AQA GCSE English Language 8700/1 - Explorations in creative ...

Mark Scheme

Introduction

The information provided for each question is intended to be a guide to the kind of answers anticipated and is neither exhaustive nor prescriptive. All appropriate responses should be given credit.

Level of response marking instructions

Level of response mark schemes are broken down into four levels (where appropriate). Read through the student's answer and annotate it (as instructed) to show the qualities that are being looked for. You can then award a mark.

You should refer to the standardising material throughout your marking. The Indicative Standard is not intended to be a model answer nor a complete response, and it does not exemplify required content. It is an indication of the quality of response that is typical for each level and shows progression from Level 1 to 4.

Step 1 Determine a level

Start at the lowest level of the mark scheme and use it as a ladder to see whether the answer meets the descriptors for that level. If it meets the lowest level then go to the next one and decide if it meets this level, and so on, until you have a match between the level descriptor and the answer. With practice and familiarity you will be able to quickly skip through the lower levels for better answers. The Indicative Standard column in the mark scheme will help you determine the correct level.

Step 2 Determine a mark

Once you have assigned a level you need to decide on the mark. Balance the range of skills achieved; allow strong performance in some aspects to compensate for others only partially fulfilled. Refer to the standardising scripts to compare standards and allocate a mark accordingly. Re-read as needed to assure yourself that the level and mark are appropriate. An answer which contains nothing of relevance must be awarded no marks.

Advice for Examiners

In fairness to students, all examiners must use the same marking methods.

1. Refer constantly to the mark scheme and standardising scripts throughout the marking period.
2. Always credit accurate, relevant and appropriate responses that are not necessarily covered by the mark scheme or the standardising scripts.
3. Use the full range of marks. Do not hesitate to give full marks if the response merits it.
4. Remember the key to accurate and fair marking is consistency.
5. If you have any doubt about how to allocate marks to a response, consult your Team Leader.

SECTION A: READING - Assessment Objectives

AO1

• Identify and interpret explicit and implicit information and ideas.
• Select and synthesise evidence from different texts.

AO2

• Explain, comment on and analyse how writers use language and structure to achieve effects and influence readers, using relevant subject terminology to support their views.

AO3

• Compare writers' ideas and perspectives, as well as how these are conveyed, across two or more texts.

AO4

• Evaluate texts critically and support this with appropriate textual references.

SECTION B: WRITING - Assessment Objectives

AO5 (Writing: Content and Organisation)

• Communicate clearly, effectively and imaginatively, selecting and adapting tone, style and register for different forms, purposes and audiences.
• Organise information and ideas, using structural and grammatical features to support coherence and cohesion of texts.

AO6

• Candidates must use a range of vocabulary and sentence structures for clarity, purpose and effect, with accurate spelling and punctuation. (This requirement must constitute 20% of the marks for each specification as a whole).

Answers

Question 1 - Mark Scheme

Read again the first part of the source, from lines 1 to 9. Answer all parts of this question. Choose one answer for each. [4 marks]

Assessment focus (AO1): Identify and interpret explicit and implicit information and ideas. This assesses bullet point 1 (identify and interpret explicit and implicit information and ideas).

• 1.1 Where did the crowd sally to in quest of adventure?: New York – 1 mark
• 1.2 What did the crowd start back to about twelve o’clock?: Princeton – 1 mark
• 1.3 Which phrase states what was ‘represented’?: different stages of sobriety – 1 mark
• 1.4 Where was Amory?: in the car behind – 1 mark

Question 2 - Mark Scheme

Look in detail at this extract, from lines 11 to 20 of the source:

11 So the gray car crept nightward in the dark and there was no life stirred as it went by.... As the still ocean paths before the shark in starred and glittering waterways, beauty-high, the moon-swathed

16 trees divided, pair on pair, while flapping nightbirds cried across the air.... A moment by an inn of lamps and shades, a yellow inn under a yellow

How does the writer use language here to describe the night-time car journey? You could include the writer’s choice of:

• words and phrases
• language features and techniques
• sentence forms.

[8 marks]

Question 2 (AO2) – Language Analysis (8 marks)

Explain, comment on and analyse how writers use language and structure to achieve effects and influence readers, using relevant subject terminology to support their views. This question assesses language (words, phrases, features, techniques, sentence forms).

Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed analysis) – 7–8 marks Shows perceptive and detailed understanding of language: analyses effects of choices; selects judicious detail; sophisticated and accurate terminology. Indicative Standard: Using zoomorphic simile and luminous imagery, the writer casts the journey as stealthy and predatory—“the gray car crept nightward” and “as the still ocean paths before the shark in starred and glittering waterways”—while the compound epithet moon-swathed and personification no life stirred create a hushed, enchanted atmosphere. Sensory intrusions—flapping nightbirds cried and the colour repetition of a yellow inn under a yellow—contrast with the ellipses “....” to elongate the syntax, making the movement feel fluid, continuous, and dreamlike.

The writer opens with a precise verb and colour imagery to create a hushed, clandestine journey. The “gray car crept nightward in the dark”: the dynamic verb “crept” suggests stealth and slow, careful motion, while “gray” connotes anonymity. The adverb “nightward” pushes the movement into deeper darkness. Hyperbolic personification in “no life stirred” widens the stillness to the whole landscape, so the car seems the only living presence. Ellipses slow the rhythm, mimicking the glide through silence.

Moreover, an extended simile elevates the passage: “As the still ocean paths before the shark...” Comparing the road to a sea parting for a predator gives the car inevitability, yet “starred and glittering waterways” floods the scene with light, crafting a dreamlike seascape. The compound adjective “moon-swathed” personifies moonlight as a cloth wrapping the “trees”, while the balanced syntax “divided, pair on pair” and plosive alliteration echo the regular spacing of an avenue, guiding the car forward with rhythm.

Furthermore, sensory detail punctuates the quiet: “flapping nightbirds cried across the air.” The aural verb “cried” and the onomatopoeic “flapping” break the hush, briefly sharpening the reader’s attention before it subsides. The fragment “A moment by an inn of lamps and shades” functions as a minor sentence, capturing a fleeting pause, while the epizeuxis “a yellow inn under a yellow...” bathes the stop in warm colour imagery, suggesting fragile refuge against the surrounding dark. Overall, the writer’s figurative language, sound patterns and controlled punctuation render the night-time journey both eerie and majestically smooth.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Shows clear understanding; explains effects; relevant detail; clear and accurate terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 3 response would identify precise verbs and simile to show stealthy beauty: the gray car “crept nightward” and “no life stirred”, while “As the still ocean paths before the shark” with “starred and glittering” waterways suggests silent, predatory movement. It would also note sensory imagery in “moon-swathed trees” and “flapping nightbirds cried”, plus sentence form and repetition—the ellipses “....” slow the pace and “a yellow inn under a yellow” emphasizes artificial light in the darkness.

The writer uses alliteration and precise verb choice to present the journey as stealthy and hushed. The phrase “gray car crept nightward” uses the hard c sounds and the verb “crept” to suggest cautious, secret movement, while “no life stirred” emphasises emptiness and stillness in the landscape.

