Please give me a mark for my creative writing piece out of 25… Please give me a mark for my creative writing piece out of 25 according to the marking c

Please give me a mark for my creative writing piece out of 25… Please give me a mark for my creative writing piece out of 25 according to the marking criteria attached.  Could you please edit it for me so that it can be more creative, concise and shorter using sophisticated words as well as engaging  A One Way TripI should be happy and excited, celebrating that the exam-free days have finally arrived but I keep tossing and turning in bed, the silence screaming at me. My head is pounding. I stare at the corner of my room enviously then turn to watch the drops of rain on the window cascading from a confident sky. I get up and take a sip of some water and put it back down with a loud bang. I turn to my bedside table to grab my phone and glance at the time: 3:53 am, 7th of July. A memory of that day flashes through my head and stops all my coherent thinking.  “The birds take them home. Father is very happy when he sees his two children. ‘You are home!’ he says. ‘I’m very happy!’ Hansel and Gretel give Father the gold. Now they will never be hungry. Everyone is overjoyed” “Yay! But nana what happened to the ugly witch?” I wonderly asked “She ran away, away from everything” she replied tilting her head to make eye contact   I was a heat-seeking rocket under my favourite rose-pink knitted blanket that nana Sophia made for my 10th birthday. She would sit in her old wicker rocking chair with the floral cushion by the window with her hands moving, mind at peace and from those delicate fingers would come  the blankets. As a child, I saw her as a magician of sorts and we played games and read stories like we were rainbow-ghosts with her creations. The room was lit with a lamp-light glow, electric rays spread like petals upon the walls. Everyone else in the house was sleeping except dad who was listening to the radio in the living room downstairs. TICK-tock TICK-tock……. then shouting crammed the air. What was once peaceful became polluted with rage. I couldn’t recognise where all the noise came from. Was it my neighbour? People in the Streets? Or the nearby church?  Blood drained through our faces. We tensed and our heartbeats accelerated. “WE MUST LEAVE, WE MUST LEAVE, THEY ARE COMING AGAIN…!” Dad shrieked across the living room with a breathless and high-pitched voiceMinutes later, everyone in the house gathered in the bedroom where my grandmother and I were and sat in a circle surrounding the bed. Grandma’s arms wrapped around me, the hairs on her forearm felt like pins from the terror of it all, her rapid breathing bounced off my skin. I studied each person’s face and clumsiness. Sadness was the main colour of every eye full of tears. It was out of our hands. Patience was the key.   We only had one car which belonged to dad parked in the next street, “TAKE THE CHILDREN FIRST….CHILDREN FIRST”  he loudly ordered my mom and she pulled me hard and away from grandma.  I followed the noises of my dad’s footsteps, they harshly creaked on every step of the stairs. Death lurked in every doorway and then out the main door. The pungent stench of sulphur wrought by exploding gunpowder dominated the streets under the ghostly moonlight. Running away from pain and toward even the smallest chance for hope. Icy wind slashed at my face and the rain danced its evil dance upon my head. A few kilometres away, windstorms of fire arrows were skirling and sizzling through the bitumen-black sky. Soldiers were everywhere like a plague of ravenous locusts. They all wore a grey tunic, a long brown coat and hard boots. They had long black bread, carried guns and had a sharp knife on one end and a hard block-like object on the other. We were surrounded by a sea of monsters. There was no life behind those eyes. Every move they made betrayed their intentions and none of them was noble.  As the car’s engine roared to life and my family practically dived into their seats, a familiar feeling of uneasiness washed over me. My teeth chattered and my hair stood on end, a shiver raced down my spine and a lump came to my throat. I laid on my mom’s lap shaking and shivering with fear, wishing that I could magically disappear to a place where no one could find me. Where would we go? What would we see? Help? Judgement? Pity? Locked doors? Refuge? All I remember is from that moment, the forced journey started.  The night sky is how I came to wish to fly. Here come the raindrops steady and soft, forming watery-alphabet and music rhymes on the window. In the grey, I sleep and spend countless hours with destinations that have no meaning and houses that are not home. I feel alone and segregated. The long hours of nights and the days that never end with classes at school has left me a robot rather than a person learning and writing essays in a foreign language. I must find myself again. It has pushed away my family and friends. Only to find a safe way  to the future. The life I tried to escape is the life I’m going to live, turning in a suit for a shirt, and a briefcase full of papers into a bagful of souvenirs.  I turn around again, all around the walls are pictures of nana, of her champions and of us kids. My cousin Max is there too, grinning like an idiot. I watch her, face entranced, the moon and stars light reflected off her tanned and wrinkled skin and the eyes that belie her eighty years. She has laughter lines from her gift for smiling easily, her personality is all there to read in those creases; she’s no longer the blank page she was in her wedding pictures. I remember when her face takes on a look of delight, “A cup of tea m’dear, let’s have tea.” So we do, always made in an Arabic pot and sugar on top, proper little cups that look like mediaeval days. Then she shuffles over to the refrigerator and after some rummaging, she brings out freshly made baklava and two handmade chocolate bars filled with strawberries from our backyard garden. I close my eyes, letting my mind fill with her voice. I can hear her teasing me like she is just feet away; my mind fills with witty retorts she will never hear. I want to call her softly to see if she can step out of the dusty frame, but this isn’t Hogwarts and I’m no Hermione Granger… Image transcription textMARKING CRITERIA MARKING GUIDELINES- Imaginative Writing Achievement Standards ElementaryComposes an effective response that develops ideas that are relevant to the specific question and stimulus.Composes a well organised and sustained response for an imaginative piece of writing. Demonstr… Show more… Show more  Arts & Humanities Writing Creative Writing Share QuestionEmailCopy link Comments (0)

