Category Archives: Descriptive

Q) Describe an antique store. By Ayesha Amirzeb Sheikh

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I entered the store. The bell on the top of the door jingles informing the owner that another customer has entered the shops. As I enter and take my first few steps my nostrils and mouth are filled with the smell of dust. I can feel the dust particles go down my throat as I try to swallow the foul taste. There are shelves and shelves filled with unusual objects. The whole store seems to be covered with dust. This store has so much dust that you can actually see the dust in the air and will also notice the difference in color of the air. Outside the store the air is clean and fresh here the air is stale. The store is rather sad as there’s nothing which isn’t covered in dust. 

I move my index finger along the dust-colored walls to find it instantly turn black due to the amount of dust. Though everything here is covered in dust yet there seems to be some kind of magic in the air. 

The store is filled with amazing magical items. It almost seems like I’m Alice, and now I’ve entered Wonderland except this time through a door not a rabbit hole. Shelves filled with old treasured books, strange looking silverware, unusually looking clocks, some which are moving at two times the actual speed and even statues of strange people. There were statues of Greek Gods as well. A two faced statue, one face was smiling and the other crying. The marble was smooth under my fingers and I touched the statue. Beautiful paintings of different Lords of ancient time. Ancient radios, cycles, chairs, books and furniture. 

There were some… interesting things as well like pebbles, worn out summer gloves claiming to be powerful, hats claiming to make the wearer invisible, a broken umbrella which declared to protect the holder from bats. Clocks with five hands instead of two, one of which was moving at such a great speed you could barely see it.

There was a whole shelf for old books. Some books are declared to be read by famous Kings and Queens of the past. Books which were shelf-worn, having bumped corners covered in dust, the spine falling apart indicating how many times it had been read before. Some books I could recognize like Wuthering Heights and Pride and Prejudice while others are foreign. 

One section was filled with instruments. Olden instruments were placed in that corner. Trumpets, drums, harmoniums, mouth organs, flutes and many more. Some are so tempting that I risk moving a finger against the strings of an old guitar. I can feel the deep vibrations as a beautiful sound is emitted. 

Some things actually catch my eye like silverware, suited for a Queen. In one corner there are jewellery said to be found from treasure chests of Queens. The jewelry was very catchy. Gold rings and necklaces, silver earrings and many more. There were rusted coins and stamps, sundials,water clocks and even some religious books.

There’s peace and quiet in the store. I can even hear the creak of wood under my feet as I move forward to explore. I can even hear the creaking of the not-properly oiled fan moving at such a slow pace yet still the store is rather cool.

This antique store is magical. You can feel the souls and spirits of the previous Lords, Ladies, Kings and Queens coming and going. The store might be empty yet it’s actually alive.

Q. Describe your favourite time of the year. By Noor Liza Rashid

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I treasure the thirty-first of December. It makes the city jam-packed with holidaymakers, and now in the chilly gusts of rain and wind, taking strolls on the imperfectly fractured pavement is what anyone wants. The frosty grass peeks from the cracks ready to be flattened and compressed upon impact with winter boots. The air shimmers with snow-flakes as white as the pale ashes of wasted coal, and even the surface of  puddles from yesterday’s storm are icy and frozen, with water swirling with rainbow streaks underneath. The market deflates, with everyone lighting up their Christmas decorations from the previous week. Almost everyone looks forward to this day, when work and schools are closed and they get to celebrate with their cherished ones.

The streets fill up with the sweet fragrance of roasted nuts, hot coffees and freshly baked pies. The talented musicians merrily play their ancient instruments not for the sake of earning some silver but only to satisfy and entertain themselves. The pedestrians sway and twirl to the joyful tunes without a care in the world. This is the only day when one walks great distances without a destination. The day when no one gets tired of walking.

The people are unworried,blithe and heedless. It is not surprising that everyone has one thing common on this very day. A silly grin from ear to ear, vast as the universe, revealing shiny pearls,some crooked and some made to scale. Everyone is in a cheery mood. Salutations and enthusiastic cheers echo amidst the crowd. Shops are covered in a spectrum of fairy lights and ornaments swinging from their chimneys down to their wooden and rustic thresholds. Some people stoop and curve on the pavement trying their best to capture the tremendous joys of this day ,with their squinting eyes stuck to big black cameras while some volunteer at different stalls of food, decorations,games, handicrafts and most importantly fireworks. The children turn red because of excitement. They run around with devilish smiles on their faces ready to prank their parents and strangers.All of the people are covered in thick, colorfully knitted scarves and beanies as they intend to stay out and await the very precious moment when the clock strikes twelve. 

