooking rats and for making Kangaroo penis slightly more palatable), an American, (adds intellectual stimulus), a famous person’s wife/ husband (they obviously can’t afford the actual famous person), a very camp bloke (having misunderstood both the terms camping and Queen of the Jungle on the application form) a very fit bloke (possibly camp, but the women and some of the men love him anyway) a “famous” weather forecaster (to tell the other contestants it’s raining) an ex sportsman / woman from a sport that is no longer televised (ski Jumping, darts, horse dancing etc) and a person that we all assumed was dead!

The winners? Well, It is a bit like picking your favourite sexually transmitted disease really, but after the viewers are exposed to relentless subliminal voting instruction they have “chosen” the likes of Kerry Katona (2004), Christopher Biggins  (2007) and in 2005, Carol Thatcher! Carol Thatcher? Margaret Thatcher Lite? Nobody could possibly like her. Who next?  Attila the Hun’s Great Great Nephew? In Jim Royle’s fabulous parlance; Carol Thatcher my arse!

Perhaps the greatest winners are the show’s producers themselves. The hugely profitable format has been exported to over 60 countries with seven of them producing their own version (under strict licensing). Ich bin ein Star – Holt mich hier raus! and Iss Jungle Se Mujhe Bachao may be savored in Germany and India respectively although a viewer in the latter country has over 1600 channels at their disposal. Sixteen Hundred! Surely, there must be something better on?

The award for export however must go to the free thinking Dutch, who have made their own version, which will undoubtedly show far more (artistic) nudity, soft drug taking and “love ins”. The Dutch chose, no doubt in reverence to British culture, to keep the title English but translated it into the rather evocative and truly descriptive “Bozos in the Bush”.

So there we have it, a stunning success, one of our great exports, something to make us a truly great nation again. It must just be me that turns off after the “actress” in the bikini gets voted off!

Ant and Dec, the show’s  presenters, summed up the end of the last series with “we will be back next year, with another fantastic series, and we know you guys will be joining us”.

Well guess what “guys”?

I won’t.

I really, really won’t.

ACT 1

—  – 3 witches meet on a deserted heath

—  – King Duncan defeats the rebels and praises “noble” Macbeth

—  – Macbeth and Banquo meet the witches who prophesise that Macbeth will be king

—  – Macbeth sends a letter to his wife

—  – They plot Duncan’s murder

—  – Duncan arrives at Macbeth’s castle…

—  – Macbeth is unsure of the plan

ACT 2

—  – Duncan and his servants are murdered

—  – Duncan’s sons, Malcolm and Donalblain flee from Scotland

ACT 3

—  – Macbeth becomes king

—  – Macbeth, afraid of Banquo, murders him

—  – Macbeth sees Banquo’s ghost

ACT 4

—  – Macbeth seeks out the witches

—  – They show him apparitions

—  – Macbeth arranges the murder of Macduff’s wife and children

ACT 5

—  – Lady Macbeth sleepwalks

—  – She dies, having gone mad

—  – Macbeth kills Seyward (General of the English forces)

—  – Macbeth is slain

—  – Malcolm becomes king

See if you can translate this into modern English. Go on, have a go….

MACBETH ACT 1 SCENE 5. Inverness. Macbeth’s castle.

Enter LADY MACBETH, reading a letter

LADY MACBETH

‘They met me in the day of success: and I have
learned by the perfectest report, they have more in
them than mortal knowledge. When I burned in desire
to question them further, they made themselves air,
into which they vanished. Whiles I stood rapt in
the wonder of it, came missives from the king, who
all-hailed me ‘Thane of Cawdor;’ by which title,
before, these weird sisters saluted me, and referred
me to the coming on of time, with ‘Hail, king that
shalt be!’ This have I thought good to deliver
thee, my dearest partner of greatness, that thou
mightst not lose the dues of rejoicing, by being
ignorant of what greatness is promised thee. Lay it
to thy heart, and farewell.’
Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be
What thou art promised: yet do I fear thy nature;
It is too full o’ the milk of human kindness
To catch the nearest way: thou wouldst be great;
Art not without ambition, but without
The illness should attend it: what thou wouldst highly,
That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false,
And yet wouldst wrongly win: thou’ldst have, great Glamis,
That which cries ‘Thus thou must do, if thou have it;
And that which rather thou dost fear to do
Than wishest should be undone.’ Hie thee hither,
That I may pour my spirits in thine ear;
And chastise with the valour of my tongue
All that impedes thee from the golden round,
Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem
To have thee crown’d withal.

Enter a Messenger

What is your tidings?

Messenger

The king comes here to-night.

LADY MACBETH

Thou’rt mad to say it:
Is not thy master with him? who, were’t so,
Would have inform’d for preparation.

Messenger

So please you, it is true: our thane is coming:
One of my fellows had the speed of him,
Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more
Than would make up his message.

LADY MACBETH

Give him tending;
He brings great news.

