Narrative essay prompt: based on the excerpt from The Lost Years of Merlin, write a narrative that tells what will most likely happen to the boy next, use what you know about the characters, settings, and events from excerpt to write your narrative.
Your essay: Answers the essay questions above by telling a story about "what happens to the boy next" with specific details from the reading with a logical progression of plot. maintains a consistent point of view and voice of the narrator from The Lost Years of Merlin by T. A. Barron. is at least 4-6 paragraphs long (as a general guideline). incorporates basic elements of fiction (consider: exposition, rising action, climax, falling action, resolution, characters, setting, and conflicts. incorporates dialogue at least 4 times. uses interesting vocabulary (choose strong verbs and adjectives. applies traits of writing as we practiced in LiveLesson: logical ideas, organization, voice, word choice, sentence fluency, and conventions.
(make it sound like a fifth grader)
article: The Lost Years of Merlin
by T. A. Barron
1 A dark wave rose on the rolling sea, and from it lifted a hand.
2 As the wave surged higher, reaching toward sky as smoky gray as itself,
the hand reached higher as well. A bracelet of foam swirled around the
wrist, while desperate fingers groped for something they could not find. It
was the hand of someone small. It was the hand of someone weak, too
weak to fight any longer.
3 It was the hand of a boy.
4 With a deep sucking sound, the wave began to crest, tilting steadily toward
the shore. For an instant it paused, hovering between ocean and land,
between the brooding Atlantic and the perilous, rock-bound coast of Wales,
known in those days as Gwynedd. Then the sucking swelled into a crashing
roar as the wave toppled over, hurling the boy’s limp body onto the black
rocks.
5 His head smacked against a stone, so violently that his skull would surely
have split open were it not for the thick mat of hair that covered it. He lay
completely still, except when the whoosh of air from the next wave tousled
his locks, black beneath the stains of blood.
6 A shabby seagull, seeing his motionless form, hopped over the jumble of
rocks for a closer look. Bending its beak toward the boy’s face, it tried to
pull a strand of sea kelp that was wrapped around his ear. The bird tugged
and twisted, squawking angrily.
7 At last the kelp broke free. Triumphantly, the bird jumped down to one of
the boy’s bare arms. Beneath the shreds of a brown tunic still clinging to
him, he seemed small, even for a boy of seven years. Yet something about
his face—the shape of his brow, perhaps, or the lines around his eyes—
seemed far older.
8 At that instant, he coughed, vomited seawater, and coughed again. With a
screech, the gull dropped the kelp and fluttered off to a stony perch.
9 The boy remained motionless for a moment. All he could taste was sand,
slime, and vomit. All he could feel was the painful throbbing of his head,
and the rocks jabbing into his shoulders. Then came another cough, another
gush of seawater. A halting, labored breath. Then a second breath, and a
third. Slowly, his slender hand clenched into a fist.
10 Waves surged and subsided, surged and subsided. For a long while, the
small candle flame of life in him wavered at the edge of darkness. Beneath
the throbbing, his mind seemed strangely empty. Almost as if he had lost a
piece of his very self. Or as if a kind of wall had been erected, cutting him
off from a portion of himself, leaving nothing but a lingering sense of fear.
11 His breathing slowed. His fist relaxed. He gasped, as if to cough again, but
instead fell still.
12 Cautiously, the seagull edged closer.
13 Then, from whatever quarter, a thin thread of energy began to move
through his body. Something inside him was not yet ready to die. He
stirred again, breathed again.
14 The gull froze.
15 He opened his eyes. Shivering with cold, he rolled to his side. Feeling the
rough sand in his mouth, he tried to spit, but succeeded only in making
himself gag from the rancid taste of kelp and brine.
16 With effort, he raised an arm and wiped his mouth with the tatters of
his tunic. Then he winced, feeling the raw lump on the back of his head.
Willing himself to sit up, he braced his elbow against a rock and pushed
himself upright.
17 He sat there, listening to the grinding and splashing sea. Beyond the
ceaseless pulsing of the waves, beyond the pounding inside his head, he
thought for an instant that he could hear something else—a voice, perhaps.
A voice from some other time, some other place, though he could not
remember where.
