So, the way that ACT Prep Writing goes is this: (and I hope to post several of these once I get them typed) We were either given a scenario, 5 words that we must include, or both. Scenarios had to be explained and the words could be used in any way possible, as long as it was true to a definition of the word of course. So, for these ACT Prep Writings I'm going to post the final draft as Ch. 1 and then the original draft as Ch. 2.

In this particular ACT Prep Writing, there were both words and a scenario. I realize that this story is restricted by them and has a few bumps in it. I'm planning on expanding on the premis of the story and cutting a lot of the end out. Hopefully, I can develop this into a nice short story. Please let me know what you think about it. Tell me what you do and don't like about it, what interpretations you had as you were reading it and then had afterwards. PLEASE leave a review. Bad or good, it's only curtious. ;-D

ACT Prep Writing

Scenario: My most famous ancestor was (blank), who lived (blank) years ago and fought against the (blank) before being (blank).

Words:

-bicycle

-womb

-felt

-scary

-sudden

The Nightlight (Original)

Cautiously, he looked around. He listened intently for any sound that would alert him; but as far as he could tell, the enemy was nowhere to be found.

The first rays of dawn's golden sunlight were just beginning to seep through the windows of the rather large room. He had been in captivity for nearly twelve hours. At six o'clock last night he had been thrown into this fenced-in pen that resided in a corner of the room. His goal: undetected escape.

He was on a tight schedule, which didn't help much. The chain-link fence that surrounded him was twice his height and made of very tiny links. They were so small that he couldn't even fit his finger through one. He'd long ago discovered a hole in the fence, though it was only large enough to fit one hand through. Frustrated, he kicked the wall behind him. Fear leapt into him as the room shook and a loud crack reverberated around him.

The sudden disturbance temporarily paralyzed him. Finally, he felt his breath returning to him. When he looked up, he saw a large boulder in the middle of his pen. Perfect! he thought, If I could only push it to the edge…

He heaved and grunted, slowly making progress. After his desperate struggle, he collapsed from exhaustion. He had finally regained his strength enough to climbed atop the boulder, easily allowing him to reach the top of the fence.

Desperately, he grabbed at the fence as he quickly slid down. He hadn't thought about the scary drop. He landed hard, and it hurt. With great effort, he held in his cries. He couldn't give himself away. This was his only chance; he wasn't going to blow it. Come to think of it, he wondered why the earlier crash hadn't aroused the enemy yet. But the thought was fleeting. He had to get out before they did come.

He gazed down the long hallway. At the end, he saw the light. That's where he had to go. He stood and took a step forward only to fall to his knees. He couldn't walk. Then, he had even less time.

He crawled around the many obstacles in the room, determined to reach the mouth of the hallway. When he finally made it, he smiled triumphantly. It was a clear shot from here. All he had to do was reach the end of the hallway to ensure success. He was going to make it! He was almost there!

"There he is!" a woman's voice called out in a distraught tone, "Hey, I found him."

Oh, no! He raced for the light! He was within reach of it! He touched it just as the woman scooped him up from above. No! …He had failed.

"Now, how did you get out?" asked the woman as she carried her toddler back to his playpen, "What on earth? Joey! I told you to get this salad bowl yesterday! You left it on the shelf above Jonathan's pen!" She reached in to pull out the empty bowl. "The baby must have knocked it down," she grumbled.

"Sorry, Mom," a boy came in, "I forgot."

"This could have hit him in the head, Joey!" she pulled out the blankets and handed them to her oldest son, "Here, throw these in the washer."

Jonathan began to cry. "There there," the woman soothed him. She walked into the kitchen to fix his breakfast, tripping over Joey's bike. "And take your bike OUTSIDE!" she yelled into the laundry room. "I swear, you boys are more trouble out of the womb than you were in it!" she grumbled.

Jonathan continued to cry. "I'm working on it," his mother mumbled, opening the fridge, but he did not cry from hunger. He cried because he had not been able to reach the nightlight at the end of the hall.

Jonathan was my grandfather. Hi is sixty three years old, and he fought against the clock before being recaptured.