Exit Messenger

The raven himself is hoarse
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
Under my battlements. Come, you spirits
That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here,
And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full
Of direst cruelty! Make thick my blood;
Stop up the access and passage to remorse,
That no compunctious visitings of nature
Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between
The effect and it! Come to my woman’s breasts,
And take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers,
Wherever in your sightless substances
You wait on nature’s mischief! Come, thick night,
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell,
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes,
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark,
To cry ‘Hold, hold!’

Enter MACBETH

Great Glamis! worthy Cawdor!
Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter!
Thy letters have transported me beyond
This ignorant present, and I feel now
The future in the instant.

MACBETH

My dearest love,
Duncan comes here to-night.

LADY MACBETH

And when goes hence?

MACBETH

To-morrow, as he purposes.

LADY MACBETH

O, never
Shall sun that morrow see!
Your face, my thane, is as a book where men
May read strange matters. To beguile the time,
Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye,
Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower,
But be the serpent under’t. He that’s coming
Must be provided for: and you shall put
This night’s great business into my dispatch;
Which shall to all our nights and days to come
Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom.

MACBETH

We will speak further.

LADY MACBETH

Only look up clear;
To alter favour ever is to fear:
Leave all the rest to me.

Exeunt

Macduff – Homework [Macbeth]

Your task is simple; insert the words into the gaps so that this makes complete sense and then write it out for your own notes when studying the play.

Macduff is the archetype of the avenging _ _ _ _, not simply out for revenge but with a _ _ _ _ and holy purpose. Macduff is the character who has two of the most significant _ _ _ _ _ in the play.

First, he is the discoverer of _ _ _ _ Duncan’s body. Second, the news of the callous _ _ _ _ _ _ of his wife and children (Act IV, Scene 3) spurs him toward his desire to take personal _ _ _ _ _ _ _ upon the tyrannical _ _ _ _ _ _ _.

When he knocks at the gate of Macbeth’s castle in Act 2, Scene 3, he is being equated with the _ _ _ _ _ of Christ, who before his final ascension into Heaven, goes down to release the souls of the damned from hell.

Like Macbeth, Macduff is also shown as a _ _ _ _ _ being. When he hears of the death of his “pretty chickens,” he has to hold _ _ _ _ his emotions. Even when in Act 4 Scene 3) Malcolm urges him to “Dispute it like a man,” Macduff’s reply is “I will do so. But I must also feel it as a man” enabling the audience to weigh him against _ _ _ _ _ _ _, an unfeeling man if ever there was one.

In the final combat between _ _ _ _ and anti-hero, this humanity is recalled once more when Macduff _ _ _ _ _ out, “I have no words; my voice is in my sword.” It is his very wordlessness that _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ with Macbeth’s _ _ _ _ _ rhetoric.

Words to use

RHETORIC                        MACBETH                         HERO                     HUMAN

ROLES                                        GOOD                               BACK                      FIGURE

CRIES                               KING                                MURDER                 EMPTY

HERO                               MACBETH                         REVENGE                

Macbeth – Character List

Macbeth –  Macbeth is a Scottish general and the Thane of Glamis who is led to wicked thoughts by the prophecies of the three witches, especially after their prophecy that he will be made Thane of Cawdor comes true. Macbeth is a brave soldier and a powerful man, but he is not a virtuous one. He is easily tempted into murder to fulfil his ambitions to the throne and once he commits his first crime and is crowned King of Scotland, he embarks on further atrocities with increasing ease. Ultimately, Macbeth proves himself better suited to the battlefield than to political intrigue, because he lacks the skills necessary to rule without being a tyrant. His response to every problem is violence and murder. Macbeth is never comfortable in his role as a criminal. He is unable to bear the psychological consequences of his atrocities.

Lady Macbeth –  Macbeth’s wife, a deeply ambitious woman who lusts for power and position. Early in the play she seems to be the stronger and more ruthless of the two, as she urges her husband to kill Duncan and seize the crown. After the bloodshed begins, however, Lady Macbeth falls victim to guilt and madness to an even greater degree than her husband. Her conscience affects her to such an extent that she eventually commits suicide. Interestingly, she and Macbeth are presented as being deeply in love, and many of Lady Macbeth’s speeches imply that her influence over her husband is primarily sexual. Their joint alienation from the world, occasioned by their partnership in crime, seems to strengthen the attachment that they feel to each another.

Three Witches –  Three “black and midnight hags” who plot mischief against Macbeth using charms, spells, and prophecies. Their predictions prompt him to murder Duncan, to order the deaths of Banquo and his son, and to blindly believe in his own immortality. The play leaves the witches’ true identity unclear—aside from the fact that they are servants of Hecate, we know little about their place in the cosmos. In some ways they resemble the mythological Fates, who impersonally weave the threads of human destiny. They clearly take a perverse delight in using their knowledge of the future to toy with and destroy human beings.