It’s funny how time flies when you’re having fun! It’s almost nine at night. The people are starting to gather at the square, holding picnic baskets while some hold silvery,gleaming thermoses filled with blazing hot beverages whose smoke merges with the ultramarine sky. The weather turns extremely cold, biting and piercing into the skin. Everyone has settled down on the floor with their cozy yarn blankets and soft pillows to support their backs. Families fill the space with lively chatter, laughter and happiness. Their lively chatter is enough to make strangers smile and awaken their interest in their conversations. They don’t care about what others might think of them and simply enjoy the night because they know everyone intends to celebrate the night. 

I lean back against my pillow, covering myself with a snug bright yellow quilt which my grandmother had made for me when I was five. The blanket still smelled of cinnamon and nutmeg and felt quite homely. It made me feel closer to my family. I gaze at the sky peeking through vibrant,triangle shaped banners tied across the poles. The sky is blackish blue, textured like velvet, making the twinkling stars appear brighter and magnificent. Tiny vibrations can be felt as the subway trains dash through their tracks underground. I close my eyes for a minute taking in the fresh winter breeze,piercing through my cheeks and into my nose. I feel at peace. What was supposed to last for a slight moment had turned into a power-nap.

It’s almost time. The arms of the clock struggle to reach twelve. The people are up on their feet, packing up their heavy blankets and getting ready to light up the fireworks.

Some people have an expression of fear on their faces while some are exhilarated.

The aura floods with different feelings and emotions. The people pray to god for a year filled with ease, successful businesses and hope. Everyone has a goal in their minds. A goal to achieve certain achievements, overcome obstacles,better their relationships. Some look to the sky and wish for a nice job,good grades,a new dress and even a golden-retriever .

 It’s eleven fifty-eight. The band starts strumming their instruments, the children help in torching the fireworks placed linearly in the middle of the square and heads start to turn to the sky. Within a split second a magnificent display of vivid, flaming, flower patterns glide into the sky and uninterrupted,overlapping cheers and cries of ‘Happy New Year’ echo throughout the city. 

Q) Describe a Peaceful Place. By Hafsa Nauman

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The wet, desolate streets of the city rested in silence as the starry black sky wept over it. The water in the portholes shimmered by the glow of the bright, yellow street lamps. The small, green trees on the roadside swayed as the strong breeze hit them.

Above a faded zebra crossing, a traffic light frantically changed colors seeming rather like a disco light. A watchman snored comfortably on his dark brown stool under the protection of his shop’s roof. Huge giant buildings stood besides the street, quiet as if taken over by an army of libraries. Some windows gave out white and yellow lights, but the others were pitch black. It seemed like the clouds had gotten a sudden fascination to the moon and wrapped themselves around it. The moon’s faint glow passed through them, coloring them white from grey. The cool monsoon air carried a sweet moist scent like a candy shop kept inside a refrigerator. The pitter-pattering of the rain, which was now deaf to ears, was interrupted time by time during the night. Once a car passed by. Stray dogs began barking, while the deafening music from the car echoed around the street. The car soon disappeared and the dogs stopped barking satisfied that they had scared the car away. Later, a taxi came down the road and parked. A bunch of young kids came out laughing emphatically. The taxi drove away but the children stood at the corner of the lane, yet laughing vigorously. A man screeched out from his window and cursed at the noisy children who went mute immediately. A few lights flickered open through the windows and nosy neighbors looked out to inquire. Aunties made sure they had  memorized enough points to gossip over tomorrow. 

The rustling and bustling gave me comfort looking at the stars dancing across the sky fighting against the grey to show off their beauty. Their melody slowly lulled me to sleep, reciting their visual poetry for the eyes willing to follow the rhythm. Wooden doors creaked as night-owls rushed out from their home’s embrace over the high balconies of the old apartments admiring the city come alive at night. The smell of fallen rain, petrichor wafted around the neighbourhood, deep sighs could be heard echoing down the street, spreading a sheet of calm over the people like aromatherapy. Gazes darted at the serenity of the atmosphere encapsulating them into a bubble. 