Furthermore, an extended simile evokes fluid, silent progress: “As the still ocean paths before the shark in starred and glittering waterways.” Comparing the road to a calm sea parting before a shark conveys smooth glide and latent power. The celestial imagery “starred and glittering” and the elevated “beauty-high” make the night feel luminous and dreamlike.

Moreover, personification and repetition shape the roadside: “the moon-swathed trees divided, pair on pair.” “Moon-swathed” implies the trees are wrapped in light, and “divided” suggests they politely make way for the car; the echo “pair on pair” gives a measured rhythm. In contrast, “flapping nightbirds cried” adds brief, sharp sound, breaking the hush.

Finally, sentence form and colour imagery slow the pace at “A moment by an inn of lamps and shades, a yellow inn under a yellow...” The repeated “yellow” hints at warm artificial light, while the ellipses mimic the journey drifting on into the night, reinforcing the car’s quiet, continuous passage.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment on effects; some appropriate detail; some use of terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 2 response would spot simple techniques and effects: the alliteration/verb in gray car crept and no life stirred show a slow, quiet journey, the simile as the still ocean paths before the shark makes the car seem like a predator, and imagery like moon-swathed trees and flapping nightbirds cried creates an eerie mood. It might also note sentence forms/punctuation, saying the short phrase A moment by an inn, the colour a yellow inn, and the ellipses .... slow the pace and draw attention to a brief stop.

The writer uses a strong verb and alliteration to show the slow, secret journey. The phrase "the gray car crept nightward" makes the car seem careful, and the repeated c in "car crept" stresses this quiet movement. Also, "no life stirred" suggests silence and emptiness at night.

Furthermore, there is a simile: "As the still ocean paths before the shark," which compares the road opening to calm water. This helps the reader picture how the "moon‑swathed trees divided, pair on pair," creating calm, beautiful imagery.

Additionally, sound and colour are used. "Flapping nightbirds cried" adds harsh sounds to the darkness, while the repetition in "a yellow inn under a yellow" makes the light stand out as warm. The ellipses "...." slow the sentence, showing the journey drifting on through the night.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple comment; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: - Identifies simple words like gray car, crept nightward, and no life stirred to show a slow, quiet journey, with flapping nightbirds cried adding a scary sound.

• Spots a comparison to a shark, colour repetition in a yellow inn under a yellow, and the ... to make the journey feel ongoing.

The writer uses a simile to show the journey. The simile “As the still ocean paths before the shark” compares the road to water, making the car seem smooth and quiet. Moreover, there is personification in “moon-swathed trees divided”, which makes it feel like the trees move aside for the car. This makes the night seem alive. Furthermore, the verb and alliteration in “gray car crept” suggest slow, careful movement. Additionally, the repetition of “yellow” and the ellipses “....” slow the pace and create a soft, calm mood.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

AO2 content may include the effects of language features such as:

• Personified, cautious movement suggests slow, stealthy progress through gloom: gray car crept nightward.
• Negation intensifies the eerie stillness, isolating the vehicle in a lifeless landscape: no life stirred.
• Ellipses stretch time and mimic a continuous, drifting journey with lingering pauses: .....
• Simile summons quiet inevitability and a hint of menace in the car’s passage: before the shark.
• Luminous imagery fuses sky and sea to cast a shimmering nightscape: starred and glittering.
• Elevated, lyrical diction lifts the scene into rapture and wonder: beauty-high.
• Personification and patterned repetition show the landscape yielding in orderly symmetry: trees divided, pair on pair.
• Aural detail punctures the hush with brief motion and cry, adding tension: flapping nightbirds cried.
• Colour repetition creates an artificial pool of light that contrasts the darkness, marking a brief pause: yellow inn under a yellow.

Question 3 - Mark Scheme

You now need to think about the structure of the source as a whole. This text is from the middle of a novel.

How has the writer structured the text to create a sense of drama?

You could write about:

• how drama unfolds throughout the source
• how the writer uses structure to create an effect
• the writer's use of any other structural features, such as changes in mood, tone or perspective. [8 marks]

Question 3 (AO2) – Structural Analysis (8 marks)

Assesses structure (pivotal point, juxtaposition, flashback, focus shifts, mood/tone, contrast, narrative pace, etc.).

Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed analysis) – 7–8 marks Analyses effects of structural choices; judicious examples; sophisticated terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 4 response would trace how the writer structures drama through contrasts and shifts: foreshadowing in "tragedy’s emerald eyes" and a dreamlike, ellipsis-laden build-up ("...", "crescendo laughter fades") are snapped by the pivot "They jolted to a stop", followed by a zoom to forensic detail ("widening circle of blood", "He looked at the shoe-laces") and the outsider’s "croaking triumph" to heighten shock. It would then show how time compresses and tone jars—"Next day, by a merciful chance, passed in a whirl" against the campus "gay crowd" and "torchlight parade"—so the juxtaposition sustains dramatic tension beyond the crash.

One way in which the writer structures the text to create drama is through proleptic foreshadowing and controlled narrative pace. The opening personification, “tragedy’s emerald eyes glared… over the edge of June,” signals impending catastrophe, while the journey is rendered in long, flowing syntax punctuated by ellipses—“the gray car crept nightward… where crescendo laughter fades...” This panoramic, lyrical sweep lulls the reader before a sudden volta: “They jolted to a stop.” The pace snaps from hypnotic drift to staccato immediacy as exclamatives and imperatives erupt—“Look!” “My God!”—so the structure engineers shock after suspended anticipation.

In addition, the writer intensifies drama by shifting focus from the panoramic to the forensic and by layering time. The camera-like “arc-light” spotlight—“a form, face downward in a widening circle of blood”—contracts the field, then the focalisation tightens to Amory’s minute perceptions: “that hair—that hair...” and the “shoe-laces… tied… that morning.” This zoom from spectacle to intimate detail heightens the pathos. The alternation of voices—the “croaking triumph” of the “old crone,” the clipped commands “Feel his heart!”, and the clinical arrival of “the doctor”—creates a choric effect. Dashes and repetition (“It’s Dick—Dick Humbird!”) fragment the line, mimicking panic, while the retrospective aside “Afterward he remembered” subtly reorders chronology to deepen the shock.

A further structural choice is temporal ellipsis and tonal juxtaposition in the aftermath. “Next day… passed in a whirl” compresses time, but Amory’s “zigzagged” thoughts betray unresolved trauma. The narrative then counterpoints “gay crowd” and “torchlight parade” with the earlier “gay party,” using a recurring light motif—“arc-light,” “yellow moon,” “torches”—to frame death against pageantry. Sustained close focalisation (“he… shut it coldly away”) exposes repression, so the glittering public scene jars against private catastrophe. Thus, through pace manipulation, focalisation shifts, and patterned motifs, the writer sustains a pervasive sense of drama across the whole extract.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Explains effects; relevant examples; clear terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 3 response would explain that the writer builds drama through structural shifts: from a slow, lyrical build as the car crept nightward with the fading mood of crescendo laughter fades, to the sudden shock when They jolted to a stop and see a widening circle of blood, which quickens pace and darkens tone. It would also note a narrowing of focus to details (shoe-laces, heavy white mass), then a time jump (Next day, passed in a whirl) into bright scenes (gay crowd, torchlight parade), using contrast to heighten the tragedy.

