Paragraph Writing by Maryam Aamir

I searched around the beach looking for my lost earring. It was dark. The only source of light was the luminescent light reflecting off the moon and bouncing off the sea. I searched the area I thought I had lost the earring, only to be disappointed. Trying to find my way back, I heard a sound coming not far from where I was. With intrigue taking full control of me, I ventured towards the source and found a cat trying to fish out its prey. I tried to stay quiet, hoping to admire it from a far but my feet came over a seashell, or a twig, or whatever that thing was. The cat looked at me for a second, it’s eyes glittering and wide, before running off. I looked on, as the cat became smaller and smaller and the ring from its bell became quieter until it vanished and could not be seen again.

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Home Alone. By Areesha Fatima

As usual, rushing my husband out of the house and sending my 6-year-old to preschool is how I begin my day. Nowadays, the little one has started kicking my belly with even more enthusiasm. So, you can say that I am mostly half asleep and not in the right state of mind these days.

I hurriedly slammed the door and made my way to the cozy couch on which stood a rotten, half eaten sandwich and my husband’s tie which he had been looking for since as long as I can remember.

There it was! I was again, like every day, home alone! To me this was freedom. It was and still is one of the best feelings. Pretty much like salvation or inner satisfaction.

Trust me, my husband and kids are amazing, cannot be more grateful! So please don’t think that I am fed up of them.  But it’s just that a little time off from the daily hectic routine is what brings me at peace.

It took some pills for my runny nose and nausea and smilingly, shut my eyes with pleasure.

Of course, someone or something had to interfere, right? Who could it be at this hour of the morning knocking at the door so rudely? Literally, all I thought about was who came and most importantly, why? “Entirely and successfully ruined my sleep.”, I said as a frown took over my innocent face. Could it be the milkman or the gardener, but why would they come again?

Getting up from the couch with the most distinct and powerful eye-roll and having no clue of what is happening and where I was headed to. I instantly grabbed the cloth on the couch which I thought was my scarf, but actually was the cape of my son’s superhero figure. I didn’t realize this until the following happened.

As soon as I opened the door, thinking that I was wrapping the scarf around my neck, I swung the cape so hard that the tough, metallic body quite energetically hit the eye of the person at the door. And there you see, it was my husband who now had a well-blended black-eye! How great is that?

Now, you may wonder why he came back. Obviously, the same tie on the couch was what he needed and now I am just curious about how the explanation to this incident will be given to his boss. No one knows, I am sure he doesn’t know either.

So, that my friends, is just a regular day of me at home all alone which also reminds me that the superhero figures and the rest of the mess at home needs to be cleaned up right away!

Paragraph writing. By Syed Arbaaz Ahamad

It was a hot summer day, my cat and I went to the beach. I could see the bright golden sand which was dazzled in sunlight making the sand sparkle like a thousand mini jewels. I could see the different sizes and shapes of the seashells scattered across the sand. I could smell salt water and the distinct smell of fish. There were many shops at the beach, where they sold many different items from a silver little bell to a pure diamond earring. The atmosphere of the beach felt peaceful and relaxing.

Sort Paragraph Writing. By Ahmad Raja

Mama and papa had left the house for quite a while now. 

I don’t know where they went, but I had been told by my guardian; Otis, that they are with the angles, and the angles are taking great care of them.

But my class fellows at school say that I am never going to meet mama and papa again, they make me sad.

There are some blocks of concrete In front of the cathedral which the elders call ‘tombstones’. They are standing upright and they have mama and papa’s names on them, so whenever I miss mama and papa, Otis takes me there and tells me to say anything I want to tell mama and papa here because they can hear me from there, maybe there is a phone in the concrete tombstones. I must say, technology has advanced quite a lot.

Today, it’s been a year that mama and papa are not home, and Otis made me wear a black coat over a white shirt with a red bow tie and a black pant with shiny black shoes.

He was taking me to the cathedral and as we neared, the sound of the choir became louder and louder.

As we were about to enter, the iron bar windows of the cathedral were entangled by ivy climbing up the walls and I thought, what if the windows die by the strangling, but Otis said that iron is very strong unlike humans and cannot be strangled by such weak plants.

Otis made me stand on a cross on the ground and told me that I have become a big boy now and that I should know the truth now.

I couldn’t wait what Otis had to tell me, the excitement made adrenaline rush through my veins.

“I am really sorry for your loss Owen and I am really sorry that I have to tell you this, but you have to know or else it could cause problems later on. Mama and papa died in a car crash last year….” Said Otis in an emotional and heartbreaking voice.