You could hear the footsteps of children running away from their mothers desperately trying to put them to sleep or that of tired fathers blasting the news on full volume, the sound of the headlines dispersing all over the neighbourhood. Crickets played their harmonies for their fans to hear, while cats attacked each other, revolting against the injustices of the kingdom in the streets. Meowing loudly in protest. The cricket doors slammed again. The streets of the city now rested again in lifeless silence except the gentle pattering of the raindrops. It lay there just like it had for many a changing year ready to rise when the sun’s auburn rays would start to cast grey shadows over it. My heart yearns for the city’s livelihood, putting me at home, at peace, at last. 

Q) Describe a moment of utmost Happiness by Arisha Tahir

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The Sun had just begun to rise as a canopy of gold, bright amid the soft tones of blue, bidding the stars to their nightly rest. As darkness gradually surrendered, dawn arrived with a musical silence, the soul hearing melodies which the ears could not. I stood outside the airport with my luggage in hand, letting the moment sink in and soothe me from the core to right out where the nascent rays touched my skin. This was the absolute perfect beginning to a day I had spent all year longing for, thus it only made sense for me to not squander rather savor every single moment. After all, I had just survived what will be engraved in history as a whirlwind of a year. One during which, swaths of humanity all over the world began to disappear into the corona virus cocoon and for the past several months one could not help but feel as though life on Earth had come to a sudden halt. It was only the highly anticipated invention of a vaccine that helped ride out the viral storm and roused people from what seemed like an extensive period of hibernation. Soon after, much to everyone’s delight world health authorities declared that the once fatal virus was no more a threat to mankind hence making it permissible for people to recommence their daily routines. This news was particularly exhilarating for my best friend, Sarah who was previously forced to cancel her wedding due to the global outbreak of the virus. Thus, it was only natural that the moment we received the green signal, a new date for the wedding was set, leaving us all flabbergasted with joy. I gladly resumed my duties as maid of honor and sheer happiness resonated through me as I began counting down days until the big event. 

This was partially the reason why my heart began to pound with excitement as soon as I took a step inside the airport. The thought of getting to watch my best friend walk down the aisle in less than twenty four hours made my face light up with impish glee. Even at this early hour of the day the airport was surprisingly congested and while that would have bothered me a year ago, in the light of recent events, the ongoing buzz and bustle was a rather comforting reminder of how people had returned to their accustomed way of life. After asking several people for directions, I eventually made my way to the counter labelled ‘passport control’ in bold. Therein upon being asked to show my passport, I confidently opened my purse and hastily began to search for it. With panic swelling within me, I thoroughly scanned each bag numerous times, but in vain. It was in that moment that my worst nightmare unraveled before me and I realized that I had forgotten something important. All of a sudden, my head felt like a carousel of fears spinning out of control, each pushing my mind into blackness. With flushed cheeks and distance evident in my glazed eyes, I took a few steps backwards, nearly tripping over my luggage resulting in my head rolling in impact. My heart hammered inside my chest like a rabbit running for its skin while I could feel my ribs heaving as if bound by ropes, straining to inflate my lungs. I tried gasping for air before taking a seat on a nearby bench in hopes of being able to regulate my breathing. I tried calming down my nerves, convincing myself that there was still sufficient time to attempt getting my passport by rushing back home.

Preparing to race against the clock, I got up, ignoring the feeling of all the energy in my knees being wrenched out. The room still hadn’t completely stopped spinning but refusing to give up in the face of such hurdles, I rushed out of the airport. I had barely made it into the parking lot when my phone rang. With my hands still shivering with anxiety, I picked up the phone only to hear my brother giggling at the other end. ‘Planning to sneak in the plane without your passport?’ he asked cheesily, taking me back by surprise. I strained my vocals trying to speak up but my voice still came out as thin and distant. Sensing the worry in my tone, he quickly added ‘Hey, cheer up! I’m just around the corner, you’ll have your passport with you within a few minutes’. Overcome with relief and immense gratitude, I suddenly began to sob helplessly. I could feel the tension choked up inside of me suddenly melt away the second I sighted my brother’s car. Never in my life had he seemed more of a hero than he did in that very moment whilst walking towards me with my passport in hand. I whispered a silent prayer, thanking God for letting the odds be in my favor and dashed back into the airport. Several minutes later, my luggage had been booked and I stood in line, clasping my passport and ticket, waiting to board the plane. Contentment filled my heart and I could once again feel happiness streak through me like a comet thinking about how despite all the ups and downs I encountered, at long last I was on my way to attend my bestfriend’s wedding.