18 With a sudden jolt, he realized that he could not remember anything. Where he had come from. His mother. His father. His name. His own name. Hard as he tried, he could not remember. His own name. 19 “Who am I?”
20 Hearing his cry, the gull squawked and took flight.
21 Catching sight of his reflection in a pool of water, he paused to look. A
strange face, belonging to a boy he did not know, peered back at him. His
eyes, like his hair, were as black as coal, with scattered flecks of gold. His
ears, which were almost triangular and pointed at the top, seemed oddly
large for the rest of his face. Likewise, his brow rose high above his eyes.
Yet his nose looked narrow and slight, more a beak than a nose. Altogether,
his face did not seem to belong to itself.
22 He mustered his strength and rose to his feet. Head swirling, he braced
himself against a pinnacle of rock until the dizziness calmed.
23 His eyes roamed over the desolate coastline. Rocks upon rocks lay scattered
everywhere, making a harsh black barrier to the sea. The rocks parted in
only one place—and then only grudgingly—around the roots of an ancient
oak tree. Its gray bark peeling, the old oak faced the ocean with the
stance of centuries. There was a deep hollow in its trunk, gouged out by
fire ages ago. Age warped its every branch, twisting some into knots. Yet
it continued to stand, roots anchored, immutable against storm and sea.
Behind the oak stood a dark grove of younger trees, and behind them, high
cliffs loomed even darker.
24 Desperately, the boy searched the landscape for anything he might
recognize, anything that might coax his memory to return. He recognized
nothing.
25 He turned, despite the stinging salt spray, to the open sea. Waves rolled
and toppled, one after another after another. Nothing but endless gray
billows as far as he could see. He listened again for the mysterious voice,
but heard only the distant call of a kittiwake1 perched on the cliffs.
26 Had he come from somewhere out there, beyond the sea?
27 Vigorously, he rubbed his bare arms to stop the shivers. Spying a loose
clump of sea kelp on a rock, he picked it up. Once, he knew, this formless
mass of green had danced with its own graceful rhythm, before being
uprooted and cast adrift. Now it hung limp in his hand. He wondered why
he himself had been uprooted, and from where.
28 A low, moaning sound caught his ear. That voice again! It came from the
rocks beyond the old oak tree.
29 He lurched forward in the direction of the voice. For the first time he
noticed a dull ache between his shoulder blades. He could only assume that
his back, like his head, had slammed against the rocks. Yet the ache felt
somehow deeper, as if something beneath his shoulders had been torn away
long ago.
30 After several halting steps he made it to the ancient tree. He leaned
against its massive trunk, his heart pounding. Again he heard the
mysterious moaning. Again he set off.
31 Often his bare feet would slip on the wet rocks, pitching him sideways.
Stumbling along, his torn brown tunic flapping about his legs, he resembled
an ungainly water bird, picking his way across the shoreline. Yet all the
time he knew what he really was: a lone boy, with no name and no home.
The boy sat on the rocks, trying to shake off the dizziness that filled his head. He looked around at the desolate coastline, the harsh black rocks and the towering cliffs. He couldn't remember where he had come from or who he was. "Who am I?" he cried out in frustration.
The seagull squawked and flew away at the sound of his voice, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He caught sight of his reflection in a pool of water and saw a face that didn't seem to belong to him. His eyes were as black as coal, with scattered flecks of gold, and his ears were oddly large for the rest of his face.
He mustered his strength and rose to his feet, bracing himself against a rock until the dizziness passed. His eyes roamed over the landscape, searching for something familiar, but he recognized nothing. He turned to the open sea, listening for a mysterious voice, but heard only the call of a bird.
Rubbing his bare arms to stop the shivers, he picked up a clump of sea kelp and wondered why he had been uprooted and cast adrift. A moaning sound caught his ear, and he set off towards the rocks beyond the old oak tree. His bare feet slipped on the wet rocks as he stumbled along, feeling a deep ache between his shoulder blades.
As he reached the ancient tree and leaned against its trunk, he heard the moaning again. Determinedly, he set off once more, feeling like a lone boy with no name and no home. Despite the uncertainty that filled him, he knew that he had a strong will to survive and a determination to uncover the mystery of his past. And so, with a newfound sense of purpose, he continued on his journey to discover the truth about himself and his lost years.