All the adrenaline had vanished, my sight became blurry, I fell down by this shock and my eyes were flooded by tears. I had realised that I am a big boy now.

Home Alone. By Minahil Malik

My beauty sleep getting interrupted for the sixth time this week. Staring at that ball of fire, crackling with light and  giving it a pep talk on why it keeps on interrupting my sleep but it never seems to listen or respond back. Maybe, it doesn’t speak my language; whatever the case is it needs to stop, it’s seriously starting to piss me off at this point.

Stretching my paws and taking a big yawn, I stepped out of my castle and retrieved down stairs in search of my human, which by the way, I might add, keeps on calling me Olive. My name is Mitch, and we’ve had this argument many times but she never seems to cope up so, I let her call me “Oliver”. Snapping my neck left to right I found no signs of her, even her scent wasn’t there. 

“Human!” I meowed. “Human!” I meowed again. Gosh! Where is that girl? I swear if there’s no food in my bowl I’m turning this place upside down. Searching the whole house for the servant that works for me, it was time for me to take control of this household and for things to go my way. 

Jumping on the counter and deliberately knocking things over; I looked at the broken glass scattered all over the place. “Oops”, I said to myself. I wonder how that happened.

Twitching up my nose, the smell of good old tuna started filling up my nose and soon enough, I was using my paws to open up this damn cupboard and after working years on it, the old thing opened but caused all the tuna cans to drop all over the floor. It was like a tuna swimming pool! 

Looking at the shelf and the floor back and forth,”well, more for me!” I exclaimed to myself. I mean what’s the worst that can happen? She can’t return me back to the shelter, can she?!

Q) How has the writer used used style and language to convey meaning? By Amaar Ali

Q) Explain how Barack Obama presents his experience of seeing his father through the eyes of his classmates. By Ali Ul Qudur

The title of this passage is, ‘Barack Obama’s Autobiography’. This title immediately shows the reader that this text is an account written by Barack Obama himself in the form of an autobiography.

The structure of this autobiography comprises mostly short paragraphs with five lines or less and the writer has used many quotations throughout the autobiography. An example could be of “My grandfather, see, he’s a chief”. This entertains the reader and makes them believe the writer’s point as this is a type of technique which makes the reader think that the incidents in the passage were not fabricated. Also in the sentence structure, the writer has used a variety of sentence structures. The most prominent ones are simple and compound sentences like ‘As the words tumbled out of my mouth, and I felt the boys readjust to me…’. This shows the reader that the writer is narrating an incident and has summarised it into a long sentence. This creates an effect as the reader understands the writer’s point. Also, the writer has organised the autobiography in such a way that the reader enjoys reading it as the order of incidents is very convincing.

Secondly, the purpose of this passage is to inform the reader and so that the reader is aware of the challenges in Barack Obama’s life. Apart from the challenges, in the end, he is also proud as his father was called to his school to explain the life of people in Kenya, Africa. However, this is also entertaining as the writer mentions that his father explained Kenya very beautifully. The writer writes ‘ describing the deep gash in the earth where mankind had first appeared’. This is entertaining and informative at the same time because the reader gets to understand the incidents which took place in Obama’s life and is entertained by how the writer has beautifully described the incident.

Furthermore, the language is slightly formal but colourful as the writer uses words like      ‘deep gash’ to describe the soil and ‘ thick oak desk’ which also describes a desk which may have been ordinary. It is slightly informal as there are a lot of quotations which are casual conversations between the friends. An example could be of ‘ cause the tribe is full of warriors’. The writer could have fabricated the autobiography by switching ‘ cause’ with ‘ because’ but he did not which is very interesting and grabs the reader’s attention. This does not make the passage boring.

Moreover, the Style of this passage is narrative as the writer explains the incidents of a day when his father was called. An example can be of the quotations which are generously used in the passage and when the writer writes about when his father came up and described the challenges Kenyans faced and their lifestyle. This results in the reader to be more engaged and develops interest as Obama is an influential figure. So, narrating incidents with quotations is a very convincing technique.

Moving on, the writer has also used many figures of Speech like ‘Words tumbled out of my mouth’ which is a personification and could be an idiom as it doesn’t make sense. Since this gives an inanimate object of human characteristics, it engages the reader and entertains him. This makes the reader realise that the passage is not bland and that he would like to carry on reading.

Also, This passage has incorporated many rhetorical questions like ‘What about after that?’ and ‘I mean, will you go back and be a prince?’. Even Though these questions are not being asked by the writer to the audience, it still is very effective as the writer can fully convey his message and his thoughts later on by answering them. Also, the reader develops interest as they build up curiosity and want to get the respective answers.