Q. Describe a stranger in a crowd.

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There a man stood in the middle of a herd of people. 

His appearance could be seen from miles away. With oval shaped spectacles and different painted eyes, he became the center of attention. His quite sterner attitude was depicted from the way he stood tall above the ground. His hands were quietly resting in his pockets. What was all of this about? Why was he the center of attention? What was so special about him?

A smell of confusion had filled the horizon. It was not only one person staring at him, the whole crowd at the train station has their eyes on him.

His bright blue pen has made its place in the front pocket of his coat. As he smoked a cigar, and blew the air, his fierce, different painted eyes twitched. Twitched, once more.

Proceeding, his rain-coat had him all covered up on the sunniest day of the year. He took out his hand from the pocket and his stained teeth went for a smirk.

The train station smelt like petrol but now the smell of confusion was turning into the smell of dark and despair when the cigar’s smoke enhanced the aroma.

A gale blew. His rain-coat flew.

He quickly started covering himself. What was he hiding?

The noise of him clicking his pen echoed and was as loud as an airplane taking off.

People surrounding him, kept staring at him but no one asked him anything nor did he ask anyone. There was a state of complete confusion.

His crusty lips and half-hidden scars (hidden with sun-screen) reflected the negative side of this cold, cold world. Something was disturbing the crowd.

The man’s shady personality with a tint of glow on his face had caught everyone’s attention.

In this time of confusion, he stood there. Smirking. Trying to hide all his mysterious past. He was unable to do so. His fake glow showed his dark past.

Repeatedly, his different painted eyes (one hazel and one greyish-black) twitched. It was like his eyes were speaking for him.

He was the most odd person ever! Rain-coat on a sunny day. Different painted eyes. Smoking a cigar. Everything was unique! There were no signs of any similarity between him and rest of the people in this world.

He was unique!

He was different!

He was peculiar!

He was unknown!

Q – Describe a peaceful place. By Shamel Mujtaba

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Q. Describe a peaceful place.

Ans. The blades of the grassy meadow were softer than the finest silk. The singing of young birds was so well orchestrated that they may have been led by the professional ear of the greatest conductor. The wind breeze provided a cool and relaxing feel as it kissed your cheeks. The trees rustled gently in this very breeze, and the long, green grass formed a slow, melodic wave as it carried the wind, gently touching and tickling your body as you lay in the heavenly bed. The sun shone down upon you, with the exact brightness and warmth it should have. The scene was so incredibly serene and peaceful it could not be real – such a place was the perfect example of a peaceful scene that existed in everyone’s mind.

But, what you call peaceful I call boring.

A peaceful place like the one above would allow your mind to flow freely, and hence fall prey to all the stresses and worries of today. And if your mind is not at peace how could you be?

You need something to keep you busy.

Something with more than one colour.

Something that requires utmost participation of the mind, yet not enough to make it a burden.

Fortunately for you, I have just the thing.

Let me show you.

I held my large and foreboding heavy assault rifle in my hands, and yet – I did not feel worry for myself despite its warning of what was to come next.

It’s a feeling I simply cannot explain.

Interrupting my moment with the rifle, a horrifyingly huge alien foe landed in front of me. He held a large gun – the one and only grenade-launcher. This was no ordinary grenade launcher. I boasted a thick and thirsty curved blade at its rear, specially made foe slicing and dicing an unlucky enemy.  The horrible brute of an enemy stared right into my soul with piercing yellow eyes and murderous intent. I could hear him smacking his leathery lips as he dreamt of the taste of my feeble human flesh in his toothed-chasm of a mouth as the long white hair on his reptilian skin stood erect as his adrenaline flowed through his muscle. He was ready to pounce and tear me to shreds.

But for some reason I did not feel scared. For some reason I was looking forward to his attack, because was ready for him.

He charged at me, bending down so as to hit me headfirst. Considering his boulder of a head this would have been very painful. But I was too good for him. I shrugged and confidently leapt to the side as he charged past me and formed a crater in the opposite wall with a bang. I raised my trusty helper and shouted, “Say hello to my little friend!” and let it rip. The loud, repetitive ‘ratatatatat’ of the rifle was one of the most soothing melodies I have ever heard.