Banquo –  The brave, noble general whose children, according to the witches’ prophecy, will inherit the Scottish throne. Like Macbeth, Banquo thinks ambitious thoughts, but he does not translate those thoughts into action. In a sense, Banquo’s character stands as a rebuke to Macbeth, since he represents the path Macbeth chose not to take: a path in which ambition need not lead to betrayal and murder. Appropriately, then, it is Banquo’s ghost—and not Duncan’s—that haunts Macbeth.

King Duncan –  The good King of Scotland whom Macbeth, in his ambition for the crown, murders. Duncan is the model of a virtuous, benevolent, and farsighted ruler. His death symbolizes the destruction of an order in Scotland that can be restored only when Duncan’s line, in the person of Malcolm, once more occupies the throne.

Macduff –  A Scottish nobleman hostile to Macbeth’s kingship from the start. He eventually becomes a leader of the crusade to unseat Macbeth. The crusade’s mission is to place the rightful king, Malcolm, on the throne, but Macduff also desires vengeance for Macbeth’s murder of Macduff’s wife and young son.

Malcolm –  The son of Duncan, whose restoration to the throne signals Scotland’s return to order following Macbeth’s reign of terror. Malcolm becomes a serious challenge to Macbeth with Macduff’s aid.

Fleance –  Banquo’s son, who survives Macbeth’s attempt to murder him. At the end of the play, Fleance’s whereabouts are unknown. Presumably, he may come to rule Scotland, fulfilling the witches’ prophecy that Banquo’s sons will sit on the Scottish throne.

The Murderers –  A group of ruffians conscripted by Macbeth to murder Banquo, Fleance (whom they fail to kill), and Macduff’s wife and children.

Lady Macduff –  Macduff’s wife. The scene in her castle provides our only glimpse of a domestic realm other than that of Macbeth and Lady Macbeth. She and her home serve as contrasts to Lady Macbeth and the hellish world of Inverness.

Donalbain –  Duncan’s son and Malcolm’s younger brother.

A couple of years ago, this was a CA title so I prepared this. The idea was to rewrite a memorable scene from a film.

Enjoy!

There Could Only Be One

[Based on the final fight scenes in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2].

The battle had been raging for some time and the castle was now lying in ruins. Gone were the majestic looking turrets that had always stood there, tall and empowering to every student that had ever graced the hallowed halls of the school. And now, even in ruins, it still managed to command awe and majesty to those who considered it their home.

            This was school. This was home. This was a place of safety and now it had been attacked, assaulted by the one powerful force that everyone knew could prevail over good and defeat everyone once and for all. The thought this was horrendous to even consider so those who stood on the side of good took their stand with the teachers of the school against the Lord of all evil, Lord Voldemort.

            He had made his way inside the castle by this time, Nagini by his side, his trusted snake and was busily fighting with Harry a duel that would ultimately take one of them to their deaths. And even with all the melee going on around them, he strove forward, relentlessly chasing Harry through the corridors of the castle, mocking his inability to stand up to him, toying with his prey like a cat with a mouse.

            It was then that the young man, who had risen from the little boy of eleven to the strapping young man of 18 decided that enough was enough and made his move. Screaming a blood curdling shout of anger he attacked Voldemort from a full frontal position and was blasted back thirty feet back into the grounds of the school. The shock wave that hit him knocked him out, momentarily. But this was not the end, not for this man, for he was determined to fulfil one task and nothing was going to stop him.

            As Harry and Voldemort exchanged blows with each other, sending spells and sparks from their wands into each other, the quiet rebellion began. Nagini, tracking Harry, slithered and crept down the main staircase towards Hermione, who stood there, transfixed, horror in her eyes. What she did not realise at that time was that her saviour, the one who would save them all, was just emerging from out of the blackness of his unconscious state.

            Neville rose, looked about him and all the rubble and fixed his eyes on one thing, the sword of Gryffindor. And true to form, the sword was to reveal itself to the one who deserved it the most. And as Harry and Voldemort fought in a tumbling, towering cascade of arms and legs, falling relentlessly to the ground, everything went quiet in the courtyard, until the two wizards exchanged their final attack on each other.

            Suddenly, just as Nagini was beginning to reappear into the courtyard to attack Harry, a tall figure leapt out of the shadows, sword in hand, taking one powerful swing and severing the head of the snake in one blow. As he did so, the last horcrux that Voldemort had made had been destroyed and this left Harry with only one course of action, to finish off Voldemort for good. As their wands exchanged their force, the elder wand flew out of Voldemort’s hands and landed in Harry’s hand and Voldemort disintegrated before Harry’s eyes, never to be able to return to haunt or to destroy.

            The deaths of his father and mother had been avenged but it still left a dull feeling of unfinished business. The one person on the other hand, who did feel the best at this point, quite content with his actions on this day, was the hero of the hour, Neville Longbottom. There could only be one to fulfil the prophecy; neither Harry nor Voldemort could kill each other, but there was one who had also tasted death at such a tender age he was to be the one who would ultimately triumph.