A* Description: Wake by Kalli Y for IGCSE First Language English
Sarah O'Rourke - Feb 02, 2026
Video Lesson
Wake by Kalli Y
I wake to the pounding of the sea.
Water gushes relentlessly through every crack and crevice of the hastily built wooden shack where I had foolishly chosen to settle for the night, daring to engulf the furnishings dappling the room, however pitifully tumbled down they were. Cursing myself for lingering on terrain close to the shore, I cringe in horror as torrents churn, frothing and foaming, preying on all things unfortunate enough to be caught within its grasp. Envious waves crash again and again onto the trembling nightstand, onto the chipped chairs: the only equipment this desolate place could bear to tolerate. Unable to withstand the cruel pummeling of boundless waters, the aged structures crumble, succumbing to the tide of time, alas. Following their destruction, the turbulent surface becomes riddled with flouncing shards.
In the depths of night, only the winter moon bears witness to what is lost. Trapped within the starless sky eons away, she mourns. Her tears trickle onto Earth, and the decayed rooftop of the battered shack weeps moonshine. The lasting glint of the moon becomes the only shelter from the storm.
Outside, the tempest howls like a feral beast, snapping teeth and whirling claws wreaking havoc on the undergrowth that had sought to lay claim to the untamed landscape. Sturdy trees wrestle hopelessly with the bitter wind and fail, a jagged line coursing through their frames as they break, trunks thudding against the drowning earth. Taunting the brittle branches that had rustled at the dawn of a breeze, the storm toys with them savagely, whipping them violently in the air and hurtling them towards the trembling shack where they splinter in relief, leaking fresh green sap that stains the wood a stale brown.
The walls around me shake uncontrollably. I shake uncontrollably. No longer able to tell sweat from water, screams from the storm. A metallic shrill pierces through the chaos as the only warning, and mere seconds later the door detaches itself from rusted hinges and barrels into the unknown with an unearthly cry. The storm torments. The shack shifts and groans, close to destruction. Somehow, I manage to stumble outside despite the rushing tide, despite my soaked clothes, despite the rancid scent of fear permeating every wall and corner. Water engulfs me, and the last thing I see is the darkness rising.
I wake to a beautiful day.
The birds chirp the sweetest of melodies, fluttering colorful wings against the clear sky. Flowers adorn the land that stretches to the horizon, intoxicating fragrances luring critters from their burrows. Meanwhile warming the landscape are radiant golden beams that dance and flicker, casting honeyed glows.
Yet monsters leave horrors in their wake.
Vivid plumages wither to ash as the songbirds transform into devouring crows. Spiraling in the air, unable to find roost, they croak dirges, pain echoing in every frame. The flowers litter the ground like diamonds. Dazzling yet twisted. Dazzling yet marred. Dazzling yet mutilated. Unnatural. Entombed within twigs and leaves and fractured trees are the drained corpses of animals luckless enough to have ventured out last night. Small mouths caught in an eternal shriek, they lie still, sightless eyes staring upwards, fur plastering their ice-cold bodies as if trying to preserve a fracture of warmth. The sun sees all but burns and blazes as always, obstructing the rising mist from shrouding the dead. And so, they just lie there, reeking of ruin.
In the midst of all is a patch of land, heaps of wood fragments strewn across it. The site where the shack once stood. Water still pools around the pale and jagged wooden pieces: a reminder of the battle last night, and what was now gone. Strangely, I feel not a tinge of sadness. As had I kept my weary bones and sun-beaten skin safe through seasons of uncertainty, the simple shack had held through scorching summers and brutal winters, eternal months and fleeting years. Peace was long overdue.
Trembling with effort, I manage to hoist myself into a standing position. Left behind, soaking the earth, is the broken bloodied form of a person. My shoes are long gone, trapped somewhere beneath the tangled mess of debris. I stagger forward, and pieces of washed-up rocks from the nearby beach cling to my feet. Rough and uneven, their serrated edges are a thousand stabs against my skin, unforgiving in their harshness. Brown soil bleeds crimson with each step. A rusty salt-tainted odor fills my senses, and the dry dusty aroma of nature is overwhelmed by the stain of blood. Blood? Sluggishly, I look down, finally taking in the wound, deep and raw. The pain crashes into me like the rushing tide… and then it recedes.
In the distance, the sea pounds its eternal drum. The storm creeps in waiting once more.