He halted – and the mammoth opponent started shaking as if he were a rag doll with a vibrator inside of him. His torso violently shook side-to-side and his limp arms followed in suit – wagging faster than the tail of an exited puppy. His head rolled and spun and jerked here and there, like he was a teeny-tiny Einstein-bobblehead on the dashboard of a helicopter that was spiraling out of control. His jaw opened and wobbled unnaturally, allowing his surprisingly long tongue to fly out and slap both of his cheeks in turns. His legs merely vibrated in their places, no more active than the atoms of the hardest solid.

His dance must have been the most comical thing I have ever seen.

Finally – the never ending 64 bullet clip on my rifle ended. The award winning dance ended and he stopped wobbling. He just stood there, tongue hanging out of his incredibly wide open mouth. His shoulders dropped and his eyes rolled to the top of his head. His head slowly bent

Downwards and he dropped to his knees with a bang – then fell on his belly with a louder bang. Interestingly, drool still dripped from his mouth despite being dead. Was this because his forked tongue still stuck out a record-breaking 5-inches?

Ignoring that mystery I calmly betrayed my assault rifle for his mean, bladed grenade-launcher. I held it like a flamethrower and departed as if I had just finished a Yoga or Tai-Chi session. I strolled to a large nearby metal door. It looked like it was embedded into the hundred-meter thick concrete wall it pierced. A small crushed and sparking control panel uselessly laid into the wall besides it – Its guts spilt all over the floor. Exposed wires cracked and hissed like undead witches, convinced that I had no way across without aiding them first. Their taunts were just as significant as a flea breathing.

“Hmm…”

No point in wasting brain cells here.

Taking advantage of the super cool and nearly indestructible sky-blue combat armor I wore, I simply kicked it open. The feeble toothpick of the door flew open with a characteristic metal-to-metal clang. It tore parts of the wall besides it, creating a mystical off-whit fog. It landed and wobbled like a fifty-cent coin.

The wires immediately stopped crackling in shock.

I leapt forward out of the ghost mist and proclaimed, “Here’s Johnny!”

Cute little alien foes jumped in shock as I appeared. They appeared to be wearing futuristic glowing gas-masks, with little light slits in the eye region. Their arms were too long for their tiny inverted-cone bodies. Their hands had large gloves that made them bigger than their oval heads. Their tiny brown frog-legs were barely able to support their disproportionate body. To top all this they wore an incredibly large, unimaginative cone-shaped backpack that somehow did not set them off-balance.

The difference between them and my previous foe was that these pigeons were terrified of the spinx cat that stood before them. I was going to exploit their fear like a professional businessman.

“Boo.”

They immediately jumped and ran faster than the hyper-active particles of a gas, screaming and crying on the floor like new-borns. They bounced off walls and each other in perfect projectile motion. I sighed. Turning on, “The Voices of Spring Waltz.” In my helmet, I sent them flying in every direction in spot-on harmony with the music.

And to me, where their limp, confused bodies formed trails of fire as they bounced around like over-cooked popcorn while screaming like hundreds of whistling tea-pots – was indeed a very peaceful place.

I love my Xbox.

Q. Describe your favourite time of the year. By Abdullah Chatta

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What is truly a peaceful place? Is it a stereotypical utopia where there is an absence of worries? Is it the existence of solely unruffled and continuous emotions of joy and glee? Is it justified to confine something as illimitable as peace to something as limited and finite as a “happy perception”? In fact, a peaceful place is a place whose sole existence is capable of channeling your perturbations away from your already perplexed and agitated brain, it is a place whose mere mention can dilate your pitch black, abysmal pupils with every possible variety of merriment – making your senses apathetic towards sensations like feeling the sweat drops accumulated on your overworked sweat pores, creepily growing in volume every passing moment. It is a place that compels you to see the world through rose colored specs.

As you lay your head down, its equivalent of drowning into the silkiest clouds that are said to be present at the gates of heaven, its equivalent of feeling those long forgotten ounces of worth being transformed into catalysts that drive your hopeless, unworthy self to feel praiseworthy and commendable, it is equivalent of the most mellow and euphonious voice telling you, “It’s going to be ok.”

