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 What did the narrator ask the patient to state to Mr. L—l?: Whether M. Valdemar was entirely willing that the narrator should make the experiment of mesmerising him in his then condition – 1 mark
• 1.2 At the start, what does the narrator say about the time?: It wanted about five minutes of eight – 1 mark
• 1.3 What did the narrator do while making the request?: Took the patient’s hand – 1 mark
• 1.4 Which name is given in brackets to clarify the pronoun ‘he’?: M. Valdemar – 1 mark

Question 2 - Mark Scheme

Look in detail at this extract, from lines 6 to 15 of the source:

6 He replied feebly, yet quite audibly, “Yes, I wish to be. I fear you have mesmerized”—adding immediately afterwards: “I fear you have deferred it too long.” While he spoke thus, I commenced the passes which I had already found most

11 effectual in subduing him. He was evidently influenced with the first lateral stroke of my hand across his forehead; but although I exerted all my powers, no further perceptible effect was induced until some minutes after ten o’clock, when Doctors D—— and F—— called, according to appointment. I explained to them, in a few words, what I designed, and as they opposed no

How does the writer use language here to show the mesmeric process and the patient’s weakness? 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: A Level 4 response perceptively links technique to effect: it explores the antithetical adverbs "feebly, yet quite audibly" and the fractured, repeated confession "I fear you have mesmerized"—"I fear you have deferred it too long" to convey anxious consent and frailty, while analysing the clinical, technical lexis "commenced the passes", "first lateral stroke" "across his forehead" and evaluative phrasing "evidently influenced", plus the coercive diction "most effectual in subduing him"/"I exerted all my powers", to construct a methodical power imbalance in the mesmeric process. It also comments on the cumulative, multi-clausal syntax (semicolon and the concessive "but although"), the measured time marker "some minutes after ten o’clock", and the negation "no further perceptible effect" to mirror a protracted, resisted induction that underscores the patient’s weakness.

The writer foregrounds the patient’s fragility through adverbial contrast: “feebly, yet quite audibly.” This antithesis admits a voice while stressing diminished strength. His speech breaks off — “I fear you have mesmerized—” — aposiopesis suggesting failing breath or wavering consciousness. When he adds, “I fear you have deferred it too long,” the repeated “I fear” and the temporal phrase convey fatalistic awareness of bodily collapse.

By contrast, the mesmeric process is rendered with technical precision. The clinician “commenced the passes,” a ritualistic term that creates a procedural tone. The participle in “most effectual in subduing him” belongs to a semantic field of domination; “subduing” implies a will being pressed down. Likewise, “the first lateral stroke… across his forehead” uses tactile imagery and anatomical direction to depict controlled, measured movement.

Moreover, the scientific register and passive constructions accentuate imposed influence: “He was evidently influenced” and “no further perceptible effect was induced.” The passives erase the patient’s agency, while qualifiers like “evidently” and “perceptible” signal clinical observation. The precise time marker, “some minutes after ten o’clock,” slows the pace and frames the hypnosis as incremental and methodical.

Additionally, syntax and validation strengthen the operator’s authority. A complex sentence culminates in “Doctors D—— and F—— called, according to appointment,” where anonymising dashes and scheduling lend case-study credibility. “I explained… in a few words” conveys control, and the final broken clause, “as they opposed no—”, echoes the earlier dash, leaving the line suspended, heightening tension and reinforcing the mesmeric grip and the patient’s weakness.

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 adverbs and repetition to show weakness, such as "feebly, yet quite audibly", "I fear you have mesmerized" and "I fear you have deferred it too long", and technical/clinical lexis to show the process, like "passes", "most effectual in subduing him" and "first lateral stroke". It would also comment on complex sentence forms and time markers—for example the contrastive "but although", "no further perceptible effect" "until some minutes after ten o’clock", and the impersonal "Doctors D—— and F——"—which emphasise the slow, controlled procedure and the power imbalance in "exerted all my powers".

The writer uses adverbs and repetition to present the patient’s weakness. “He replied feebly, yet quite audibly”: the adverb “feebly” signals frailty, while the concessive “yet quite audibly” suggests only a thin remnant of strength. Repeating “I fear you have...” in “mesmerized” and “deferred it too long” foregrounds anxiety and resignation, prompting the reader’s pity.

Moreover, technical lexis and dynamic verbs depict the mesmeric process as controlled. The narrator “commenced the passes” he had found “most effectual”, and the “first lateral stroke” across the forehead gives precise tactile imagery, like a ritual. The verb phrase “in subduing him” belongs to a semantic field of control, casting the patient as compliant and weak.

