Ms Moratti read us a story and we had to interpretate what might happen at the end.
The Boy At The Door
WALT: add details to explain and finish the mystery.
The silent boy takes a another step closer to the my bed now close enough to reach his bony hand into the small box. Was he after the toys? Were they his? I become unaware if this is still a dream or if in reality i'm wide awake. The boy is close enough now for me to see his tear stained face, joy sparkles in his eyes when he collects the stolen toys. He then tiptoes away in the direction of the Edwardian room.
I wake up startle my eyes as wide as a dodgeball. I flip my feet off the bed and sprint to the box were late last night I hid my newly collected toys. There gone. Who was that boy and why did he take my toys? I trudge down the stairs to breakfast my brain lost amongst my confusion. My legs felt like rubber while my hands are uncontrollable with their shaking.
Granny sits across the table with me and smiles her morning smile, teeth shining, dimples showing.
“ Good morning Gran,” I say trying to control my shaking voice.
“ Good moooorning,” she replies with an overpowering feel of energy. She continues to talk.
“ I have a story to tell you and what a mysterious one it is.” She normally tells me a story every day while the porridge is cooking on the stove, so it doesn't seem like anything out of the blue. The story she tells are fascinating the next even more amazing than the one before. She begins.
“ Well as you know I have grown up in this house, from the very day I was born to hopefully the very day I die, I love it here. I use to have a bestfriend that would come round each day and together we would play with my set of kings, queens, knights and castles.”
Her saying this made my stomach churn I knew what I had done 2 nights ago was coming around to bite me in the bum. But she still continues.
“ One day he didnt come round, neither did he come the next day, next week, next month or even year. They never found him,” she finishes with the slightest bit of a sigh escaping her throat.
“How old was he?” I question before I realised it had even left my mouth.
“Oh, such a young lad, probably just a year younger than you.”
I sprint away from the table up the stairs and right into the Edwardian room. I thrust open the cupboard and there he is sitting there playing with the toys a startled expression appears across his face and as soon as he was there he was gone.
Captain Zaharie Shah
Drawing dedicated to the missing plane. 
