Shakespeare's Words version 3.0 launches today
8 years ago
JJC's Year Eight short stories (1)
We have been reading a wide range of short stories recently and thinking about the way they are constructed. Here are some examples of original writing by the class. The first is by Jake Viner:
Marco P. Capello was born to be a baker. His father was a baker, his grandfather was a baker and his great grandfather was a baker. There was just one problem. Marco couldn’t bake. In fact he rapidly going out of business and bringing shame upon his baking family.
Marco, with a heavy heart and a tragic expression, lifted his last loaf out of his oven. Like all his other efforts, this one was more closely related to a pancake. He put the failed loaf under his arm and slowly trudged out of the bakery. Marco headed towards the bank, where he would admit to the bank manager that there would be no more money coming from him.
As he made his way through the streets of Rome, people greeted him cheerfully. Marco was a popular chap, even though he was a dreadful baker. But all the jolly smiles and friendly words did nothing to lift his gloom.
Fabio Materazzi was a green grocer, but he mainly sold tomatoes. He was on his way to the Piazza Navona Market where he sold his produce. Fabio was particularly happy today because of his tomatoes; they were the best he had seen in years! Juicy, plump and so shiny you could use them as a pocket mirror. As he trundled along with his old horse and cart, which was overflowing with his prize tomatoes, he grinned at the thought of all the money he would make from his superior produce.
Roberto Ludovisi was known as “ The Mozzarella Man” in his small village Santa Maria de Costella, which was just outside Rome. Once a week he would travel in style to the Capital with his magnificent mozzarella to sell at the Navona Market. Roberto had become so successful with his delicious mozzarella that he changed his horse and cart for a fine coach and four.
He packed the mozzarella up into twenty-seven wicker baskets, certain that he would sell every one of them. The precious cheese travelled with Roberto inside the coach and people said that he treated it better and cared for it more than he did for his children. This was untrue, although Roberto was certainly proud of his famous mozzarella.
Francesca Beffeto was always the first shopper at the Navona Market, she was a canny shopper with many years experience. No one dared to beat Francesca to the top produce. Every Saturday she got up at six in the morning and set off to the market. She arrived even before some of the sellers arrived. This morning she already had a delicious bag of green olives, bought from Olivia Botocelli who sold the best olives in the business. Francesca stood in the shade of an orange tree, sipping a cappuccino and waiting for Mr. Mozzarella. She felt very content.
Stefano Bruni’s salami stall was the only place in Rome where you could buy ready-sliced quality salami, instead of the thick pieces that you have to cut yourself. Because of this, Stefano charged three times more money than the average salami seller, so he was often worried about how many customers he was getting. That’s why he was delighted to see Francesca Beffeto, the most respected woman in the piazza, walk towards him. If Francesca was buying his salami, others would follow.
Marco, still clutching his sad, flat loaf, had nearly reached the bank and was vacantly staring at the mayhem of the Navona market, passing stalls with mountains of warm loaves of bread, glossy aubergines and towers of salami. Marco, wrapped in gloom, was entirely oblivious of the small patch of broken cobbles that made the ground uneven at his feet. He stumbled, and this stumble became a trip and this trip became a spectacular fall. His arms flung out before him. The flat loaf sailed through the air like an edible Frisbee and landed in the road. Francesca, who was a kind woman, immediately rushed to Marco’s aid, running across the piazza with a heavy bag of olives and salami.
At this moment, Fabio Materazzi, with his cart load of ripe tomatoes, rumbled into the piazza to find a bewildered man sprawled on the ground and a pathetic flat loaf beside him. Fabio’s horse, startled by this peculiar and alarming scene, stopped dead in his tracks. This in turn terrified the four horses pulling the grand coach of the mozzarella man, who happened to arrive just after Fabio. Fabio’s horse reared up and triggered a remarkable chain of events. Carts jerking, tomatoes flying, horses rearing, mozzarella soaring. Poor Francesca, who had only wanted to be helpful, slipped on a squashed tomato and landed with a thump. Olives sailing, salami scattering, tomatoes squishing and mozzarella landing.
The most remarkable event of all was that some of this mélange ended up on Marco’s flat loaf in this order: tomatoes, mozzarella, salami and then olives.
Marco, dazed and a little bruised, got to his feet and stared at this spectacular accident on the floor. To the crowd of onlookers it looked like a mess, but Marco had an ingenious brainwave. Without saying a word he scooped up the loaf with all its toppings and ran out of the piazza, heading towards the bakery. When Marco got there, after dodging many bicycles and puzzled shoppers, he opened the large oven door and popped in the flat loaf. Marco had to ensure that he didn’t burn it and so he watched it for five minutes until it was ready to take out. He was over the moon to see that his sad flat loaf had transformed into something that looked utterly delicious.
Marco quickly picked up his creation and raced back to the piazza where Fabio, Roberto, Francesca and Stefano were still brushing themselves off. When Marco arrived in the market place they all looked at him angrily, but Marco just beamed at them.
“What have you got to smile about?” growled Fabio.
“Well, just try this,” said Marco, still grinning.
He cut six triangles, one for himself, one for Fabio, one for Roberto, one for Francesca, one for Stefano and one for Olivia Botocelli at the olive stall. Roberto’s eyes lit up with delight as he bit into the warm tomato sauce, the melted mozzarella, the spicy salami and the salty olives that rested on a crunchy bread base.
“It’s amazing,” exclaimed Francesca. “The best thing I’ve EVER tasted.”
“What’s it called?” asked Stefano.
“I haven’t thought about that yet,” Marco said.
“Name it after yourself……” said Roberto.
“Marco?” said Marco.
“No, that won’t do. What’s your middle name,” asked Francesca.
“It’s quite strange. It’s……….. Pizza,” Marco said, a little embarrassed.
“Then call it Pizza!” said Francesca.
“And please go and make some more,” said Olivia.
Marco did make some more, in fact he spent the rest of his life making pizza, and became a very wealthy man. So Marco didn’t bring shame to his family, he brought great success!
Arrivederci!
