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(5)

*Write a story that ends with the statement: I was mistaken to have thought the night would be like other peaceful nights*

In the rolling hills of a quiet countryside, where the stars often sparkled with a clarity that city dwellers could only dream of, there lay a small, sleepy village. This village, known for its tranquility and the harmonious lives of its inhabitants, was the kind of place where everyone knew each other’s names and stories. Among its residents was an old man named Elliott, a retired schoolteacher who had spent most of his life exploring the mysteries of literature rather than the unpredictability of the outside world.

Elliott lived in a quaint little cottage at the edge of the village, bordered by dense woods that whispered secrets with the wind. He had a routine that he followed religiously every day, which concluded with him sitting by his fireplace, reading a book, and occasionally glancing out the window to admire the moon’s serene glow.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden farewell to the day, Elliott felt a peculiar unease. It was a feeling he couldn’t quite place, an unsettling whisper in his heart that suggested this night might not be as peaceful as the ones before. He tried to dismiss the feeling, attributing it to the chilling breeze that had accompanied the sunset or perhaps the somber novel he had been reading.

As night enveloped the village, Elliott settled into his favorite armchair by the fireplace. The flames danced lively in the hearth, casting playful shadows around the room. Outside, the crickets sang their usual nocturnal hymns, and the wind carried the earthy scent of pine and damp soil. It all seemed perfectly normal, and Elliott chuckled quietly to himself for feeling uneasy earlier.

Hours ticked by, and the village clock tower chimed midnight. It was then that Elliott heard it—a soft, almost imperceptible rustling outside his cottage. Assuming it was just a fox or a stray cat, he didn’t pay much mind. But the rustling grew louder, closer, accompanied by faint whispers that seemed to echo through the trees.

Curiosity overcoming his initial hesitation, Elliott stood up and walked over to the window. Peering out, he saw nothing but the dense shadows that the moonlight couldn’t penetrate. The rustling stopped, and the whispers faded, leaving behind a heavy silence that seemed to weigh on the very air.

Feeling a chill creep up his spine, Elliott was about to turn away when he saw them—shadows moving within shadows, forms that were human yet not quite human, drifting towards his cottage. His heart raced as he realized that these were no ordinary village folk out for a late-night stroll, but something otherworldly, something he had only read about in the gothic tales of his youth.

He quickly retreated from the window, his mind racing for a logical explanation, but found none. The shadows crept closer, and the whispers grew into murmurs. Just as Elliott braced for the worst, the village’s old church bell began to chime, a sound that was not scheduled but deeply welcomed. The ringing seemed to pierce the night, and the shadows halted their advance.

As mysteriously as they had appeared, the shadows receded, melting back into the woods, leaving Elliott standing in his living room, heart pounding, and mind reeling. He spent the rest of the night by his window, watching and waiting, but the shadows did not return.

When dawn finally broke, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold, Elliott stepped outside his cottage, the events of the night replaying in his mind. The village was waking up, unaware of the darkness that had lurked at its edges. Elliott looked around at the peaceful morning unfolding before him, realizing how fragile this peace was. I was mistaken to have thought the night would be like other peaceful nights.

6a)

The writer's plans for his son was to be beat in his class.

(6b)

The writer's was dissatisfied with his son's performance because his son was not just trying hard enough

(6ci)

The writer had a broken home

(6cii)

The writer was maltreated by his step mother

(6d)

The writer was optimistic about life

(6ei)

The writer enrolled his children in one of the best school

(6eii)

The writer gave his children proper upbringing

(6fi)

Noun phrase

(6fii)

It modifies the verb phrase "had spared"

(6g)

Metaphor