Additionally, syntax and passive voice stress the slow, limited progress. The extended, multi-clause sentence mirrors a drawn‑out procedure, while “He was evidently influenced” objectifies the patient. Even after he “exerted all my powers”, there was “no further perceptible effect... until some minutes after ten o’clock”, a temporal marker that builds suspense; the anonymised “Doctors D—— and F——” lends clinical authority to a vulnerable scene.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment on effects; some appropriate detail; some use of terminology. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 2 response identifies adverbs and repetition — "feebly, yet quite audibly" and "I fear" — to show the patient’s weakness and anxiety, with the dash after "I fear you have mesmerized" hinting at faltering speech. It also notes technical, controlling words like "commenced the passes", "lateral stroke", and "He was evidently influenced", plus the time phrase "no further perceptible effect... until some minutes after ten o’clock", to present the mesmeric process as methodical but slow.

The writer uses the adverb “feebly” to show the patient’s weakness; although his voice is “quite audibly,” the word “feebly” suggests he is fragile. The repetition of “I fear” in “I fear you have mesmerized” and “I fear you have deferred it too long” shows anxiety and a lack of strength.

Furthermore, the technical language shows the mesmeric process. Phrases like “commenced the passes” and “the first lateral stroke of my hand across his forehead” sound precise and methodical, so it feels controlled and clinical. The verb “subduing him” suggests power being used over the patient. Moreover, the hyperbole “exerted all my powers” shows the intensity of the attempt, while “no further perceptible effect” and the specific time “after ten o’clock” show how slow the process is. Additionally, the long sentence listing actions creates a steady rhythm, emphasising the process and the patient’s frailty.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple comment; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 1 response might say the patient is weak because he replies feebly and keeps saying I fear, with direct speech like "Yes, I wish to be" showing hesitant consent. The mesmeric process is shown by simple action phrases such as commenced the passes, first lateral stroke, and evidently influenced, and the long sentence makes it seem slow.

The writer uses the adverb "feebly" to show the patient’s weakness; he speaks weakly. He also says "deferred it too long", showing he is running out of time.

Furthermore, the verb "mesmerized" and the noun "passes" show the mesmeric process. The phrase "most effectual in subduing him" shows control.

Additionally, the technical phrase "lateral stroke... across his forehead" makes it feel careful and methodical, and the long sentence shows the steps. Moreover, "I exerted all my powers" sounds like hyperbole, while "no further perceptible effect" shows slow progress.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Contrasting adverbs immediately characterise the patient’s frailty while preserving a faint voice (feebly, yet quite audibly)
• Anaphora of fear foregrounds anxiety and vulnerability, anticipating failure of the body (I fear)
• Dash and immediate addition create a halting, breathless flow that signals weakness and urgency (adding immediately afterwards)
• Technical, clinical diction frames mesmerism as a controlled procedure (commenced the passes)
• Connotation of domination in “subduing” casts the patient as overpowered and weak (subduing him)
• Precise, tactile movement detail makes the process methodical and invasive (first lateral stroke)
• Passive, evidential phrasing reduces the patient’s agency and stresses observation over feeling (was evidently influenced)
• Intensifier and negation emphasise the operator’s strain against scant response (no further perceptible effect)
• Temporal precision suggests a slow, measured process and delayed impact (some minutes after ten o’clock)
• Formal, anonymised authority heightens the clinical atmosphere and seriousness of the scene (Doctors D—— and F——)

Question 3 - Mark Scheme

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

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

You could write about:

• how ambiguity deepens by the end of 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 a methodical chronology from "five minutes of eight" through "fully midnight" to "about three o'clock" structures a steady escalation of contradictions—clinical certainties ("pulse was imperceptible," limbs "as rigid and as cold as marble") against uncanny responses ("uneasy inward examination," the arm "followed every direction")—so that, after the doctors affirm "mesmeric trance," the climactic direct speech "Yes;—asleep now. Do not wake me!—let me die so!" deepens the ambiguity between sleep and death.

One way in which the writer has structured the text to create ambiguity is through meticulous chronological sequencing that paradoxically destabilises certainty. Temporal markers — “five minutes of eight,” “midnight,” “about three o’clock” — frame the experiment, yet the observations conflict: “the pulse was imperceptible” and the limbs “as cold as marble,” but “the general appearance was certainly not that of death.” This tension between measured time and indeterminate diagnosis sustains a liminal atmosphere in which life and death seem concurrently plausible.

In addition, shifts in focus and parenthetical qualification compound doubt, and elliptical naming (D——, F——, Mr. L—l) withholds identity. The first-person focalisation is methodical, but the narrator self-corrects — “that is to say” — and uses dashes to revise claims: “the stertorous breathing ceased—that is to say, its stertorousness was no longer apparent.” Alongside cataloguing — “the pulse was imperceptible; the breathing was gentle…; the eyes were closed…; and the limbs…” — the adversative “Still” flips expectation. This accumulation-and-reversal pattern structurally withholds a verdict, suspending the reader between explanations.