As her fingers that have been preyed upon by old age, and her nails being chipped away by time, brush past your flaky and bristly hair while conserving their amicable and cordial feeling, its equivalent of making your disheveled appearance metamorphosize into the most elegant sensation that you would feel that day, its equivalent of having your matted tangled hair being straightened in the most silkiest of manners, almost that you wouldn’t be able to feel it if you didn’t pay close attention, its equivalent of having nostalgia run between every strand of your hair shouting like a child saying, “Feels like the good old days.”

As you feel her hand resting softly on your face, it’s the most wholesome and empowering sensation that surges through your cheek, rather through your whole body, as it continues to flow through every vein and artery at the speed of light, and continues to do so even after your spirit starts radiating positive energy. Her hand acts as an absorbent material that sucks out all your troubles like the vacuum of space. Her presence shields you against any sort of culmination of negativity, any sort of tangible or intangible dangers, or any sort of irregularity that may put you at harm. Even with closed eyes, ironically you feel the safest you ever could.

As she is calmly positioned on the leathery, velvet cushioned sofa, your head, anchored on her lap, your eyes shut so tightly that prevent even a spec of a photon from entering your vision, you could sense every strand of hair on your body, that had been charged with static electricity, going to sleep as they return back to their relaxed form. You could feel positivity penetrating through every single skin pore on your body, patiently waiting to fill you up with it so that you surge with every sensation associated with happiness and comfort.

As you reluctantly open your eyes, you see hair that is wizened and straw like, so dry that they seem fossilized, nonetheless giving an impression of scintillating wires that are carrying electricity of the highest voltages. You realise how her gait should be wonky with arthritic joints and her eyesight failing faster than your school grades, you realise how her facial skin should no longer have a connection to the skull underneath, and you realise how her litheness and articulate speech are what get to you – an echo of youth in someone so old. Sometimes you want to pull away the mask of age to see the person inside, the girl she was all those years ago, until you realise that you don’t have to if because if you listen to her words and pay attention to her smile, to her eyes, she’s still in there as much as she ever was.

As you shift your head closer to her chest, you notice how her heart beats stubbornly within her pigeon chest, how her skin is so fragile it ruptures on anything more than the softest of touches. You realise open eyes are not focused but move randomly, white, obscured with cataracts so completely that I cannot tell her eye colour. Her hair is wispy over a scalp that shows signs of pressure sores, pink from constant contact with pillow or chair.

As you drift further and further into this temporary utopia, your hunger for this feeling becomes incomputable and inestimable with every passing fraction of a second. Like a young child who refuses to let go of their most prized toy, you refuse to ever leave this place, like a conqueror who has taken over every desired dynasty, and like a predator who refuses to share his victory over his prey with anyone else, as a son you refuse to leave the lap of your mother.

Q – Write a story entitled ‘What a strange day!’ By Shamel Mujtaba

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Dorothy had just finished her work and was going home from her office. She was an accountant who had a rather bad habit of staying late in the office, when everyone else had left. Since the office actually ended at 3pm, she left sometime at five or six for home. She packed her bags and prepared for the half-a-mile walk ahead of her. Boarding the elevator, she began her descent to the ground floor, then began the long walk home.

As she walked on the streets she noticed some rather queer sights and instances.

She looked in a dark, menacing alleyway. There stood two figures, and one was holding a gun to the other.

“Gimme all yer Tacos!”

“I don’t have any Tacos!”

“Gimme dem Tacos or I’ll blow all dem crisps outa yer brain!”

“I don’t have any crisps! But I have yogurt. Do you want some?”

“No! I need ‘em Tacos!”

“I don’t – Oh excuse me.” He picked up his phone that was ringing the Macerena. “Yea Mum? Oh no ya I got eggs too! Oh no! Is little Timmy stuck in the well again? Oh no! I’m coming!”, He then looked at his assailant, “Little Timmy’s stuck in the well again, so I gotta go – Bye!” He then skipped away.

The other blubbered some nonsense then threw down his pistol, “It ain’t no fun mugging chaps here no more man!” 

He then stomped into the darkness, muttering something about how hard Tacos were to find These days.

“Hmm…”, Dorothy thought thoughtfully.

Then she noticed a stout vendor screaming as he tried to sell some toilet seats.