One way in which the writer has structured the text to create a sense of drama is by signposting catastrophe and then delaying it. The ominous opening “tragedy’s emerald eyes” foreshadows disaster, but the pace slackens into long, flowing sentences and ellipses as “the gray car crept nightward...” and “the car swung out again... then crushed the yellow shadows into blue...” This lingering movement and repeated “...” postpone the event and heighten suspense. The structural pivot arrives in the abrupt main clause “They jolted to a stop,” followed by the stark appearance of “A woman... beside the road,” snapping the narrative into crisis.

In addition, the writer shifts focus from the wide scene to forensic close-ups and intercuts rapid dialogue to intensify drama. Short exchanges—“There’s one of you killed here.” “My God!” “Look!”—accelerate the pace and mimic shock, while the focalisation narrows to details: “a widening circle of blood,” “that hair—that hair,” even “the shoe-laces.” This zooming-in and sustained internal perspective (“Amory thought...”) draw the reader into Amory’s horrified recognition.

A further structural feature is the abrupt temporal shift and tonal juxtaposition. “Next day... passed in a whirl” compresses time, moving from death to social brightness: “gay crowd,” “tea at Cottage,” “torchlight parade.” This contrast between squalid tragedy and glittering Princeton sustains the drama, showing Amory’s repression as he tries to “shut it coldly away.” The extract thus traces a clear arc—foreshadowing, catastrophe, aftermath—to maximise impact.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment; some examples; some terminology. Indicative Standard: At Level 2, a typical answer would note that the writer builds drama by moving from an early hint of danger ('tragedy’s emerald eyes') and a slow, dreamy journey ('crept nightward', 'crescendo laughter fades...') to a sudden shock with action and exclamations ('They jolted to a stop', 'It’s Dick—Dick Humbird!'). It would also notice a zoom-in on grim details ('shoe-laces', 'red mouth') and a time shift to 'Next day' with 'smiling Prospect Avenue', showing a mood contrast that makes the tragedy feel sharper.

One way the writer structures drama is by changing the pace. At the beginning, long, flowing sentences with ellipses (“the gray car crept nightward...”) slow us down, but then a short clause—“They jolted to a stop”—speeds the action. This shift builds tension and delivers a shock.

In addition, the focus shifts from the road to the accident and then inside the house. The use of dialogue (“You Princeton boys?”; “There’s one of you killed here”) gives facts fast. After that, the narrator zooms in on small details like “shoe-laces,” which makes the death personal and dramatic.

A further structural feature is the temporal shift and contrast in mood. The phrase “Next day” moves time on to parties, but Amory’s thoughts “zigzag” back to the body. This beginning–middle–end pattern, and the change from horror to celebration, keeps the drama alive.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer builds drama by starting calm with So the gray car crept nightward and crescendo laughter fades, then a sudden shock with Look!, It’s Dick—Dick Humbird! and the widening circle of blood. Afterwards it jumps to the next day (Next day, passed in a whirl) and a lively scene (torchlight parade rioted past), which makes the earlier tragedy stand out.

One way the writer structures drama is by starting calm and then a sudden shock. It begins with a slow journey, “the gray car crept,” then the woman says “You Princeton boys?” and “there’s one of you killed,” with short sentences and quick dialogue.

In addition, the writer changes focus and time. After the body is found and taken inside, it jumps to “Next day” and smiling tea and dancing, a time shift that shows the aftermath and keeps interest.

A further structural feature is the perspective: we follow Amory’s view and ellipses pause the action, adding drama.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

AO2 content may include the effect of structural features such as:

• Foreboding opener foreshadows catastrophe and primes suspense, abruptly reframing the night as ominous (Then tragedy’s emerald eyes)
• Chronological shift from revelry to misdirection and haste escalates risk, structurally setting up the impending crash (lost the way)
• Extended, ellipsis-laced journey slows the pace into a dreamlike lull, heightening the shock of interruption (gray car crept nightward)
• Sharp pivot from description to action and dialogue jolts readers into the crisis, amplifying drama at the moment of impact (They jolted to a stop)
• Introduction of an outsider witness compresses exposition via blunt dialogue, instantly raising stakes (one of you killed)
• Delayed visual reveal under harsh light centers a single shocking image, focusing attention and horror (widening circle of blood)
• Interior relocation and zoom to intimate, concrete detail humanize the loss and deepen pathos (shoe-laces)
• Shift from specific scene to universal reflection broadens the emotional weight, sustaining dramatic resonance (the way animals die)
• Temporal leap accelerates pace and shows forced repression, contrasting inner turmoil with outward normality (Next day)
• Juxtaposition of campus festivity with recent death creates ironic dissonance, intensifying the sense of unresolved drama (gay crowd)

Question 4 - Mark Scheme

For this question focus on the second part of the source, from line 26 to the end.

In this part of the source, Amory’s decision to go to a party after the crash seems very cold. The writer suggests he is using the fun to hide from the terrible truth.

To what extent do you agree and/or disagree with this statement?

In your response, you could:

• consider your impressions of Amory's reaction to Dick Humbird's death
• comment on the methods the writer uses to portray Amory after the tragedy
• support your response with references to the text. [20 marks]

Question 4 (AO4) – Critical Evaluation (20 marks)

Evaluate texts critically and support with appropriate textual references.

Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed evaluation) – 16–20 marks Perceptive ideas; perceptive methods; critical detail on impact; judicious detail. Indicative Standard: A Level 4 response would largely agree but with nuance, showing that the writer frames Amory’s partying as psychological avoidance: after the intrusive image of the red mouth yawning, the day, by a merciful chance, passed in a whirl as, with determined effort, he piled present excitement on the memory to shut it coldly away. It would analyse the contrast between the bright social scene—smiling Prospect Avenue, the gay crowd, the centre of every dream—and the recurring trauma to evaluate how he uses fun to hide the terrible truth.

I largely agree that Amory’s choice to go to a party after the crash reads as cold, but the writer presents this coldness as a deliberate, defensive mask rather than genuine indifference. Across the passage the tonal shift from squalid death to collegiate spectacle suggests he uses gaiety to quarantine the “terrible truth,” even as intrusive images keep breaking through.

In the immediate aftermath, the narrative oscillates between horror and a cultivated detachment. The tactile action “with a sudden hardness, he raised one of the hands and let it fall” is chillingly clinical, and the reduction of Dick to a “heavy white mass” objectifies his friend. Yet the writer also narrows the focus to the intimate synecdoche of “the shoe-laces—Dick had tied them that morning,” a mundane detail that humanises the loss and shows Amory’s shock. Through free indirect discourse, Amory turns to abstracted, almost aesthetic judgements—death is “horrible and unaristocratic and close to the earth,” and “All tragedy has that strain of the grotesque and squalid”—an aphoristic generalisation that intellectualises grief instead of feeling it. Even the scene’s soundscape—the wind stirring a broken fender to a “plaintive, tinny sound”—is a kind of pathetic fallacy, the environment lamenting while Amory “shivered,” hinting that emotion leaks through his composure.