A further structural feature is the decelerated pace culminating in a pivot into direct speech. Incremental repetition (“again and again”) and micro-detail (a “tremor,” lids “unclosed… to display a white line”) slow time, so the final utterance arrives as paradox: “Yes;—asleep now. Do not wake me!—let me die so!” The dash-punctuated line yokes sleep to death, deepening uncertainty at the close. The scientific lexis (“sleep-waking,” “mesmeric trance”) and this volte-face leave the patient’s status unresolved, unsettling the reader.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Explains effects; relevant examples; clear terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 3 response would track the chronological structure, noting precise time markers ("five minutes of eight", "fully midnight", "about three o'clock") and the repeated, contradictory observations ("pulse was imperceptible" but "not that of death") to explain how the clinical progression keeps the reader unsure of Valdemar’s state. It would also identify the structural shift from detached observation to shocking direct speech at the end ("Yes;—asleep now. Do not wake me!—let me die so!"), showing how this withholds resolution and deepens the ambiguity between trance, sleep, and death.

One way in which the writer has structured the text to create ambiguity is through time. The opening uses precise chronological markers ("five minutes of eight", "three o'clock"). The sequencing ("I commenced... I proceeded... I requested") and time-lapses create an orderly frame, but as hours pass without resolution the pace alternates between summary and pause, sustaining uncertainty about whether the subject is dying or mesmerised.

In addition, the focus and tone shift from the narrator's method to clinical observations. Parenthetical clarifications ("that is to say") and a list of symptoms ("pulse... imperceptible... breathing... gentle... limbs... rigid") are undercut by "Still, the general appearance was certainly not that of death." This structural contrast keeps the case on a threshold, while anonymised names (Dr. D——, Mr. L—l) add distance that withholds certainty.

A further structural choice is the movement from detached report to scene, ending in direct speech. After iterative questioning and a zoom into small details ("a white line of the ball"), the whispered "Yes;—asleep now. Do not wake me!" climaxes the sequence. This shift in perspective deepens the ambiguity at the end: the voice confirms sleep yet asks for death, so Valdemar's state remains unresolved.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment; some examples; some terminology. Indicative Standard: Structured chronologically with time markers like 'five minutes of eight', 'midnight' and 'three o’clock', the writer builds ambiguity as signs of death ('pulse was imperceptible', 'as rigid and as cold as marble') are set against 'Still, the general appearance was certainly not that of death'. This makes the ending more unclear when he suddenly speaks 'Yes;—asleep now. Do not wake me!—let me die so!', shifting the mood to eerie confusion.

One way the writer creates ambiguity is in the opening, using precise time and immediate action. Starting "about five minutes of eight" and moving straight to "make the experiment" places us in the moment, but we are unsure if Valdemar is alive or dying. This beginning sets an uncertain tone.

In addition, the middle uses a chronological structure and repetition of clinical details. The focus shifts between passes and doctors’ observations: "pulse was imperceptible... breathing... limbs... cold," yet "the general appearance was certainly not that of death." This contrast keeps the reader unsure. Listing and delays slow the pace and deepen doubt.

A further structural feature is the ending shift to direct speech. After hours of stillness, we suddenly hear Valdemar’s voice: "Yes;—asleep now... let me die so!" This makes it unclear if he is asleep or dead, so the ambiguity is strongest at the end.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 1 response might say the writer follows time in order with moments like "five minutes of eight" and "midnight", then ends on "Yes;—asleep now. Do not wake me!—let me die so!", which makes it unclear if he is asleep or dead. It also keeps checking his state with "the pulse was imperceptible" yet "not that of death", so the ambiguity deepens by the end.

One way the writer has structured the text to create ambiguity is the clear time order at the start. The narrator lists “ten o’clock”, “midnight” and “three o’clock”, but the patient is “not that of death”, so we are not sure if he is alive or dead.

In addition, the focus shifts from medical notes to small movements, like the arm following. This makes the situation feel unclear.

A further feature is the ending. It switches to dialogue and the final line, “Yes;—asleep now...”, makes it more uncertain and is like a cliff-hanger.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Clinical, timestamped opening with conflicted consent establishes an unstable premise for the procedure, seeding doubt about timing and outcome (deferred it too long).
• Accreting time markers segment the narrative into stages, giving an ordered frame that ironically highlights the uncertain status of the patient (five minutes before eleven).
• Procedural shifts (from lateral to downward passes and a fixed gaze) signal trial-and-error, implying only partial control and deepening uncertainty (downward ones).
• Juxtaposed diagnostics create paradox—signs suggest death while the narrator denies it—suspending interpretation between states (not that of death).
• Parenthetical clarifications and self-corrections interrupt flow, making any certainty feel provisional and contested (that is to say).
• A midnight checkpoint and agreed watching by witnesses formalize observation, yet the prolonged stasis keeps him in limbo (entirely undisturbed).
• A pivot from observation to interaction (the arm’s compliance) destabilizes assumptions, suggesting responsiveness within apparent lifelessness (followed every direction).
• Iterative questioning structures delay; only on the third attempt does a response emerge, dramatizing hesitation and equivocation (At its third repetition).
• The closing line fuses incompatible states—sleep and death—so the section ends by intensifying rather than resolving the mystery (let me die so).
• The arrival/departure of witnesses frames stages with authority, but their pronouncements cloud clarity by normalizing death alongside the experiment (death agony).