What you need to now about MLA, APA, HARVARD AND CHICAGO

MLA (Modern Language Association) is a citation style used in the arts and humanities, such as literature, language, and cultural studies. In MLA style, in-text citations are used to give credit to sources and a Works Cited page is included at the end of the paper to list all sources. Example of an in-text citation in MLA style: (Smith 42). Example of a Works Cited entry in MLA style:
Smith, John. The Art of Literature. New York: Random House, 2018. Print. APA (American Psychological Association) is a citation style used in the social sciences, such as psychology, sociology, and education. APA style uses in-text citations and a Reference page, which lists all sources used in the paper. Example of an in-text citation in APA style: (Smith, 2018). Example of a Reference page entry in APA style:
Smith, J. (2018). The science of psychology. New York, NY: Random House.
Harvard is a citation style used in the humanities, social sciences, and natural sciences, primarily in the UK and other countries. In Harvard style, in-text citations are used to give credit to sources and a References page is included at the end of the paper to list all sources. Example of an in-text citation in Harvard style: (Smith, 2018). Example of a References page entry in Harvard style:
Smith, J. (2018) The Art of Literature. New York: Random House.
Chicago is a citation style used in the arts, humanities, and social sciences. It is also known as “Turabian” after its manual of style. Chicago style uses in-text citations and either footnotes or endnotes, along with a Bibliography page. Example of a footnote in Chicago style: 1. John Smith, The Art of Literature (New York: Random House, 2018), 42. Example of a Bibliography page entry in Chicago style:
Smith, John. The Art of Literature. New York: Random House, 2018.

Each citation style has its own set of rules and guidelines, and it is important for students to use the correct citation style for their field of study. Proper use of citation styles not only gives credit to sources, but also helps to establish credibility and reliability in academic writing.