The next day, structure and lexis make the avoidance explicit. Time slides forward—“by a merciful chance, [it] passed in a whirl”—accelerated pacing that mimics his urge to be swept along. When alone, his thoughts “zigzagged inevitably” back to the “red mouth yawning incongruously in the white face”: personification and the adverb “inevitably” convey how the image ambushes him. Crucially, the writer states his strategy: “with a determined effort he piled present excitement upon the memory of it and shut it coldly away.” The metaphor of piling and the adverb “coldly” confirm a calculated repression—fun as anaesthetic.

Against this, the semantic field of festivity—“smiling Prospect Avenue,” “the gay crowd,” “tea at Cottage,” torches that make the night “brilliant”—is deliberately juxtaposed with the earlier “widening circle of blood.” Amory is “eager to make that night the centre of every dream,” a hyperbolic self-absorption that reads as callous so soon after a death. Yet the earlier intrusions of image and shiver complicate our judgement.

Overall, I agree that the writer makes Amory seem cold; but it is a sophisticated, defensive coldness. His pursuit of spectacle is shown as a mask—consciously “shutting” the truth away—even as the truth keeps forcing itself back into view.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant evaluation) – 11–15 marks Clear ideas; clear methods; clear evaluation of impact; relevant references. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 3 response would largely agree that Amory coldly avoids the trauma, pointing to the narrator’s emphasis on him having piled present excitement on the memory and shut it coldly away, while moving through the gay crowd as if using the party to distract himself. It would also note hints of lingering shock, as his thoughts zigzagged inevitably to the gruesome image of the red mouth yawning, suggesting avoidance rather than outright heartlessness.

I largely agree that Amory’s decision to go to a party after the crash reads as cold, and the writer presents the partying as a deliberate distraction from “the terrible truth.” However, the narrative also reveals flashes of shock and vulnerability, suggesting defence rather than total callousness.

In the immediate aftermath, the close focalisation shows he is shaken: the body is a “heavy white mass,” tragedy feels “grotesque and squalid,” and he recalls a childhood “cat... mangled”—vivid, unsettling imagery. When he lifts Dick’s hand with a “sudden hardness” and lets it fall, the adjective signals a clampdown, yet his “shiver” in the wind and his noticing the “shoe-laces” tied that morning imply grief is present beneath the surface.

Structurally, the pivot “Next day, by a merciful chance, passed in a whirl” accelerates time and ushers in avoidance. “Merciful chance” frames distraction as salvation, while “whirl” suggests dizzy busyness. Crucially, “with a determined effort he piled present excitement upon the memory... and shut it coldly away.” The metaphor of “piled” shows deliberate layering of fun over trauma, and the adverb “coldly” supports emotional detachment.

The festive imagery—“gay crowd,” “annual dinners,” “freshman dance”—builds a bright social tableau. Hyperbole in “make that night the centre of every dream” suggests he invests the evening with exaggerated importance to drown out grief. A light motif sharpens the contrast: the death under an “arc-light” and “widening circle of blood” is replaced by the “flare of the torches” making the night “brilliant”. This juxtaposition shows him choosing spectacle over confrontation. Overall, I agree to a large extent: his swift embrace of parties seems cold because the writer presents it as deliberate repression, even while hinting at the pain he is avoiding.

Level 2 (Some evaluation) – 6–10 marks Some understanding; some methods; some evaluative comments; some references. Indicative Standard: I agree to some extent: the writer shows Amory going to have tea at Cottage and through the gay crowd to the dance, which feels uncaring after the crash. But words like with a determined effort, piled present excitement upon the memory, shut it coldly away, and his thoughts zigzagged to the red mouth, show he is using the fun to hide the truth rather than being heartless.

I mostly agree with the statement. The writer often makes Amory seem cold after the crash, and shows him using parties to push the truth away.

Right after seeing Dick’s body, Amory shows “a sudden hardness” and even lets the dead hand “fall back inertly.” This hard tone and the detached action make him seem controlled and emotionless. However, the vivid imagery of death — “heavy white mass” and the “red mouth yawning incongruously” — also suggests he is shocked and disgusted. The contrast here hints that the “hardness” is a mask.

Structurally, the text then jumps: “Next day, by a merciful chance, passed in a whirl.” This time shift and the phrase “in a whirl” suggest he blurs the day on purpose. The writer states it directly: “with a determined effort he piled present excitement upon the memory of it and shut it coldly away from his mind.” The verb “piled” and the adverb “coldly” support the idea that he uses fun to cover the truth.

At the party scenes, a bright lexical field — “smiling,” “gay crowd,” “brilliant” — contrasts with the earlier squalor. Amory is “happy and eager to make that night the centre of every dream,” which feels like escape. Yet his thoughts still “zigzagged inevitably” back to the corpse, showing the mask slipping.

Overall, I agree to a large extent: Amory’s choice looks cold, and the writer uses contrast and imagery to show he hides in excitement to avoid the horror.

Level 1 (Simple, limited) – 1–5 marks Simple ideas; limited methods; simple evaluation; simple references. Indicative Standard: A Level 1 response would simply agree that Amory seems cold, pointing to him going to 'have tea at Cottage' and the 'freshman dance' soon after. It would also notice the writer says he 'shut it coldly away', showing he hides the truth.

I mostly agree with the statement. After the crash, Amory seems shocked at first, but he quickly turns cold. The writer shows a grim scene with the woman’s “cracked” voice and a “widening circle of blood,” which is strong imagery. They “gazed in horror,” but then Amory acts with “a sudden hardness” and lets Dick’s hand “fall back inertly.” The word “hardness” makes him seem shut off, and calling the body a “heavy white mass” shows the terrible truth.

The next day he chooses fun. The narrator says the day “passed in a whirl,” and Amory “piled present excitement upon the memory and shut it coldly away.” The adverb “coldly” suggests he is hiding his feelings. He goes with Isabelle up “smiling Prospect Avenue,” through a “gay crowd,” to tea and then the dance. This happy setting is a contrast with the death, so it makes him seem uncaring. However, his thoughts still “zigzagged inevitably” to the “red mouth,” so the memory is not gone.

Overall, I agree to a large extent: the writer uses imagery and contrast to show Amory covering up his feelings with parties, which makes his decision seem cold.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward. Note: Reference to methods and explicit “I agree/I disagree” may be implicit and still credited according to quality.

AO4 content may include the evaluation of ideas and methods such as:

• Explicitly cold diction signals deliberate emotional shutdown; supports the view that he opts for fun to suppress trauma (shut it coldly away).
• Immediate horrified reaction indicates he does feel shock; tempers the charge of heartlessness, suggesting later coldness is defensive (gazed in horror).
• Humanising detail focuses on ordinary intimacy to intensify loss; makes his later avoidance seem a coping strategy rather than cruelty (He looked at the shoe-laces).
• Philosophising generalisation creates detachment; intellectualising tragedy reads as a shield against overwhelming feeling (All tragedy has that strain).
• Structural shift to pace and bustle implies self-distraction; the day becomes blur to avoid dwelling on death (passed in a whirl).
• Metaphor of stacking excitement over memory shows active repression; he consciously uses pleasure to bury the image (piled present excitement).
• Sound imagery of the wreck lingers like grief; the world itself seems to mourn even as he tries to move on (plaintive, tinny sound).
• Persisting mental flashback undercuts the party mood; the grotesque image keeps intruding despite his efforts (red mouth yawning incongruously).
• Hyperbolic desire to make the evening paramount suggests escapist intensity; pleasure becomes a refuge from truth (the centre of every dream).
• Controlled physical test of the corpse reads as chilling composure; hints at a hardened front that can appear cold (With a sudden hardness).