Question 4 - Mark Scheme

For this question focus on the second part of the source, from line 16 to the end.

In this part of the source, where Valdemar finally speaks at the end, his words are very disturbing. The writer suggests that the narrator has trapped him in a state that is worse than dying.

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

In your response, you could:

• consider your impressions of Valdemar's final plea to be left to die
• comment on the methods the writer uses to convey the narrator's disturbing power over Valdemar
• 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 argue to a great extent that the writer presents the narrator’s clinically controlled mesmerism as a trap worse than death, analysing how his methodical domination—“with the fullest exertion of the will” he “completely stiffened the limbs” to produce “an unusually perfect state of mesmeric trance,” even making the arm “followed every direction I assigned it”—is ultimately condemned by Valdemar’s shattered plea “Yes;—asleep now. Do not wake me!—let me die so!,” with the dashes and imperatives foregrounding the narrator’s disturbing power and the horror of this liminal condition.

I strongly agree that Valdemar’s final words are deeply disturbing and that the narrator has imprisoned him in a limbo worse than death. From the outset, Poe crafts a chilling power dynamic through a cold, clinical register and the repeated prominence of the first‑person “I”. The narrator “proceeded without hesitation” despite the “objection” that the patient was “already in the death agony”, and his active verbs—“made the lids quiver”, “completely stiffened the limbs”—foreground his control. The phrase “with the fullest exertion of the will” is especially telling: mesmerism is framed as domination, one man’s will imposed upon another’s body. Even arranging Valdemar in a “seemingly easy position” is undercut by “completely stiffened”, immobilisation masquerading as care. The clinical lexis of “patient”, “experiments” and an “unusually perfect state of mesmeric trance” objectifies Valdemar and normalises entrapment as a scientific triumph.

As the time‑stamped chronology (“five minutes before eleven”, “midnight”, “three o’clock”) ticks past, the writer accumulates deathly detail to situate Valdemar in an uncanny in‑between. Tactile and visual imagery—“icy coldness”, limbs “as rigid and as cold as marble”—evoke a cadaver, yet this is unsettled by “the general appearance was certainly not that of death”. That juxtaposition is profoundly uncanny: Valdemar is corpse‑like, but not permitted to die. The hyphenated “sleep‑waking” and the eyes’ “uneasy inward examination” crystallise this liminal state. When the narrator “made a kind of half effort” to influence him, the arm “followed every direction I assigned it”, a puppet‑like image; “assigned” implies command and subjugation, emphasising the narrator’s disturbing power over a body that should be beyond human control.

Against this backdrop, the delayed eruption of voice at the very end is shocking. The aural detail of a “barely audible whisper” emphasises a consciousness trapped inside an almost inert shell. The punctuation of Valdemar’s utterance—“Yes;—asleep now. Do not wake me!—let me die so!”—with caesural dashes and an exclamation conveys panic and urgency. Crucially, the imperative plea “Do not wake me!” and the request to be “let” die imply that waking, or continued manipulation, would be unbearable. His desire to remain “asleep now” confirms that the mesmeric suspension is preferable to the torments of being roused; this is what makes it worse than dying: he must beg for the release the narrator’s will withholds.

Overall, I fully agree: through insistent first‑person agency, a clinical semantic field, deathly imagery and a climactic shift into desperate direct speech, Poe suggests the narrator has trapped Valdemar in a state more horrific than death.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant evaluation) – 11–15 marks Clear ideas; clear methods; clear evaluation of impact; relevant references. Indicative Standard: A Level 3 response would mostly agree, identifying the narrator’s disturbing control through details like Valdemar’s arm 'followed every direction I assigned' and his body 'as rigid and as cold as marble', and using the 'barely audible whisper' and desperate direct speech 'Do not wake me!—let me die so!' to argue he is trapped in a state worse than death.

I agree to a large extent that Valdemar’s final words are deeply disturbing and that the writer suggests the narrator has trapped him in a state worse than dying. Throughout this section, the first-person narration foregrounds the narrator’s control. Verbs of agency such as “proceeded without hesitation,” “directing my gaze,” and “continued the manipulations vigorously,” alongside the phrase “with the fullest exertion of the will,” present him as exerting a disturbing power. He even boasts that he had “completely stiffened the limbs,” treating Valdemar’s body as an object to be arranged.

