• What can you see?
  • How would you describe the thing at the top of the hill? Does the adjective ‘big’ paint the right picture? What is it doing? Think of some verb + adverb pairs (e.g. teetering ominously).
  • Where did it come from?
  • Have the people in the village seen the rock sphere?
  • What might they be thinking/saying/doing? Role play the scene in the village – consider your character and how they would react (policeman, farmer, child, journalist/reporter, priest…).
  • What do you think is going to happen next?
  • What does ‘imminent’ mean? Why do you think this image has that title? Does it suit the picture?

Credit: Erik Johansson

  • Lola and Rose
    Posted at 15:20h, 23 January Reply

    I live in this village. 50 years now. When I was a boy my mother would tell me stories about the rock up on the hill. Every night it would be different. Then I would go to to school the next day and tell all my friends, they would never believe me. They all thought it was myths, fairytales, lies, but I knew there was something magical about this, there was something telling me that these rocks upon the hill weren’t myths; weren’t fairytales; weren’t lies. Until one day…
    Thursday 31st September 1902
    I’m 20 today, the special one. My mother today, told me the rock story again, but this time, I started to think like my old friends. The rocks are myths, they are fairytales, they are lies, I just dont know what got into my head when I was little. But honestly, my mums always been the most truthful person. She might be right, wait, no no no, she can’t be, but then again, my mother’s never told a lie, never in her life, she says.
    Friday 1st October 1902
    Today I woke up and felt alright. I got out of my bed and peared out the window. There they were, the hills. The ones that supposedly had the magical rocks on. I went downstairs for breakfast and mother wasn’t there, nor was father. My mother left a note to say she was at work and ,as I cleaned the pots, I saw father farming out back. It was quiet, I sort of like it. Until I heard an enormous rumble. I immediately thought of the rocks again, I don’t know why. It was probably fathers truck playing up again. Something strange was going on, I didn’t like it. My father rushed in, I thought he was just coming to fill his watering can up, but no. He held me tight and turned me around. He looked deeply into my soul. ‘The rocks, my love, there released, there coming, we have to warn everyone…’
    Saturday 2 October 1902
    Sorry, I had to leave, I had to. It’s early in the morning, but the air is still humid, although I’m halfway up a mountain. I haven’t climbed this one yet, it was always blocked off. It reminded me of when my friends and I would trek up hills every weekend. I need to go, I need to get to the top before dawn breaks…
    They were real, they were, they were real…

    • Mrs. Smalley
      Posted at 19:08h, 23 January Reply

      Well done, girls! Another fantastic piece of writing. I’m so proud of you!

      Mrs. Smalley 👏👏👏

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