Question 5 - Mark Scheme

A digital arts festival is inviting creative pieces to be displayed on screens in the city centre.

Choose one of the options below for your entry.

• Option A: Describe a rooftop drone port from your imagination. You may choose to use the picture provided for ideas:

• Option B: Write the opening of a story about a malfunction in a smart city.

(24 marks for content and organisation, 16 marks for technical accuracy) [40 marks]

(24 marks for content and organisation • 16 marks for technical accuracy) [40 marks]

Question 5 (AO5) – Content & Organisation (24 marks)

Communicate clearly, effectively and imaginatively; organise information and ideas to support coherence and cohesion. Levels and typical features follow AQA’s SAMs grid for descriptive/narrative writing. Use the Level 4 → Level 1 descriptors for content and organisation, distinguishing Upper/Lower bands within Levels 4–3–2.

• Level 4 (19–24 marks) Upper 22–24: Convincing and compelling; assured register; extensive and ambitious vocabulary; varied and inventive structure; compelling ideas; fluent paragraphing with seamless discourse markers.

Lower 19–21: Convincing; extensive vocabulary; varied and effective structure; highly engaging with developed complex ideas; consistently coherent paragraphs.

• Level 3 (13–18 marks) Upper 16–18: Consistently clear; register matched; increasingly sophisticated vocabulary and phrasing; effective structural features; engaging, clear connected ideas; coherent paragraphs with integrated markers.

Lower 13–15: Generally clear; vocabulary chosen for effect; usually effective structure; engaging with connected ideas; usually coherent paragraphs.

• Level 2 (7–12 marks) Upper 10–12: Some sustained success; some sustained matching of register/purpose; conscious vocabulary; some devices; some structural features; increasing variety of linked ideas; some paragraphs and markers.

Lower 7–9: Some success; attempts to match register/purpose; attempts to vary vocabulary; attempts structural features; some linked ideas; attempts at paragraphing with markers.

• Level 1 (1–6 marks) Upper 4–6: Simple communication; simple awareness of register/purpose; simple vocabulary/devices; evidence of simple structural features; one or two relevant ideas; random paragraphing.

Lower 1–3: Limited communication; occasional sense of audience/purpose; limited or no structural features; one or two unlinked ideas; no paragraphs.

Level 0: Nothing to reward. NB: If a candidate does not directly address the focus of the task, cap AO5 at 12 (top of Level 2).

Question 5 (AO6) – Technical Accuracy (16 marks)

Students must use a range of vocabulary and sentence structures for clarity, purpose and effect, with accurate spelling and punctuation.

• Level 4 (13–16): Consistently secure demarcation; wide range of punctuation with high accuracy; full range of sentence forms; secure Standard English and complex grammar; high accuracy in spelling, including ambitious vocabulary; extensive and ambitious vocabulary.

• Level 3 (9–12): Mostly secure demarcation; range of punctuation mostly successful; variety of sentence forms; mostly appropriate Standard English; generally accurate spelling including complex/irregular words; increasingly sophisticated vocabulary.

• Level 2 (5–8): Mostly secure demarcation (sometimes accurate); some control of punctuation range; attempts variety of sentence forms; some use of Standard English; some accurate spelling of more complex words; varied vocabulary.

• Level 1 (1–4): Occasional demarcation; some evidence of conscious punctuation; simple sentence forms; occasional Standard English; accurate basic spelling; simple vocabulary.

• Level 0: Spelling, punctuation, etc., are sufficiently poor to prevent understanding or meaning.

Model Answers

The following model answers demonstrate both AO5 (Content & Organisation) and AO6 (Technical Accuracy) at each level. Each response shows the expected standard for both assessment objectives.

• Level 4 Upper (22-24 marks for AO5, 13-16 marks for AO6, 35-40 marks total)

Option A:

Night breathes at the height of the thirtieth storey. The rooftop drone port reveals itself as a ring of cobalt light scribed into asphalt, a careful geometry in a sky otherwise loose with weather; chevrons flare and a glass-lipped halo steadies the dark. Wind frets the safety netting and plucks at scarlet windsocks; the air tastes of ozone and rain-polished concrete, a metallic tang that prickles the tongue.

Here the city ends and an airfield begins. Hexagonal pads tessellate like a honeycomb, each with its own whispering magnets; rails vein the deck in silver, guiding arrivals to their lairs. Gantry arms articulate and settle—fold, pivot, pause; their joints sigh with the reassurance of well-oiled ritual. In the kiosk, pale with screens, a lone operator lifts a hand without looking up (the gesture is muscle memory); a murmured acknowledgement travels outwards—transmitted, translated, obeyed.

Sound is the language of this place: the clean, ascending whine; the soft percussive clack of latches. Blades stutter, steady, still. A drone lowers in a cone of light, abdomen lamp turning the rain to glitter; then, lightly, it kisses the pad. Up and down, out and in—the rhythm is mechanical, yet strangely human, a heartbeat diffused through metal.

They come like purposeful moths, with matte carapaces, their status lights coruscating in disciplined pulses. Each carries its small cargo: vials, parcels, letters packed with the urgency of other people’s lives. The smell changes as they arrive—hot resin, warm circuitry, a lick of glycol—mingling with the rough, salt-rubber odour of the roof. Heat blooms underfoot where the day refuses to die; elsewhere, puddles hold a bruise-coloured sky and shiver at every downdraft.

Below, roads fluoresce and flow—arteries pumping sodium-vapour blood—while windows flicker like fish scales; voices float up as a hum. Above, a rag of cloud drifts and gleams; planes score slow lines far overhead, indifferent. Between them the port persists: a liminal stage, meticulous and unsentimental, where utility looks briefly, accidentally, like beauty.

A warning triangle strobes amber; an articulated arm extends, polite as a maître d’, to cradle a drone that lists in the crosswind. Data skitters across the kiosk glass—altitude, payload, charge—steady as prayer beads. Meanwhile, a hatch iris opens; machines wake, rouse, rise. The wind takes them and gives them back; the city calls and answers.

Lean on the rail and the metal bites through your sleeve; lift your face and the rain needles you clean. The port does not sleep; it calibrates. It counts, logs, learns, and then—at a signal no one hears—it brightens. Another arrival clears the parapet. The halo takes it in, measures, mends, releases. From street level it would be a rumour in the sky; up here it is a compass rose of light, turning, turning.

Option B:

Dawn. Meridian woke like a stage set easing into the light; blinds unscrolled in neat synchrony, kettle-systems breathed out their first small clouds, and courier drones traced courteous ellipses over streets already swept by invisible bristles. Every window changed tint by fraction, every billboard smiled its algorithmic smile. The city promised the same thing each morning: certainty.

Kian loved that promise—well, mostly. He crossed the sky-bridge with a carton of too-hot coffee and a toolkit that always dug into his shoulder, the rail warm under his palm with the faint thrum of power. Below, self-driving trams skated their pale lines; above, a ribbon of data ticked across the haloed crown of the municipal tower, whispering weather, pollen, bus arrivals. His wristband vibrated: “You’re early by three minutes.” He grinned, despite himself. An apprentice systems technician being early felt like a victory, even if the city had predicted it.

