Writing and Art

Wire Pony by Deborah Butterfield

Target: to manipulate the emotions of my reader

George Y5

Eliminated. Excluded. Forlorn. As my clotted, wiry fur rots away, I struggle to break free from a thick, tangled rope. My tail is stuck together with mud, I'm unable to flick the flies. Desperately, I turn my head to look for food.

I can't exercise or even walk because this rope is wrapped around my legs. I beg for rain to fill up my filthy bucket.My star is hidden with muck from my mane. Once I was a star - the star of my owner - a star of beauty.

Wait: is that a splash? Suddenly, someone has come into my muddy field with a fresh, clean bucket of water. She gave me carrots and apples; she is the path to glory! gently, she lifted off the tight, brown rope from my ankles. I am free. I am free from this cage. I am in the world again.

James Y5

The devil was my best friend. all the worst things happened to me. Hair host, ,y tail cut off and blood drizzling off me because of the  ... war. The bullets would soar through the air, grenades would explode and my master, my friend, my leader had fallen from my back.

I try to listen through the wind ... nothing. How can I not hear? Why is my life so hard to live? I stand there, feeling remorseful. The field looked as if it was impenetrable because no one had ever been here. I stay in the trenches, trapped in the battlefield. I slump down into the mud.

I wait. All day. All night. Until he comes! My leader. He pulls me up. He runs like an Olympian, he pulls me away for the field. I sense him feeling my chest, my legs, my eyes. The impossible is possible! My leader is alive.

My heart grows like a poppy in the mud. we are alive again!