Chantelle's+Individual+Learning+Project

=The Boy with the Tattoo=

It is a magnificent day alongside the crystal-blue river on the train with my grandmother. The rusty old train is like a bullet, shooting through the air disrupting the peaceful environment, the smell of the smoke is overbearing, powering over the sweet spring air.

Oh how I long to be out there, paddling in the shining waters of the river. It is just like a sheet of glass, so clear and reflective. But, instead I am stuck in this train with my grandmother! Her musty ‘old spice’ perfume is becoming difficult to bear; the tension between us is unsettling, she is not very pleased with the decision I made last weekend in getting a tattoo, but it’s my choice and I am old enough to make decisions for myself.

This train is pretty old; it’s been travelling along these same tracks day in and day out for as long as I can remember, lugging people into town and back again. Most of the seats have stains on them and there is chewing gum and graffiti pretty much everywhere I look. This train has been treated so badly over the years; people use to burn holes in the seats just for their pure amusement, you can still smell the burning plastic lingering in the musty air as you walk in. There must be something that I can do to prove to my grandmother that I am not just a drop-out who makes bad decisions, I want to show her that I am actually important and worth-while. But how do I do that? I need to do something truly heroic! **********************

It has been quite a while travelling in this noisy, old carriage; it may be loud but all I can hear is the silence between my grandmother and I, it sends a shiver down my spine. Why does she have to be so harsh? Can’t she just be happy for the decisions I make?

Another drop of sweat drips down my forehead as I remember what is waiting for me at the station... My parents are going to go ballistic when they find out that I got a tattoo, they are waiting for me at the station. The suspense is building up as the train gallops towards the station, anything on the tracks would be taken prisoner by the strength of the train as it powers on. I slowly begin to close my eyes, hoping to forget about the station and how my parents are going to react. I just begin to drift off to sleep when a screechy scream awakens me; it was like nails being dragged down a chalkboard. I looked up to see what all the fuss was about and I could just see what looked like a shaggy dog in the distance. It was difficult to make out what it was doing but it looked like it was limping across the train tracks. It will never make it across the tracks in time! I have to do something, and fast!

I remember an old dog I use to have, Lucky. He was a beautiful dog; his thick white fur was like snow, dancing back and forth in the cool afternoon breeze as he ran through the meadows. He was so happy and oblivious to what was going to happen. One moment he was so happy and the next he was being rushed to the vet, he had been bitten by a venomous snake...We never made it to the vet, the venom was too strong and had already eaten away at his tiny body, it was too late. As I remember Lucky, a tear trickles down my face and makes residence on my lips until it slowly enters my mouth and fills it with a salty taste. I have to save that dog!

I try to reach the train driver and tell him to stop the train before this poor, innocent dog is killed. But, to my horror, the door to the train driver is locked! I yell and yell but it is as if nothing is coming out of my mouth; all the years of driving this train had affected his hearing. I have to move to plan b...but what is plan b? I am thinking very frantically at this point, how could I possibly save this dog if I can’t get the train drivers attention? I then begin to remember learning about these old trains at school, there is always a big brake lever that could be pulled in extreme situations to stop the train. I race down the carriage to where the break is located, tripping over many feet. It is between the two carriages, outside the train. So, as you can imagine it has a pretty thick build up of rust on it. I put all my strength into pulling the lever but it’s no use, the rust is just too thick for it to move. I remember that my grandmother always carries around a bottle of oil in her handbag, don’t ask me why she carries oil around because I honestly don’t know, she’s never used it. But today it works to my advantage.

I rush back into the overcrowded carriage and search through the sea of heads, desperate to find my grandmother! I find her sitting by the window sleeping, and snoring quite loudly I might add. I rummage through her handbag until I find the oil. Eureka! Back down the crowded carriage I go until I reach the stubborn break once more. I pour half the bottle over the brake, the fumes make me feel slightly nauseous, and I reach forward, and with all my strength, pull the brake leaver! The train slowly begins to slow down until it stops altogether with a sudden jolt! Hooray! The dog was saved! When I finally arrive at the station, after what seemed like the longest train ride ever, my parents are just as angry as I had imagined them to be; they are like two raging bulls, ready to charge. But after I had calmed them down and explained what had happened they were overjoyed at the fact that I had saved the dog’s life and they were no longer angry about my tattoo, but proud of how heroically I had acted.