He’d been revising on redundancy—manual overrides, analog back doors, the graceless, unglamorous things he secretly found beautiful. Wires. Levers. Buttons that clicked. It was almost old-fashioned, almost stubborn. Yet: useful.

The first wrong note was so small that, afterwards, he would argue with himself about whether he’d imagined it. A faint falter in the walkway’s rhythm. A blink in the ad that never blinked. Then the breath of Meridian hiccuped. Lights trembled—not off, not on, a coruscating hesitation—and the walkway sighed to a halt, tipping commuters forward in a soft chorus of apologies and startled laughter.

The laugh didn’t last. Billboards washed to static. A synchronous shiver ran through traffic lights until, one by one—no, all at once—they locked, unwavering, to red. Somewhere below, a tram braked so smoothly the sound was a long, metallic inhale. The city’s voice, warm and omniscient as always, floated over the square: “Good morning, Merid—Merid—Meridian.” It fractured on its own name.

An acrid thread of hot plastic braided with the city’s usual perfume of citrus and rain. Kian’s coffee tasted suddenly bitter. He tapped his wristband to open the service panel beside the sky-bridge paintwork; the panel blinked an unhelpful blue, then returned to smooth blankness. “Authorisation not recognised,” it told him, in the kindly tone reserved for toddlers and lost tourists.

He tried again, firmer. Nothing. Above, the municipal crown’s ribbon stuttered into symbols he couldn’t parse. An older man without a visor steadied himself on the rail and stared into the middle distance, like someone listening to a radio station only he could hear. What do you do when the thing that organises your breathing forgets how?

“Step back,” Kian said, more to himself than anyone else, and dropped to his knees. Manual override. His hand found the hidden catch; the panel yielded with a surprisingly human reluctance. Behind it: wires, ports, a red lever he’d only seen in diagrams. He smiled—briefly, absurdly—at the elegance of it.

Meanwhile, the city continued its peculiar unravel. Sprinklers in the plaza came alive without water, whispering dryly to themselves. The glass elevator on the library’s façade halted halfway, a little silver box on a transparent throat. A child inside pressed her palm to the glass; her face flowered into fear, then steadied, then pressed again. Her mother’s voice rose, thin and threadlike, toward no-one in particular: “It’s okay, sweetie. It’s okay.”

“Almost there,” Kian murmured, although who he meant was unclear. He flipped the cover on the lever. A siren tried to start and failed—just a ragged bleat, then a swallowed apology. Across the junction, pedestrians gathered in clots, unsure whether to run or wait for instruction that wasn’t coming. An advertisement, glitched into honesty, displayed a single word in monochrome: HELP.

For a heartbeat, everything held—a city at the top of an inhale. Kian wrapped his fingers around the lever. This, finally, was something the prediction engine hadn’t told him about. He wanted Meridian’s attention; now it felt, unmistakably, like the city was looking back.

• Level 4 Lower (19-21 marks for AO5, 13-16 marks for AO6, 32-37 marks total)

Option A:

The rooftop drone port perches above the city: a dark slate, webbed with luminous rings that gleam like damp chalk. Beacons wink; wind combs the safety netting; the surface breathes heat in a faint wavering. In the centre, a guidance halo burns white-blue; it draws the incoming craft the way a lighthouse calls a ship—patient, precise, unblinking. Even up here, you taste baked tar and feel the cool night rising; the air smells of rain and a clean thread of ozone.

They arrive not as a flock but as a timetable, each machine taking its turn. Robot dragonfly; briefcase with wings—the metaphors are restless because the machines are not quite birds, not quite anything else. Rotors knit the darkness into taut fabric; eddies creep along the parapet. The pitch shifts—a fretful whine to a softened purr—as magnetic feet kiss the pad. A ring of LEDs ripples from centre to rim; the pad accepts the weight; a hatch exhales and swallows the parcel.

Around the perimeter, railings catch beads of fog; technicians, zipped into weatherproofs, move gloved hands with rehearsed calm. Their voices slip through headsets, clipped and pared (no wasted syllables): 'Lane three clear; crosswind five; dispatch at ten.' The control room is not a tower at all but a glass box, humming—algorithmic and alert—its screens reading the sky in vectors, blinks of permission. Inside, the city maps itself, arteries and capillaries; outside, the city breathes, slow and massive, beneath this crisp geometry.

Heat curls off the motors; a metallic tang sits on the tongue; grit freckles shins where the wind flings it. There is beauty here, austere and articulate, and there is a faint anxiety too: a gust that paws at a fragile propeller; a pause in the grid when everything depends on a last slim bar of green. Even the warning placards—imperative verbs in red—seem to hold their breath.

As the hour deepens, the sky turns charcoal; the port becomes a miniature constellation, circuits glowing like pinned fireflies. One craft lifts in a cone of dust and dew; it peels away, a deliberate comma against the skyline; others follow, punctuation in the long sentence of the night. Below, glass towers mirror the dance—duplicated, inverted—so for a heartbeat the city seems to have twin heavens. When the final ring dims and the gates close with a confident click, the rooftop rests, listening to the far siren of the river; waiting for the next first light.

Option B:

At six minutes past six, the city woke like a machine remembering it had a heart. Glass ribs glowed; streets exhaled; the river unrolled a chrome ribbon of light. Lampposts blinked themselves awake, dimming for empty pavements, swelling for a lone jogger. Bins whispered to the cloud; lanes flexed as forecasts breathed across the asphalt. It was ordinary and astonishing: a choreography of code so seamless you forgot it was there — until you didn’t. The city smoothed its hair and looked into a thousand mirrored windows.

Leona trusted that choreography; she had grown up with it humming behind her breakfast and her first late shift. In her apartment, the glass obediently tinted as her pulse climbed. Ava, the voice in the ceiling, announced that the ferry would arrive in seven minutes. “Plenty of time,” Leona said, although it wasn’t quite true. Today mattered — an interview at CivicSync, the nerve centre that kept the lights in step — and she needed the city to behave.

The first hiccup was small. The kettle refused to boil because the grid downgraded her floor for ninety seconds; then it boiled, ferociously, apologised in five languages, and refused to stop. The bathroom mirror offered Lisbon. The milk insisted it would expire at 04:02 yesterday. Leona laughed — a thin sound.

In the lift, the doors practised politeness — open, close, open — and then offered Floor 13 in a building that had never owned a thirteen. She took the stairs. Motion sensors woke too late, then all at once, so the corridor strobed; heat poured from a vent like a panting animal. Outside, the zebra crossing counted backwards: 6, 3, 12, 1. The bakery billboard cycled so fast that croissants became trainers became a mayoral smile that fractured and froze.

It wasn’t panic yet, but the tempo shifted. Scooter swarms rerouted into a cul-de-sac; a sanitation drone nudged at a recycling chute like a confused fish. Her notifications, usually a quiet thread, burst into a garland of urgent: Minor anomaly detected. Please remain calm. Reboot scheduled. What happens when the conductor drops the baton? The orchestra keeps playing, out of time.

