Monday, October 26, 2009

Narrative for winter reading sheet

One day, 17,000 years ago, an ancient god named Azareth, who was the King, was sitting in his chair when he suddenly remembered that he had to finish off writing up his parchment. He went to get it off the table where he'd left it. He found the crumpled up bit of yellow parchment and sat back down on his chair. He then remembered that he didn't have his quill, or any ink. He quickly ran back to the table, grabbed his quill, but he couldn't find his ink anywhere. He searched and searched, through all of his drawers, and on all of his shelves, but he couldn't find it anywhere.

He went to ask his wife, Peratol, when he saw a dusty piece of parchment, lying on the floor by the door. It had been left there. He read it:

Dear Azareth,

I have taken your ink home, I have ran out and need to finish some work. Hope you don't mind.

Your good friend, Karthalo.

Azareth was furious. His friend Karthalo had been there earlier that day and Azareth knew he should of seen him to the door. Azareth set off to go to Karthalo's house, furious with rage. He needed to hand in his parchment tomorrow. When he got to Karthalo's house, he had used up all of the ink so Azareth went to try and get some more. He tried everywhere you could, but nowhere had any ink left.

He thought he'd try his friend Taritho's house to see if anyone in his family had any ink he could borrow. When he got there, he was well greeted, Taritho's family very much liked Azareth. He borrowed some ink, then went home, glad that he could finally finish off writing one his parchment.

When he opened the front door he was surprised to find his wife, Peratol, sitting on the floor in the corner of the room, crying. He went and asked her what was wrong and then she pointed to his desk and chair. He went and looked. Peratol had broken his quill. Azareth was beside himself. He was furious with rage. He stormed out of the house like a rhino. In his furore of anger, the air lifted up, and spun round several times. All of the leaves on all of the trees disembarked from the branches and into there whirlwind of a nightmare in this storm of wind. When, after 10 minutes, the air had returned to normal, there was no leaves left on any of the trees. Since then, every Autumn, all the leaves on all of the trees fell off.

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