The clinical tone and precise time markers (“five minutes before eleven,” “fully midnight,” “three o’clock”) slow the pace and imply a calculated prolonging of the “death agony.” The semantic field of death (“pulse was imperceptible,” “icy coldness,” “rigid and as cold as marble”) is juxtaposed with mesmeric sleep (“sleep-waking,” “slumberer”), creating a liminal state between life and death. This paradox is underlined by the eerie claim that the “general appearance was certainly not that of death,” even as the body reads as a corpse. The presence of the doctors, whose “curiosity…was greatly excited,” reinforces the sense that Valdemar is being kept as a spectacle rather than spared suffering.

Structurally, the writer withholds Valdemar’s voice, building tension through incremental details: a “tremor about the lips,” a “white line of the ball,” “lips moved sluggishly.” When he finally speaks, the “barely audible whisper” and fragmented punctuation—“Yes;—asleep now. Do not wake me!—let me die so!”—convey urgent desperation. The imperatives “Do not” and “let me” show a trapped consciousness begging for release. His plea to “die so” confirms that the mesmerism sustains an unnatural, prolonged dying that he finds intolerable.

Although the narrator frames the trance as “an unusually perfect state,” the chilling evidence of control and the final plea outweigh this. Overall, I agree: the writer presents Valdemar’s words as profoundly disturbing and suggests the narrator has imprisoned him in a suspended state more horrific than death itself.

Level 2 (Some evaluation) – 6–10 marks Some understanding; some methods; some evaluative comments; some references. Indicative Standard: A Level 2 response would mostly agree, citing Valdemar’s plea 'Do not wake me!—let me die so!' (in a 'barely audible whisper') to show he feels trapped in a state worse than dying, and giving simple evidence of the narrator’s control like 'completely stiffened the limbs' and 'mesmeric trance'.

I mostly agree that Valdemar’s final words are very disturbing, and the writer suggests the narrator has trapped him in a state worse than dying.

At the start of this section, the narrator ignores “objection” and “proceeded without hesitation,” which shows his determination and power. The clinical tone, with exact timings like “five minutes before eleven” and “fully midnight,” feels cold. Details such as “pulse was imperceptible,” “extremities… icy cold,” and the simile “as rigid and as cold as marble” present Valdemar as basically dead. This makes the reader uneasy because the body seems lifeless while the narrator keeps his mind.

The writer also shows control through verb choices: he “direct[ed] my gaze,” “continued the manipulations vigorously,” and used the “fullest exertion of the will.” The phrase “unequivocal signs of the mesmeric influence” and how the arm “followed every direction” suggest he is being moved like a puppet. Structurally, this careful build-up increases tension before the voice appears.

When Valdemar finally speaks, the language and punctuation are chilling. In a “barely audible whisper” he says, “Yes;—asleep now. Do not wake me!—let me die so!” The imperatives “Do not…” and “let me…” sound like a desperate plea. The image of the eyelids opening to a “white line of the ball” adds horror. Saying “asleep now” shows he is under hypnosis, not at peace, and the wish to “die so” suggests waking would be worse than death.

Overall, I agree to a large extent: the writer’s methods make the words deeply disturbing and show the narrator has trapped Valdemar between life and death.

Level 1 (Simple, limited) – 1–5 marks Simple ideas; limited methods; simple evaluation; simple references. Indicative Standard: A Level 1 response will simply agree that the writer shows the narrator trapping Valdemar in a worse-than-death state, pointing to the plea "Do not wake me!—let me die so!" and a basic sign of control like "his arm ... followed every direction".

I mostly agree with the statement. Valdemar’s final words are very disturbing, and the writer makes it seem like the narrator has trapped him in a strange in‑between state. Before he speaks, the description is cold and clinical. We are told his “pulse was imperceptible” and his limbs were “rigid” and “as cold as marble.” This simile makes him seem like a corpse, which feels unsettling. The “glassy roll of the eye” also sounds eerie.

The writer also shows the narrator’s control. He uses verbs like “stiffened the limbs” and says he worked with the “fullest exertion of the will.” Later, Valdemar’s arm “followed every direction I assigned it,” which suggests the narrator is directing him like a puppet. Time markers such as “midnight” and “three o’clock” show the narrator keeps him in this state for hours, adding to the disturbing power.

At the end, the direct speech is shocking: “Yes;—asleep now. Do not wake me!—let me die so!” The dashes and exclamation mark make his plea urgent. The contrast between “asleep” and “die” suggests he is stuck between life and death and prefers death. Overall, I agree that the writer suggests the narrator has trapped Valdemar in a state worse than dying.