Continuing, the writer has used pathos and has emotionally engaged the writer as he wants the reader to be affected by what he says and wants the reader to feel the author’s feelings. He says ‘ I couldn’t imagine worse news’, ‘i spent that night…trying to suppress thoughts of the inevitable’ and ‘ Each time I remembered, my body squirmed’. This entertains the reader as he gets to understand the writer’s feelings at that specific moment in time. Many writers may also emotionally relate.

In conclusion, the writer has successfully narrated the incidents of his life in the form of an autobiography and has still managed to entertain the reader by using many techniques and colourful words which entertain the reader and make him greedy to read more.

Paragraph Writing. By Ahmad Raja

Everyone is a dreamer.

An actor is a dreamer, a dreamer who dreams to be someone he is not but that dream makes him take a sheet over the reality that he is. A creator, also a dreamer, a dreamer who dreams of people, of situations, of things, of world’s, of fiction.Same with a swimmer. He doesn’t not think, he dreams of winning every competition and turns the dough to bread. A dough which is meant to be heated just right, or else the pressures and stress would burn him alive. One not heated by the fire would always be an immature dreamer, but the one heated just right, would make dreams come true.

Why I came to School. By Hamid Irfan

It was a stone cold February morning. My fantasy filled dreams were interrupted by my alarm clock ringing louder than an air-raid siren. I drowsily turned it off and proceeded to climb out of bed. As soon as my toes touched the freezing cold floor, I jumped back into bed, wrapped myself up in my blanket and vowed not to get out again.         

My peaceful sleep was once again interrupted but this time, it was not by an alarm clock but instead the sound of my mom storming into the room. I could tell by the look on her face that she wasn’t in a particularly pleasant mood. She gave me a never-ending lecture on being lazy and when I glanced at the clock, I jumped out of my socks when I saw that it was 7:45 AM. I begged my mother to let me stay home and attend online school instead but she would not hear of it.         

I presented my mother with an entire speech on the dangers of driving fast when one is in a hurry and the advantages of being able to sit in front of my laptop in my bed and attend classes while staying happy and warm, but the one single word she uttered which was dreaded by every child extinguished the spark of hope in my heart. All she said was “NO!” and then walked away from the room. I heard her saying “If you’re not downstairs in the next two minutes then there will be no breakfast for you.”         

The thought of a warm ‘Aloo Paratha’ made my eyes light up and I quickly got dressed and glided down the stairs, but only to realise that the warm ‘Aloo Paratha’ had been replaced by a soggy omelette and a glass of milk.           Sitting in the car, the only thought that came to my mind was, “Why did I come to school?” We could get the same education online, eat luxury meals for breakfast and stay in our pyjamas all day.” These thoughts did not ease my despair and all I could do was remorse in my own sadness.

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Q. Describe (a moment of) madness. By Tooba Hashmi

I heard a scream.
A scream so chilling, it was like music to my ears. It was the sound of water trickling down a stream. It was the sound of birds chirping early in the morning. It was the sound of the pages of your favorite book flipping as you read on. It was peace. It was affection. It was beauty. 
A low rumble of laughter escaped my own throat as I thought about the irony, and that’s when I opened my eyes. 
Children playing, running around, giggling, having not a care in the world was what I was met by. They sprinted across a field of lush green grass, which was almost blinding because of its vibrance. The ocean, which was apparently the sky, spread out behind them, threatening to swallow them whole while tricking them by it’s faux sense of security.
Then a new air reached my nose. No, it was a smell. Death. It was the smell of death. It was the smell of rotting flesh. It was the smell of fear. 
Blood.
Yes, it was blood.
And surely, when I looked back, the small balls of joy were covered, rather dripping, in a crimson red substance. Little purple spots littered their tiny bodies, wounds as some would call them, while rather long openings exposing their striking pink flesh, with a soothing white of bone to complement the colour scheme, hung out. 
Tears dripped down their soft, flushed cheeks, as they still chuckled, but the turmoil could be seen in their lovely, round eyes, as they desperately searched for an escape. 
I could almost taste their pain. I chewed on it. I crunched their pleas for help between my teeth. I swallowed their innocence. I digested any hope they had left. 
And so, came forth the feeling. That indescribable sensation that spread through my body. 
It was madness.
And madness was magnificent. Madness was fulfilling. Madness was satisfaction. Madness was content. Madness was bliss. 
Drunk on this delight, I blinked again, only to be greeted by the dreary walls of my cell.