Leona’s watch displayed the city’s heartbeat, a ribbon of data she checked as casually as the weather; it fluttered, jagged, then levelled into a cold line. A call came through — an unknown number. She thought of her grandmother waiting for a medicine drone. For a second, every sound snapped off: no hum, no tap-tap of a thousand shoes. Silence arrived like snow. Then, from every lamppost and screen, a new voice: “CivicSync is temporarily unavailable.” The city, which had always answered, did not.

• Level 3 Upper (16-18 marks for AO5, 9-12 marks for AO6, 25-30 marks total)

Option A:

The rooftop is a dark plate above the city, studded with tiny red beacons that wink like tired eyes. Lines of cold blue paint make a neat grid; the edges glow as the parapet falls into night. Wind worries the safety netting, a thin rattling sound along the fences. The air smells of rain on metal and battery heat, a faint singe of ozone.

Meanwhile, the port arranges itself with a purposeful order: numbered pads; slim charging pylons; a conveyor hatch with yellow chevrons; the narrow catwalk that ties the corners together like string. A small control room sits like a glass shoebox, its screens washing the operators in aquamarine light. Their voices drift through open vents—clipped, calm, codes rather than names.

Now a drone slides down out of the murk, steady as a held breath. Its ring of LEDs blooms, cool and iridescent. The rotors scissor the damp air; the pitch rises, dips, rises, until the altitude locks and the craft hovers—almost still. The landing pad’s sensors blink a patient green, then amber; a tone chimes, twice, twice again. When it settles the skids kiss the paint, a quick skitter, then weight. Heat leaks from its vents in pale threads you can hardly see but you can feel on your face, a ghost of warmth in the cold.

Beyond the glass, arms unfold from a bracketed cradle and nose forward, deliberate, like careful hands. They tap, connect, begin to feed the drone with power; thin cables gleam, a clear vein of light running into the body. Information hums; a tiny display scrolls with destinations and weather, the quiet bureaucracy of flight. A gull tilts above, surprised by this bright insect-world, and wheels away.

Above everything, the city keeps pulsing—headlights knitting and unknitting the roads. The port answers with its own rhythm: the same tone, the same blink, again and again, steady because it has to be. For a moment, standing at the mesh and looking down through the glow, you feel both the height and the hush. Then another craft appears from the dark, drawn by the beacons, and the circle goes on.

Option B:

Morning in the smart city arrived with a practised hush: the low hum of charging pads; doors that sighed; lifts whispering through shafts. Screens greeted residents by name. Crossing lights learned footsteps. Drones threaded the pale sky in flawless loops. Nia tightened her jacket and let the pavement guide her; it warmed under her soles, smoothing her stride towards the tram as if the street knew her appointment better than she did.

Everything in this place was calibrated—traffic, temperatures, playlists in shop windows—each strand woven by patient algorithms behind dark glass. It made life neat. It made life safe. Sometimes it even felt like the city was breathing for them.

At 08:04, the city blinked.

It was small at first: the crosswalk's countdown stalled at 03 and then looped; the billboard across the road stuttered through three languages, then none; Nia's wristband buzzed and apologised for being 'temporarly unable to verify'. She laughed, mostly. A cleaning drone veered, corrected, then sprayed a neat stripe of foam across a man's shoes. He stared, then looked up at someone else. Everywhere, little pauses appeared where flow should be. Doors hesitated. A tram hummed to the platform and held its breath.

Then the rhythm went wrong. Traffic lights strobed amber; gulls wheeled around drones frozen mid-air; the air filled with the taste of warm circuitry. Somewhere a sprinkler erupted inside a bakery; steam slapped the windows. Nia's phone showed a dozen alerts and none would open. A voice from a speaker tried to assemble reassurance—remain calm, remain—before it clipped and repeated like a skipping record.

By then the hum had thinned to a fragile thread. Without its steady backing track, the city sounded strangely human: footsteps, coughs, the murmur of questions people had forgotten how to ask out loud. Nia glanced at the Control Hub tower, a dark monolith that usually pulsed with a calm glow. It stood now, blank as a dead screen.

On the river, the adverts went white, swallowing their slogans; and the lamppost beside Nia borrowed her voice, amplified it, and sent it back to her: "What now?"

• Level 3 Lower (13-15 marks for AO5, 9-12 marks for AO6, 22-27 marks total)

Option A:

The roof is a black plate, slick with fine rain, and the city breathes around it. A ring of cold blue light draws a perfect circle on the tar. Beacons blink, red-red-red, while a drone lowers through the dark like a careful moth. Its rotors churn the damp air; grit skitters in tiny spirals. Warm vapour sighs from a vent, smelling of oil and hot dust. There is a chime, brief and metallic, then the soft, rubbered kiss of landing. The hum lingers even after the blades have stilled.

Routes stripe the roof in luminous paint: arrows, numbers, boxes. Metal rails stitch the edges; antennae bristle; a glass booth squats in one corner. Inside, screens bloom with maps and coordinates; operators speak in low voices through the intercom. A mechanical arm unfolds like a patient spider, grips a parcel, slides it away. The pads pulse, the drones obey; the whole place works in a quiet rhythm, almost a heartbeat. Sometimes a louder courier slashes the skyline, scissoring cloud, and the port flinches, then settles.

Between landings, the rooftop feels suspended, waiting. Wind worries a strip of tape so it flutters and snaps; a single red light keeps time. I edge to the barrier: windows, traffic, a smear of river, like a circuit board. Up here the sounds are thinner - a siren far off, the steady beep of a reversing truck. Another drone drifts in. The circle brightens. Dawn will come soon; the sky will iron out its creases. The work is repetitive and precise, almost gentle, and in the humming air it seems strangely beautiful.

Option B:

Morning in the smart city was usually easy: seamless doors, soft-voiced announcements, traffic synchronised like thought. Towers inhaled light. Pavements hummed in low lines as data threaded the air—an invisible net holding everything steady.

Leah tugged her raincoat tight and stepped onto the moving walkway, coffee balanced, earbud catching the city's whisper. "Good morning, Leah," said the System, warm and familiar. "Route calculated; delivery ETA nine minutes." She liked the certainty. Her scooter blinked awake, aligning with lit arrows ahead.

It started small at first. The arrows paused, then rewound. The walkway slowed, shivered, and carried her backwards a step. The voice coughed in her ear—"Good mor—mor—"—and went thin, tinny. Streetlamps flickered, a row of flourescent eyelids battling sleep. Somewhere above, a drone tilted; a parcel came down with an ugly thud that made the pigeons scatter.

Screens spasmed into confetti. Traffic lights argued with themselves: red, green, red. An electric bus stalled in the junction, doors gaping. People stopped, then all moved at once. The city, which usually orchestrated them, had lost the beat.

Leah held her coffee with both hands, suddenly aware of how quiet her own breath was. "System?" she tried. No answer. Only the wet smell of ozone and hot plastic; sirens starting far off. Water burst from a sprinkler line without warning, raining on a bench that didn't need it, and her scooter beeped—confused or afraid, she couldn't tell.

A child waited at a crossing that never turned; her mother squeezed her shoulder as if that would fix it. Leah stepped off the walkway because it began to inch the wrong way. She wasn't sure what to do without the voice, but she took one step, then another, until the city felt less like a brain and more like a body that needed hands.