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:

• Clinical time-stamping creates a cold, controlled tone that makes the narrator’s power feel chillingly deliberate — "five minutes before eleven"
• Framing the control as scientific normalises coercion, deepening the ethical unease — "mesmeric influence"
• Emphasis on willpower foregrounds domination, suggesting he imposes a fate on the dying man — "fullest exertion of the will"
• Forced immobilisation embodies entrapment, presenting a living body treated as an object — "completely stiffened the limbs"
• Corpse-like imagery heightens horror while holding him short of death, implying a limbo — "as cold as marble"
• The paradox sustains the sense of an uncanny in-between state worse than dying — "not that of death"
• Puppet-like compliance shows loss of agency under the narrator’s control — "followed every direction"
• Relentless questioning feels coercive, pushing Valdemar toward a disturbing confession — "again and again"
• The desperate imperative conveys terror at waking, reinforcing the appeal for oblivion — "Do not wake me!"
• His final request crystallises the idea that trance-bound existence is more dreadful than death — "let me die so!"

Question 5 - Mark Scheme

A local radio show is seeking creative writing for its weekly travel feature.

Choose one of the options below for your entry.

• Option A: Describe an ancient temple overrun by monkeys from your imagination. You may choose to use the picture provided for ideas:

• Option B: Write the opening of a story about transporting a precious animal.

(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:

The temple exhales dust as morning prises apart the canopy; a slow, patient breath that lifts motes like incense unwilling to die. Stone ribs rise from the earth, slick with moss and annotated by lichen; carved deities have been worn to patient masks. Where saffron once fluttered, vines have threaded their green cursive through fretwork; where prayer once pooled like water, something far more restless has taken residence.

They arrive in waves. A hush, then a ripple of grey-brown backs—a skitter, a leap. Macaques arrow across parapets, tails swaying like punctuation—commas in a constant sentence of motion. Juveniles vault the balustrades; elders sit like toppled statuaries, black-eyed, imperious. Soft pads patter over tessellated stone; nails click-clack on granite; a sudden shriek serrates the hush. Smells tangle: damp leaf, bruised mango, and the acrid tang of guano.

One of them tugs a bell-rope because it gleams. The bell complains—one solemn bong, then another. In the shade of a shrine, paws rummage in a cracked urn; a chaplet of marigolds is dismantled with concentration, petal by petal. Concurrently, along the wall, silhouettes flicker: up and over the crenellations—a mother pressing a newborn, two youngsters clanging trays.

Meanwhile, the temple endures with obdurate grace. Pillars mottled with verdigris lean minutely, as if listening. Rain has written pale arabesques down staircases; roots insinuate themselves into joints, patient and precise. The carvings—elephants, lotus, dancers mid-bend—are a palimpsest of weather, fingertips lost, smiles softened into smudges. Everything moves, even rock—only slower.

At intervals, the troop performs a mimicry that feels like memory. One crouches on the altar step, hands resting, spine erect. Another circles the sanctum thrice, not from doctrine but delight in pattern; a third touches its brow to the floor, then peers up, quizzical, as if waiting for applause. Who is worshipping whom? The temple seems to smile, and swallow, and make no comment.

Sound stitches the day: chitter-chatter; thud; the brittle clatter of a broken pot; the velvet hush after. A sudden shower arrives—curtains of water hustling through leaflight—and the troop reorganises with quick dignity: shoulders hunched, tails tented, faces tilted into the plummet, eyes narrowed to glittering slits.

By late afternoon, light turns to honey and then to smoke. Shadows ladder the stair; the cacophony attenuates to murmurs and soft grooming clicks. The monkeys fold into the stone’s geometry as if planned: commas become ellipses, motion becomes pause. Night comes, deliberate; the temple continues its slow business of becoming forest. Yet inside this wreckage, life insists—irreverent, tender, feral—writing a new liturgy in pawprints and peelings, in laughter and leap.

Option B:

Dawn. The time of held breath; a runway washed in pale gold; cold air that smelled of metal and possibility. Floodlights blinked awake, winking along the tarmac like a caravan of patient stars, while a gull scribbled its complaint across the sky.

As forklifts choreographed their orange ballet beyond the open doors, I tightened the final strap on the crate. Slat after slat, latch after latch, I checked and rechecked, fingers moving with a practised metronome, mind racing ahead to every stage between here and mountains that remembered snow. The wood was new, smooth and blond; inside, the bedding was cedar shavings and fleece, warm with heat packs; the sides were stencilled with a symbol that meant fragile but should have read sacred.

He shifted. A ripple through the sounds of engines and early radio chatter—just the soft rearrangement of a cub becoming comfortable. He was smaller than his legend, larger than my courage: a snow leopard, orphan of a poacher’s careless bullet, last of his litter, first of my career. Press would call him priceless; my notes called him male, eight months, twenty-seven kilograms; I called him by the name scrawled in pencil on the crate’s lid—Tamir—because names soothe what numbers cannot.

Paperwork rustled like wings. I spread it across the trestle—permits, vaccinations, transit codes (six pages deep, stamped and counter-stamped)—and slid them into the plastic sleeve with the reverence of someone tucking away a passport to a better future. The cargo supervisor hovered, all clipboard and caution. He wanted a look. He always wanted a look.

