good luck with your sister 0.0
and those stories are awesome ;0;
The fire cat
English oral presentation story #1
Our neighbourhood had many cats, but none of them were like this one. Many described him to be “the fire cat” but it wasn’t only because of his curious and determined personality, but because of his flame coloured coat and his dark green eyes. He was known to be the neighbourhood cat… we barley saw him; he just roamed around the street scratching at our doors for food. He was always looking for a fight and getting in to trouble, getting other cats injured. Quite often he’d come into our backyard and stare at the fish in the pond for a while; he never seemed to think about catching them though… none of my family understood why. He just sat there; his golden fur shimmering as the wind gently brushed it over.
We couldn’t understand the cat. He had so much personality but seemed so different. My sister and I would sometimes go outside and tease him with a stick and get him to chase us down the street. Even for some people who were going for their ‘early morning walks’ the cat would follow them down the street.
Every weekend our family would go outside and play footy with the kids next door. Fire cat’s olive green eyes piercing directly at us, slightly tilting his head. Yes, we loved our cat, everyone did. How couldn’t they? He was so interesting. But there was just one thing that was weird about him. Like many cats, he hated water. He would only drink it if there were a tap running and he could just himself close enough without getting wet. Yes, every cat hated the water… not as much as this cat. We had no idea why. But one day it was raining, I peeked out side we window. I was very shocked to see smoke when It was raining. I stayed inside waiting for the rain to stop. It did.
2 weeks now and we haven’t seen or heard anything about the “fire cat.” Where could he have gone?
English oral presentation story #2
I lived on a farm with acers of land. In one of the large paddocks we had a tree house. The small cabin carried in the branches of a large oak tree. It’s beautiful green leaves covering the ground below. One thing stood out from everything on this tree. One of the branches, formed like an elephant’s trunk.
The children from my school would come over to my house and we’d climb the large oak and spend hours in the cabin. But we struggled to climb the tree. There we no ladders, ropes or hanging bark that we could put our feet on. The thing that got us up into the tree was the elephant’s trunk. It lifted us up into the tree house. For the many weeks we spent our free time after school in the tree house. The thick branch lifting us up into the cabin.
It was Friday. We were all tired and dragged out feet along the paddock along with our bags filled with delicious snacks and homework. We eventually reach the tree house. But we didn’t go up into the cabin. We just stood there, confused and depressed as we glared up at the tree. The tree, trashed and broken. Our elephant trunk ripped from the rest of our precious oak on the ground. we hear a few voices from behind us heading further away from the tree. We stare back to see a few older teens with an axe in their hand walking off into the distance.
3rd oral presentation
Orange flames, the smoke and glowing ash heading through the air. It’s a Saturday, we had been told to organise an evacuation plan. The heat, choking me. My mother was standing in the backyard watching the flames move closer and closer. It had now reached the suburb across from us. We had helicopters and planes from every area flying above our heads dumping water across the hills.
It had been days now since the devastating flames that had taken so many lives. The many people who were forced to evacuate, met at our local community centre. The mothers holding their kids in blankets, in shock. Hundreds of people had lost their homes and were unable to move back to the mountains. Their faces pale, as if they had seen a ghost; many of them sobbing into their pillows. My mother and I headed down to the community centre, talking to the now homeless. They had lost their money, their cars, their valuables and even for some… their family. I had lost the home I had been raised in, but we moved out 3 years before the fires.
Our community wanted to do something… more; we gave them a place to stay, but nothing else. The community didn’t want to supply food for them as the budget for that would cost over a grand. It may sound weird, but our street organised to make beanies for them. We knitted with love and hope and spent hours a day on them. After we completed the beanies, we would hand them to the homeless.
A few days later we had heard the terrifying news that the homeless had disappeared. My mother had just completed a beanie. She put it on to check the fitting. She had disappeared. Confused and scared, I picked up one she had knitted previously and slipped it over my head.
I find myself in a forest. My mother in the distance… all the homeless here too. These beanies? They took us back to before the fires? Is that even possible? I see houses and so many crying people returning to their… well, what were their dead relatives. I smile and take off the beanie, and return home.