COW Assessment:

Stimulus: “if you still hate the word, it is not the word that is important. It’s the idea and the
ambition behind it…”.

The command was passed down from one like-minded white man in an exorbitant suit to another.
The power-hungry men of the nation puppeteered their way into our lives. Whispering sweet
nothings of victory and patriotism for the protection of our land we called home. Sending our
husbands, sons and parents alike blindly into combat left our all-mighty leaders unable to take
responsibility for the blood on their hands. Making each of them a number in a draw, giving them
the opportunity to bask in the glory of dying for their country. Dehumanising each of them to mask
the pain in loss. Feeding us lies and piling excuses on top of each other, stacking them high enough
that our problems would be out of reach, an obstacle to overcome at a later date. That date had
long passed. The data split instant decision was made.

The piercing white flash was strong enough to send you blind. They say it was ten times brighter
than the sun and that the blast had burst their eardrums just in time to silence the screams. I recall
putting my hand out in front of me in search of some familiar surroundings. The outline where the
sky would meet the sea had blended, shades of grey brushstrokes seamlessly joined them together.
Hundreds of thousands died on impact and what followed was a toxic salt in the wound, kicking us
while we were already 6ft down. Deliriously dizzy radiation sickness and the pulverising debris had
followed shortly after. Some people were more fortunate than others. The lucky few found security
and comfort within their communities as they pursued the restoration of society. Leaving others
who were less fortunate like me to pick up the pieces and to start again, unaccompanied.

The apartment complex on the corner of 23rd and 2nd had a pungent odour of disinfectant, in
attempts to conceal the underlying scent of sewage which dampened any porous material in its
path. The underground parking garage is dimly lit, with fading yellow parallel lines and dirty water
dripping from cracks in the ceiling, reminiscent of the once lively city. An unfamiliar battered Honda
Civic resides alone on the far left of the lot, its side mirror is duct-taped into place. The elevator had
a backup power generator allowing for many to find shelter within the walls of the building. Notably
no one of any interest to me. The buttons for the 2nd and 4th floors tended to buzz and stick when
you pressed them. But you’d only realise it if you were paying attention. The built-in speaker rang at
a murmured volume cycling through its ads which had become obsolete as the year’s past. As they
played, I moved my lips along with the vowels and consents as the soft-spoken women announced
that “if you still hate the word, it is not the word that is important. It’s the idea and the ambition
behind it…”. I remember the first time that her speech had aired. I was sitting in a tucked-away
corner in my family home. The pages of my book were crisp and warm by the illuminating light of the
sun rays peeking through the kitchen blinds. Oh how I miss the vitamin D and the tan it brought to
my otherwise icy complexion. She had this overwhelming sense of purpose in her voice but not a
note of desperation. You could feel her passion exuding from her body. Like she had a sixth sense or
there had been a mysterious voice informing her of the war that would follow and the endless
winter which we would be met with.

The creaking of the shaft as the elevator came to a halt was enough to bring my attention back to
the doors as they opened. There was a notable shift in temperature as I approached my room. The
hinge of the door was hanging by a thread. The wooden doorframe had split like diverging
boundaries. Allowing anyone to see in through the gap formed by the blunt force inflicted upon it.
Hesitantly passing over the threshold, woodchips which were scattered on the floor attached to the
soles of my boots. As I pass through each room of the apartment, it’s as if I missed them by a hair.
Entering one room as though they had just exited. A sickening game of cat and mouse causing my
stomach to churn. They had been here before. How else would they know their way around the
place? Following the floor plan through a constant pursuit. As I retrace over my step I’m stopped
dead in my tracks. The wall unit cabinet hangs open seemingly normal to the oblivious eye. All the
sentimental knickknacks which weren’t of any materialistic value to me had been swiped from the
shelves. On the far back wall of the kitchenette, a window is ajar allowing the blistering breeze to fill
each space. Chills creep down my spine as the hairs on the back of my neck raise. Soup and other
tins with long shelve lives - which I had accumulated over time - had been taken, though a few
remain. The laundry wafting a concoction of detergent and fabric softener with the machine still
damp from use. As I walk back through to the living room to unwind from such a strange visit there
is a note duct-taped to the back of the door. Missing it in the haste of the events which had
unfolded. When peeling it off I’m reminded of the battered car left unnoticed in the parking garage,
the Honda Civic with a taped up side mirror.

COW Reflection:

Throughout the ‘Craft of Writing’ module this term, I was able to employ the skills I developed
during last years ‘Reading to Write’ module and strengthen my knowledge and confidence as a
writer. Being given the chance to write creatively once again it allowed me to extend my
understanding of language and stylistic choices, especially in regard to setting and tone. By having
the chance to examine other authors bodies of work it allowed me to develop my understanding of
artistic visions and their ability to share and evoke emotion through their storytelling. These ideals
being used within my piece as it follows the protagonist from a first-person perspective through a
nuclear winter as well as reflecting on their life before the war and its lasting effects. This being the
bases for the stimulus as the ‘word’ which is referenced is the juxtaposing concepts of war and
peace. This created a significant level of depth to my story as it was influenced by the core text we
studied in class.

Specifically, ‘The Pedestrian’ by Ray Bradbury as its focus on embedding the overall mood and
atmosphere of the piece through its precise word choices and figurative language techniques. This
allowed the audience to immerse themselves in the setting and form their own understanding of the
characters and the world they live in. When employing this in my piece I was able to use my
understanding of connotative and figurative language to set the scene by showing not telling the
audience of the nuclear event and the aftermath of its effects. As the use of sensory imagery was
utilized heavily creating a stimulating progression of events, which allowed the audience to visualise
an environment in which they have never encountered. For instances, the opening line of the second
paragraph depicts the effects of the nuclear missile’s blast stating that “The piercing white flash was
strong enough to send you blind. they say it was ten times brighter than the sun and that the blast
had burst their eardrums just in time to silence the screams.” Using these auditory and visually
stimulating words the reader can imagine what is happening in the scene without having to explicitly
state what had occurred.

The overall tone of the narrative was developed based on the ‘Dreamers’ by Melissa Lucashenko as
the story consists of large moments of reflection as it switches through an array of time periods. This
reflective tone is very prominent within my piece as the main protagonists is reminisces of a time
that was mundane and normal. However, this is soon lost as her old life becomes a distant memory.
Creating anger in her thoughts as she deals with the pain of loss. Though reflection is not the only
tonal element within my piece. As it shifts depending on what the protagonist is experiencing.
Whether that be the tension and confusion when she finds her apartment door broken into or the
longing melancholy feelings she expresses when discussing her family home and her life before the
war.

Furthermore, the moving works by Lucashenko and Bradbury both had elements of foreshadowing.
Which indicated to the reader that something terrible was going to happen through the progression
of the story. This technique is a pivotal component to the conclusion of my piece. As the “unfamiliar
battered Honda Civic” which was in the parking garage of the apartment complex was owned by the
person who broke into the protagonist’s room. The description of the car as being unfamiliar in the
empty garage builds dramatic tension and in doing so leaves the reader in suspense. Thus, building
intrigue leaving the audience wanting more. This element driving the dramatic action seen in both
core texts studied in this unit and is implemented in my work.

As a result of studying such a wide range of complex texts, I was able to further develop my skills in
drawing out what inspired me and apply that to my writing. By sharing my story with others and the
draft process it was possible for me to produce a piece which successfully covered the criteria. As I
used a multitude of stylistic and language techniques which enhance my writing and allowed me to
produce something I am proud of.