Not yet, I said, gentler than I felt. Open him here and we invite cold, cameras, and the kind of fear that claws; he’s calm now; let’s keep him that way.

He nodded, chastened, then gestured to the waiting loader. We had fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes feels like an hour when the world is fragile; it feels like a heartbeat when you are the one holding the stethoscope. What if the hold drops colder than we planned? What if turbulence rattles his sleep into panic? What if a delay strands us on the apron until the sun grows sharp and unforgiving?

Nevertheless, I placed my palm on the wood and said what I had said to every animal I had ever moved: You are not cargo. You are breath. We will go carefully.

The forklift’s forks kissed the crate; the whole world seemed to hum. Out by Stand 12, the aircraft’s nose gleamed, open-mouthed, waiting. A terrier barked in a customs van—absurd, needless, alive. I breathed in jet fuel and cedar and the ghost of snow caught in fur, and signalled the lift.

Up, with the steadiness of a promise. Out, into the light that was no longer pale. And on—because some journeys cannot be postponed.

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

Option A:

The temple crouched in the green heat, its stone ribs shouldering vines and silence. Pillars leaned, bandaged in lichen; carved faces peered with sand-blind eyes. Monkeys threaded the ruin like quick thoughts, grey backs dipping, tails scribbling curves in the air. Sunlight sifted through leaves and latticework, a slow dust of gold settling on cracked altars and the restless fur of a hundred trespassers. Silence is never empty here.

On the main stair, a patriarch sat with the gravity of a judge, his ravelled ear twitching; below him, mothers unstitched fleas from glossy infants that clung. Juveniles played at worship: circling a statue, snatching marigolds from a forgotten niche, setting a leaf crown crookedly. Hand over hand, hand over hand, they sluiced up pillars and down parapets; a trapeze of tails made bridges where stone had fallen. They have their own rites: grooming and theft, leaps and lullabies, a litany of chatter.

The air smelled of damp stone and guano, the faint ghost of incense—sweet and sad—threading the harsher musk. Somewhere a cracked gong remembered its voice; each tap of a curious paw sent a dull note limping into the cloister. Chittering ricocheted under archways; a sudden shriek stitched the canopy, then softened into the steady music of foraging. Mango skins slicked the steps; fig seeds peppered the ledges. The wind moved like an archivist, lifting motes, turning pages of leaves, letting the day settle.

Once, a line of sandalwood smoke would have braided upward while priests recited exact words; now the script is written by scratches and prints—the scallop of claws across moss. Reliefs of dancers wear green moustaches of lichen; a god’s mouth is stuffed with stolen jasmine. Vandals and votaries both, they bless the stone with touch and teeth. Roots pry at thresholds like patient fingers; water blurs the carvings anyway. Who keeps the hours here? Not bells, but the changing light and the soft, insistent industry of small bodies.

At dusk, the jungle tilts its bowl of colour and pours out amber; shadows knit themselves longer. The troop settles—one by one, two by two—into niches and naves, a congregation without candles. An old male climbs the last intact spire and holds the height like a thin king, listening. For a moment, the whole place breathes; then a leaf falls, then another, and the night takes the temple back. It is not abandoned, not really: it has simply changed its worshippers.

Option B:

Dawn. The hour of departures: tarmac washed in sodium light, hangar doors yawning like slow mouths; forklifts chirruping as if birds had learned to reverse; the night’s breath still clinging to the air. Frost fringed the chain-link fence. Somewhere a radio crackled, then fell quiet, as if it, too, held its breath.

Leila’s gloves creaked as she tightened the last wing-nut on the travel crate. The box was new—clean plywood, brass hinges, vents bored in an even constellation—smelling faintly of sap and disinfectant. Inside, on a bed of straw, the pangolin shifted: a subtle, secretive rustle. Scales overlapped like coins, like armour and art together; in the small circle of the inspection light, they shone. She checked the heat packs one more time, the water nipple, the crate’s weight balanced equally, her list steadily ticked. Careful, she told herself, careful and then careful again, because there are no second chances in transit.

Kito. A name given hurriedly at the sanctuary, as if naming him might anchor him. The last survivor from a raid, he was precious not because people would pay for him, but because he shouldn’t be precious at all—he should be ordinary, alive, unremarked in a forest a continent away. Leila thought of the ranger who pressed her hand the night before, eyes wet with sleeplessness, saying: Get him out. She thought of news headlines that forget quickly and promises that don’t. The crate felt heavier than its kilograms; it carried all of that.

The van door thudded closed with a hollow sound. Marek, the driver, lifted a hand in greeting, then tightened the ratchet straps with a steady, practised rhythm. The engine shivered to life. Leila climbed in beside the crate and laid her palm against the wood; through it, she felt movement, or imagined she did—tiny claws shivering, a breath exhaled. “You’ll hate the journey,” she whispered, “but we will arrive.” Outside, the runway lights blinked an undulating path towards the sky, and beyond that, further beyond, a sanctuary waited with an enclosure already warmed.