“50% off! Good quality! Branded! Easy on your sensitive touchie! Comes with a supersoft toilet roll free!” The dwarf looked at a man who was about to pass. “Hello Sir! Are you in Dire need of a High-Quality toilet seat? Well – “

“Not interested and dont need it!” The passerby interrupted. The vendor looked at the man’s behind as he passed. “I think you really do mate.” 

The passerby turned into a fuming tornado of fury and charged at the Vendor, waving his arms so incredibly randomly it was astonishing how he didn’t poke his own eye out. Then he entered an intense slapping competition with the vendor. 

Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!

“Buy your dream toilet now!” The vendor shouted to a confused passerby mid-slap.

Crack!

“Hmmm…” Dorothy thought thoughtfully.

It was impossible to not notice the ancient vehicle speeding down the street at rather phenomenal speeds. The car looked just like Lizzie from Cars, and It appeared as if Lizzie now had McQueen’s engine. What was even more queer was what the people who had boarded the perilous vehicle were doing. 

“Newspaper!”, a man hanging out of the vehicle shouted as he threw a newspaper. The thing was he was throwing hundreds of newspapers in every direction with no particular pattern. 

“Newspaper! Newspaper! Newspaper!”

One of these landed right on Dorothy’s unexpecting face. The title read,”Ne w pape  

Cop e s  run ou  of  Ink! Wil  t ere  e Cons q ences  ?”

The joyriders had made It apparent that they were over-wage paperboys, as the company they worked for did not have any shortage of fuel. Or engine parts for that matter. As they zigzagged down the street nuts and bolts flew here and there from the sputtering engine, as it gasped and wheezed for rest. The engine’s protest did not stop the joyriders as they took extra joy in being chased by three modern police cars, sirens wailing. “Stop in the name of the law.” was repeated on a loudspeaker continuously. This was responded to by a, “Newspaper!” and one such article on the windshield of a police interceptor with a bang.

“Hmmmm…” Dorothy thought thoughtfully.

As two passer-bys strided passed her she could easily hear what they were saying. In their attempt to be heard by each other during the intense car chase, they were in fact-shouting. 

“What are the facts, Detective?”

“So far we know that Leslie told Mindy told Sarah told Daphnie told Dora that Velma signalled Alex who Sarah told Michelle who sent a letter to Leslie to un-friend Emma, Who had earlier told Sarah to ignore Mindy in order to do the same.”

“A most queer situation.”

“It gets better Watson, So I contacted Emma who gave me her letter, after investigating that I found out that it was actually forged by Alex who wanted Emma to be friendless because Emma’s Father’s Uncle’s Grandson’s Daughter’s Son’s Cousin actually dated Mindy!”

“What! So this must mean That Alex told Velma that Emma told Sarah that she was jealous of Mindy?”

“Precisely Watson. This can only mean one thing : That Mindy told Dora told Dorothy told Leslie told Sarah that Alex blackmailed Mindy to pretend to take Sarah seriously so Mindy would feel more alone.”

“Excuse me, But no one told me anything.” Dorothy interrupted.

The detective jumped with surprise and hit a nearby lamppost headfirst. He lost his consciousness then and there. 

“Thank you so much! I owe you a huge debt!” The other said, shaking Dorothy’s hand rigorously. He then turned heels and sprinted away from the stunned detective. Dorothy was left startled. She began counting on her fingers, attempting to keep up with the information.

“Hmmmmm…” Dorothy thought thoughtfully.

Then She noticed the Third vendor of the day. Except this one was far more successful than his peers. Guess what he was selling? 

On his rather small and insignificant cart, oversized letters presented, “Bob’s Quality Tacos” Eager eaters lined up for one reason alone, “First Taco free!” The Vendor called out. Now the eager eaters turned into a raging mob. They surrounded the little cart as if they were invading a foreign castle, all shouting what dressings they wanted their Tacos to have. 

It was not long before this mob in fact carried the little cart across the street in the same way they would carry a stage-diving rockstar. The cart turned, did several backflips and bobbed up and down. The confused vendor rode his cart-surfboard hybrid in a desperate attempt not to get thrown over. He may have succeeded as well. Until a Taco crazy person dive-bombed the cart from several stories up a neighboring highrise, knocking the vendor into the sea of hands. This figure’s battle cry echoed throughout the town and shook the foundations of every building there. “TAAACOOO!” 