Please give me a mark for my creative writing piece out of 25…          Please give me a mark for my creative writing piece out of 25 according to the marking criteria attached.  Could you please edit it for me so that it can be more creative, concise and shorter using sophisticated words as well as engaging  A One Way TripI should be happy and excited, celebrating that the exam-free days have finally arrived but I keep tossing and turning in bed, the silence screaming at me. My head is pounding. I stare at the corner of my room enviously then turn to watch the drops of rain on the window cascading from a confident sky. I get up and take a sip of some water and put it back down with a loud bang. I turn to my bedside table to grab my phone and glance at the time: 3:53 am, 7th of July. A memory of that day flashes through my head and stops all my coherent thinking.  “The birds take them home. Father is very happy when he sees his two children. ‘You are home!’ he says. ‘I’m very happy!’ Hansel and Gretel give Father the gold. Now they will never be hungry. Everyone is overjoyed” “Yay! But nana what happened to the ugly witch?” I wonderly asked “She ran away, away from everything” she replied tilting her head to make eye contact   I was a heat-seeking rocket under my favourite rose-pink knitted blanket that nana Sophia made for my 10th birthday. She would sit in her old wicker rocking chair with the floral cushion by the window with her hands moving, mind at peace and from those delicate fingers would come  the blankets. As a child, I saw her as a magician of sorts and we played games and read stories like we were rainbow-ghosts with her creations. The room was lit with a lamp-light glow, electric rays spread like petals upon the walls. Everyone else in the house was sleeping except dad who was listening to the radio in the living room downstairs. TICK-tock TICK-tock……. then shouting crammed the air. What was once peaceful became polluted with rage. I couldn’t recognise where all the noise came from. Was it my neighbour? People in the Streets? Or the nearby church?  Blood drained through our faces. We tensed and our heartbeats accelerated. “WE MUST LEAVE, WE MUST LEAVE, THEY ARE COMING AGAIN…!” Dad shrieked across the living room with a breathless and high-pitched voiceMinutes later, everyone in the house gathered in the bedroom where my grandmother and I were and sat in a circle surrounding the bed. Grandma’s arms wrapped around me, the hairs on her forearm felt like pins from the terror of it all, her rapid breathing bounced off my skin. I studied each person’s face and clumsiness. Sadness was the main colour of every eye full of tears. It was out of our hands. Patience was the key.   We only had one car which belonged to dad parked in the next street, “TAKE THE CHILDREN FIRST….CHILDREN FIRST”  he loudly ordered my mom and she pulled me hard and away from grandma.  I followed the noises of my dad’s footsteps, they harshly creaked on every step of the stairs. Death lurked in every doorway and then out the main door. The pungent stench of sulphur wrought by exploding gunpowder dominated the streets under the ghostly moonlight. Running away from pain and toward even the smallest chance for hope. Icy wind slashed at my face and the rain danced its evil dance upon my head. A few kilometres away, windstorms of fire arrows were skirling and sizzling through the bitumen-black sky. Soldiers were everywhere like a plague of ravenous locusts. They all wore a grey tunic, a long brown coat and hard boots. They had long black bread, carried guns and had a sharp knife on one end and a hard block-like object on the other. We were surrounded by a sea of monsters. There was no life behind those eyes. Every move they made betrayed their intentions and none of them was noble.  As the car’s engine roared to life and my family practically dived into their seats, a familiar feeling of uneasiness washed over me. My teeth chattered and my hair stood on end, a shiver raced down my spine and a lump came to my throat. I laid on my mom’s lap shaking and shivering with fear, wishing that I could magically disappear to a place where no one could find me. Where would we go? What would we see? Help? Judgement? Pity? Locked doors? Refuge? All I remember is from that moment, the forced journey started.  The night sky is how I came to wish to fly. Here come the raindrops steady and soft, forming watery-alphabet and music rhymes on the window. In the grey, I sleep and spend countless hours with destinations that have no meaning and houses that are not home. I feel alone and segregated. The long hours of nights and the days that never end with classes at school has left me a robot rather than a person learning and writing essays in a foreign language. I must find myself again. It has pushed away my family and friends. Only to find a safe way  to the future. The life I tried to escape is the life I’m going to live, turning in a suit for a shirt, and a briefcase full of papers into a bagful of souvenirs.  I turn around again, all around the walls are pictures of nana, of her champions and of us kids. My cousin Max is there too, grinning like an idiot. I watch her, face entranced, the moon and stars light reflected off her tanned and wrinkled skin and the eyes that belie her eighty years. She has laughter lines from her gift for smiling easily, her personality is all there to read in those creases; she’s no longer the blank page she was in her wedding pictures. I remember when her face takes on a look of delight, “A cup of tea m’dear, let’s have tea.” So we do, always made in an Arabic pot and sugar on top, proper little cups that look like mediaeval days. Then she shuffles over to the refrigerator and after some rummaging, she brings out freshly made baklava and two handmade chocolate bars filled with strawberries from our backyard garden. I close my eyes, letting my mind fill with her voice. I can hear her teasing me like she is just feet away; my mind fills with witty retorts she will never hear. I want to call her softly to see if she can step out of the dusty frame, but this isn’t Hogwarts and I’m no Hermione Granger… Image transcription textMARKING CRITERIA MARKING GUIDELINES- Imaginative Writing Achievement Standards ElementaryComposes an effective response that develops ideas that are relevant to the specific question and stimulus.Composes a well organised and sustained response for an imaginative piece of writing. Demonstr… Show more… Show more                                                             Arts & Humanities                                                Writing                                                Creative Writing                                                                                    Share QuestionEmailCopy link                              Comments (0)

What you need to now about MLA, APA, HARVARD AND CHICAGO
MLA (Modern Language Association) is a citation style used in the arts and humanities, such as literature, language, and cultural studies. In MLA style, in-text citations are used to give credit to sources and a Works Cited page is included at the end of the paper to list all sources. Example of an in-text citation in MLA style: (Smith 42). Example of a Works Cited entry in MLA style:
Smith, John. The Art of Literature. New York: Random House, 2018. Print. APA (American Psychological Association) is a citation style used in the social sciences, such as psychology, sociology, and education. APA style uses in-text citations and a Reference page, which lists all sources used in the paper.  Example of an in-text  citation  in APA style: (Smith, 2018). Example of a Reference page entry in APA style:
Smith, J. (2018). The science of psychology. New York, NY: Random House.
Harvard is a citation style used in the humanities, social sciences, and natural sciences, primarily in the UK and other countries. In Harvard style, in-text citations are used to give credit to sources and a References page is included at the end of the paper to list all sources. Example of an in-text citation in Harvard style: (Smith, 2018). Example of a References page entry in Harvard style:
Smith, J. (2018) The Art of Literature. New York: Random House.
Chicago is a citation style used in the arts, humanities, and social sciences. It is also known as “Turabian” after its manual of style. Chicago style uses in-text citations and either footnotes or endnotes, along with a Bibliography page. Example of a footnote in Chicago style: 1. John Smith, The Art of Literature (New York: Random House, 2018), 42. Example of a Bibliography page entry in Chicago style:
Smith, John. The Art of Literature. New York: Random House, 2018.

Each citation style has its own set of rules and guidelines, and it is important for students to use the correct citation style for their field of study. Proper use of citation styles not only gives credit to sources, but also helps to establish credibility and reliability in academic writing.

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