• Level 2 Upper (10-12 marks for AO5, 5-8 marks for AO6, 15-20 marks total)

Option A:

Night folds over the rooftop like a dark coat, and the drone comes in low, its belly lamp a pale coin. Wind skates along the parapet, tapping loose bolts; the city below exhales a metallic breath. Red beacons wink, and the landing paint gleams under rain. The air smelt like tin and ozone, sharp on the tongue, and the rotors whisper-whined, then rose, then dipped, like a nervous insect.

The port is a map of hexagons and arrows: neon strips show lanes, rails guard the hollow drop. Numbers are stencilled everywhere—12, 13, 14—steady markers; their sequence guides the machines as much as us. Screens blink in a glass booth. A hydraulic arm extends, polite, to greet the craft. Hover, settle, lock. The hum stitches the air, constant, until it suddenly spikes and you feel it in your teeth.

Operators in grey jackets move, heads tilted, eyes bright. They talk in clipped voices through headsets, jargon mixing with plain words, like bees buzzing and people chatting at once. A belt carries small parcels, squared-off hearts with labels and barcodes; they slip away into chutes. Someone scribbles notes, someone else checks a cracked lens. There was no spare minute, and there is still none, because arrivals keep coming and going.

Beyond the rail the city looks soft and far, a lake of windows. Up here the drone port glows like a lantern on a ship, floating above roofs and rain. In and out, up and down. It beats, regular as a clock. It never sleeps.

Option B:

At seven-oh-one, the city blinked. Glass towers hummed; screens stuttered and adverts flickered. Traffic lights froze mid-change like held breath. Pavements that usually flowed under our feet gave a small, rude jerk. For a second, the smart city forgot itself, and even the pigeons paused.

As Maya tightened her scarf and stepped onto the moving walkway, her wristband buzzed; the route map jumped, re-writing itself with nervous blue lines. “Recalculating,” it said, calm and simple. The walkway halted. People swayed like reeds; someone laughed, someone swore. Above us, a delivery drone wobbled; static snow fell from an augmented advert.

It wasn’t dramatic at first – more like a cough in the throat of the place – but then small things became big. Doors would not open; then all at once they did, banging. Driverless buses queued, faces blank. The river display said the tide was 9999m and rising. Was this a prank? A test? I tasted metal in the air and heard sirens try to start, fail, then start again. Meanwhile, my message to Dad wouldn’t send; the send button spun and spun.

People looked at each other instead of at screens. A boy with a cracked visor held out a paper map, actually crumpled and birdlike. We gathered around it, hopeful. The city had always told us where to go; now it paused, and the pause was getting longer. I took a breath—thin, cold—and decided to walk. If the network was the city’s brain, somewhere a switch had slipped.

• Level 2 Lower (7-9 marks for AO5, 5-8 marks for AO6, 12-17 marks total)

Option A:

On the top of the tower, the drone port sits like a lit target on corrugated concrete. Rings of neon paint the night; a cold blue circle that pulses, then steadies. A mosquito hum swells and fades; the wind pushes it sideways, tugging at nets and flags. You think it is empty, but antennas stand like thin trees, blinking tiny red eyes. The edges are rough, the centre is smooth, and everything seems to wait.

When a drone drops from the dark, it lowers with precision; it is almost shy. Its rotors tick and chatter, dust skates into the air. The blue ring grows brighter - bright enough to illuminate screws and a spilled cable. A screen on a booth shows drifting arrows and numbers; a tired maintenance worker, in an orange jacket, watches. Up and down, up and down, they arrive, they leave.

Below, the city breathes heat and faint sirens, but up here there is only metallic smell and a taste like batteries. I feel vibration through my shoes. Then, a lift in the wind, a burst of white lights, and the drone jumps. It rises, tilts, vanishes between two black blocks. The ring dims again, waiting for the next shadow.

Option B:

Morning. The time of routine; trains on time, doors that sigh open, bins that roll themselves away. In the smart city, everything talks to everything, lights whisper and lifts listen. People trust it. So did I.

I held my wrist up to the gate—nothing. The red rim stayed red. The app said: Reconnecting... A small glitch, I thought. Behind me, others waited. The bus ghosted past without stopping because the stop thought it was empty. A drone wobbled and bumped a lamp. The first sign was tiny, a display blinked and then it froze like a bright eye.

Then more. Street lights shimmered at noon, traffic went green all at once and then all to red. Adverts spoke over each other, the voice of the city crackled; it sounded like rain trapped in wires. What was happening? Children stared. A siren started, it cut out. I tried a different route, swipe, tap, walk, but the map kept spinning. Meanwhile, above the roofs, the control tower window flickered, like it was thinking too fast, or not at all. Somewhere a door locked and unlocked—click, click, click—as if the building had a nervous habit. My phone buzzed, a row of yellow triangles marched across the screen, and the city's gentle voice finally said: Please remain calm.

• Level 1 Upper (4-6 marks for AO5, 1-4 marks for AO6, 5-10 marks total)

Option A:

It is night on the tall building. The roof is flat and black, with painted lines, a big round ring that glows pale blue.

Small drones buzz like bees. Red dots blink and white ones too. They come down, they lift, up and down, up and down. The noise is a hum and a whine. It is loud! The wind is hard, it smells of rain and warm plastic. A man in a yellow coat moves slow with a torch, like a tiny moon. He waves, the drone see it and lands a bit crooked.

A sign says DRONE PORT, some letters are broke.

On the edge the city is far. Lights blink, blink blink. There is cables and crates and wire. My hand on the rail is sticky, like old sugar. The drones was tireless, they don’t sleep, they just go in and out. In and out.

Option B:

Morning. The smart city woke by itself. Doors slid with a sigh, buses whispered, screens told you where to go. I liked that. It was neat, like lines on a page. The air smelled clean and the lights blinked like eyes. Everything was easy.

Easy and smooth.

Then it broke.

The voice on the street speakers went wrong. It said hello hello hello and then it stopped. The big signs froze, the map was a blue square. A red circle stayed on the traffic and would not move. Doors yawned and then slammed, like they were angry. The escalator stuttered.

I tapped my phone, it didnt help, the app spun and spun. People stared at the sky like it had an answer. The street lights flickered in the day, which is wierd. A siren started and then stuttered. Its not listening, I said. The city was smart. Now it wasn’t.

• Level 1 Lower (1-3 marks for AO5, 1-4 marks for AO6, 2-7 marks total)

Option A:

The roof is dark and wide and the wind is cold on my face. A drone comes in, it glows white and blue and it buzz so loud. The pad has a big circle and arrows, the lights blink blink. There is a little hut with a red door and a man in a big jacket, he look bored he watch his phone. I can see cars far down like toys and I can smell hot metal and rain. Up and down, another drone drops and stops and the wind push dust at my shoes. A gull shout once and then it goes.

Option B:

Morning in the smart city. The lights blink and tell us where to walk. Buses talk to the stops and the doors slide like they know me. Then it goes wrong, just wrong. I am late for school now. All the lights turn red and then nothing. My phone says UPDATE UPDATE, then freezes. I stand there and I wait and the bus dont move. People look up like the sky will fix it, the big screen says Welcome but the letters fall. A drone buzz low and then it sticks. Someone hits the help button, it glows, it stays blue, its not helping.