Hypertext piece.

I can't publish the latest writing task we did but I can sum up the brief and how i decided to fulfil it. I may possibly be able to scan it on but the pages are A3, and in between the copious amounts of essays I have to do along with monotonous reading, I may not have the time. Or energy.

Anyway, a hypertext piece is a piece of writing which allows and asks for the reader to get involved. Within this they can choose the narrative, the direction and the many possible endings of the story. In the lecture we studied hypertexts which were internet based and used links to represent the story. However due to the effort it would take to create and the fact I kind of hate technology (pretty ironic as im blogging through a macbook) I chose to make a big scrapbook/Journal which had the basic and simple narrative of a couple breaking up. However it was told from four different points of view, the husband, the wife, both, the child and the dog (just to be obscure and twist it up a little.) With in my hypertext people could choose who's point of view to read it from, whether to terminate the story at a certain point or carry on and finally was very visual using pictures to demonstrate whose point of view they were following.

My feed back was good. However they didn't give it a grade, which I was pissed about, because thats the thing I find most exciting however being told I am 'creative' is never a bad thing. But an A would have been better.

Graduation Day (task to write a fragmented piece of text)

Graduation day

It's not looking hopeful. Theres no signs of consciousness. Her son hasn't left her bed side. He is just sat there still, looking at her with hopeful eyes. The innocence of a young boy is written all over his face. I hope they find the man that did this, and I use the term man loosely.

That was such a good party last night. Don't think I could have been more wasted.

I saw my mum. Motionless. A vague expression stealing her eyes. And the bastard who did this just drove away. No guilt. No remorse. Not a shred of shock. He seemed so, casual. He didn't care about the two lives he had just ruined.

Its Ben's graduation today. I couldn't be more proud of him. His father would have loved to be here today. To be able to see him in his robe and mortarboard representing our family. Ben's waiting at the train station for me to pick him up, then its straight to university for the last time. But he's still my little boy. He always will be.

Shit. Shit. What have I done? One minute I was driving. Then I heard the fatal bang. Followed by a piercing scream which slowly silenced itself. The man, her son I guess, just hovered over her body staying painfully still. I could of got out the car. I should of. Instead I just fucked off. I had to get out of there.

Todays the long awaited day of graduation. The past three years has been great! Made some amazing friends and learnt numerous ways to cook noodles. I've heard graduating is a pretty big thing. My mum is a ball of excitement mixed in with high strung emotion. Im glad I've made her proud, wish dad could have made it but im doing this for the both of them. He always wanted me to graduate. One thing I would change is this stupid robe and hat. Seriously?

This has left severe injuries. One of the worst cases I've seen in a long time. The boy refuses to speak. He's pretty shaken up which isn't surprising. His mum is currently being transferred to the ambulance. Shes breathing which is a good sign but losing blood rapidly. The neck brace has been put on but I fear shes beyond help. The road has been closed however the word has spread and there is an audience developing. What sadistic pleasure to they gain from witnessing this tragic accident first hand? Seeing a mother in pieces and her son tormented. Static and oblivious to his surroundings. He looks cold but refuses to receive assistance. We are going to the hospital now. The lights and the siren drawing more people in to see the show.

Its been two days since I hit and run. I've been pacing around my room. There's no scratches on my car. No one who could identify me as the coward who ran away. Yet the blood is on my hands. The image of her son's tormented face imprinted in my memory like a tattoo. Her body curled around the wheel. Her face smashed into the glass staining the glass with her innocent blood. I am a murderer. A cold blooded murderer who ran away from his own actions.

Im awake. I may look dead but I can feel the blood trickling down my cheek. The seat belt digging into my sides. My forehead resting against shattered glass. I can hear my little boy breathing heavily. He sounds still and scared. I want to let him know that everything will be okay. That everything is fine. Yet I can feel the life leaving me.

Word count: 615