He landed with a bang, knocking the vendor off and crushing the little cart into a pancake. “Awwww.” the crowd moaned. They let the cart drop with a clang and dispersed. Only the dive bomber remained. He held up a rather deformed Taco like it was an Olympic trophy. “Finally!” He shouted, “I got one of em Tacos!” 

His victory was short-lived however. Just as the Taco descended to his open mouth, an eagle dive bombed the Taco, clawing at it and carrying it into the sun.

“No! Not again!”

“Hmmmmmm…” Dorothy thought thoughtfully.

Finally Dorothy found herself in the countryside. Her home was getting closer. Perhaps now her normal life will resume?

Not so fast Dorothy.

As she walked, she saw a cow on the side of the road. The cow looked right at her, and said,”Meow.”

Dorothy frowned. She decided it was better to let the meowing cow be.

Then she heard a voice that was all too familiar.”Newspaper!” 

This time Dorothy ducked just in time as a newspaper flew over her head. The ancient little car sputtered and gasped past, just managing to move a few meters away before it decided it had had enough. Just as it stopped a spotlight shone on it. This was that of a police helicopter. An army of police cars halted behind lizzie and a group of SWAT trucks blocked its path ahead. A tank drove over the grassy meadow on either side of the car. Swat teams exited their trucks with riot gear and large guns, pointed directly at the little car.”Step out of the vehicle or we will use aggressive action.”  a commanding voice boomed over a megaphone. The police cars sirens blared red-and-blue, wailing deafeningly.

Dorothy wisely ran around the confusion, leaving the SWAT and police forces behind.

“Isn’t that a tad bit much?” she thought to herself.

But her thoughts were interrupted by a shout.

“I’m coming Timmy!”, The man who could have been mugged shouted as he bolted towards a nearby well. Without wasting a second he leaped in.

“I’m here Timmy!”

“No!” A voice from the adjacent well chimed in. “I was in the other well!”

“Oh no!”

“Now we’re both stuck!”

“Help!” They both screamed in unison.

“I really need to change towns.” Dorothy said to herself.

Finally! She had arrived at her destination. The weirdness was over! Now all she had to do was-

And a truly ruined taco dropped right in front of her. She looked down at it and frowned, then looked up to see a rather unhappy eagle who had lost his lunch before eating it. She quickly shot a look behind her to see if the taco crazy mugger was charging at her. Fortunately no one was there. 

Dorothy didn’t trust that that would remain the same for long and leaped over the desolate taco and into her house, slamming the door shut. Not too long after she heard a voice from outside. “Finally! I got me taco back!”

Dorothy put her bag down and slumped on her couch.

“Wow!” She thought to herself. “What a strange day!”

Describe a train ride. By NoorulAin Saif

Standard

The wheels clashed with the railway making a sound so loud sleep felt like a work unknown. The ‘on a budget’ train ride was even harsh to the worst of people. The seats in my compartment had a rough, ragged covering full of stains, dirt and quite some holes which only made me think about whatever happened her before .The window was curtained with dust which asked me to brush it off with my hand to look out.

However, the view outside wasn’t worth one of the numbered napkins I carried along. Outside was deserted, dry and depressing plain with no sign of life on it: no plants, no animals and no humans. The weather outside, with the blazing heat of the sun, didn’t feel impossible to imagine regarding the fact that inside, it wasn’t only hot and humid but also VERY suffocating.

Dsh Tsh! Dsh Tsh! My ears were on the verge of bleeding, and my head on the verge of exploding. I let out another sigh of pain and agony along with my fellow passengers. The train made sure all of us regretted our five dollars and our plan to travel on a train.

Now, came the food. Stale bread that lay on an undesirable beige plate was topped with almost brown cabbage and little chunks of unseasoned chicken. Although the unappetizing detail made me hesitate to do so, I picked up the ‘sandwich’ and took a bite. The ‘boneless’ chicken chunks had little bones in them and I almost threw up. To down it, I took a gulp of the warm, bottled cola.

Everyone looked miserable, including the surrounding décor. The wallpaper on the walls was ripping off and the small table had almost broken. The bunk beds to the side were shaky and untrustworthy, sheets dirty and crumbled and mattresses as hard as rocks. 

The hostesses were unpleasant and ill-mannered. Their grumpy faces made any passenger with a question nervous enough to breakdown.

The train ride was definitely a train wreck. The interior was absolutely unwelcoming. Definitely would never recommend it to anyone.