They rolled through the waking city: street-sweepers bending to their work; a bakery cracking open its doors, loaves exhaling steam; a siren stitching a line of blue somewhere out of sight. A pothole jolted the van hard—too hard—and Leila’s heart jerked. Marek slowed, apologetic. She checked the straps again, then the temperature, then the manifest sealed in plastic. Each figure was a reassurance, each stamp a small shield.

Is this what precious means, she wondered: attention paid in every second, the ordinary made exact? Her breath fogged the window; her reflection looked pale and stubborn. The road unspooled ahead, a grey ribbon, and the sky began to soften. Between her hands a quiet life travelled, an ember in a wooden lantern, carried across a world that could so easily blow it out.

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

Option A:

The jungle peels back and a stone mouth appears: broken steps sunk in leaf mould, pillars bound by strangler vines. Sunlight sifts down in slow columns; dust turns, as if the air is thinking. Every surface is softened by moss, a damp pelt the colour of bottle glass. Faces peer from the walls—gods, warriors, elephants—eroded into rumours, smudged by centuries of rain. The temple does not sleep; it waits, full of mineral chill and the sour scent of fallen fruit.

But stillness is a pretence. The first sound is a sharp chik-chik, then a ripple; then they are everywhere. A troop of monkeys pours from the cornices and balustrades, limbs confident, pale hands quick as pickpockets. Tails sketch question marks in the heat-haze. They scale the columns like acrobats, fling themselves across broken lintels, tumble to the floor with soft thuds. Chatter rattles from wall to wall—bright, busy. Up and over, as if the temple were a game they win.

One sits on a toppled lion and combs the fur of a sleepy infant; another pries open a lotus carving to tease out a beetle, eyes shining with greed. An old male squats on the altar where incense once breathed, gnawing at a husk as if it were a relic. A rope of them streams along a frieze of dancers; feet blur the stone steps, over and over, until faint halos of dust loft around their ankles. Above, a cracked bell hangs; a curious tap releases a thin, shy note, lost at once in leaves.

Here, devotion has changed its shape. The old prayers have no tongues, but the new rites go on with a kind of order: rustle, scrape, chitter; leap, land, stillness. They police thresholds, bare teeth at an intruder, then settle to groom. Who remembers the names chiselled deep in a script nobody reads? The monkeys don't; they live in the instant. Yet the stones seem to listen. By late afternoon the moss glows, shadows climb the steps like returning tide, and tails loop like commas as the troop drifts to sleep—overrun, yes, but oddly kept.

Option B:

Dawn. The hour when the city holds its breath; shutters yawn; the sky pours thin milk along rooftops. In the rescue centre's loading bay, my hands smelled of disinfectant, damp rope and something wilder. The crate was stencilled with crooked arrows and a warning - LIVE ANIMALS - and its slats were rubbed smooth by hands that had checked again and again.

Inside, wrapped in a quilt of quiet, the rescued cub lay curled: shadows stitched into rosettes. A tiny fog of breath trembled through the gaps. I pressed two fingers to the slot and felt warmth, a steady metronome. Precious wasn't the word; it felt like a promise, and it made my heart tick louder.

Before we could move, I ratcheted the straps; then I ratcheted them again. Paperwork flapped on the clipboard like weak wings: codes, signatures, flight number. Meanwhile, the van's engine coughed awake, a gull screeched and it sounded rude in the hush. 'Steady, steady,' I murmured, not sure if I was talking to the animal or to my hands.

Tom reversed the van with exaggerated care. However, the ramp still juddered when the crate edged up it, and the jolt skittered through my ribs. What if the strap slipped? I told myself the roads would be smooth, it wouldn't be long. Still, I wedged blankets around the slats and checked the latch one last time - superstition can be practical.

Then we were moving. The early traffic braided round us; streetlights blinked out, one by one, as if relieved. The city unrolled: bakery warmth; diesel; a snatch of radio presenting the weather as if that could control it. Inside the crate, there was barely a whisper. Afterwards, I would remember the silence more than anything, the kind that sits on your shoulder and makes you hold your breath.

In the mirror, my face looked older than yesterday. The cub's name - Suri - sat neat on the label. I rested my palm on the wood. 'We've got you,' I said, quite softly, and hoped the promise travelled through.

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

Option A:

The temple crouches under a web of vines, its steps cracked like old teeth. Noon light drips through the leaves and stains the stone a tired gold. Dust hangs in slow patches, but it is the monkeys who rule here. They perch on cornices and broken pillars, tails coiling like ropes; their chatter spills down the stairway in bright beads of sound.

They leap. They land. They scurry back again, backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, as if the whole place is a playground and a throne. A small one tugs at the frayed bell-rope and the bell coughs once, twice; the older ones glance up, bored like little kings. Carved gods look on with worn faces, noses rubbed away, eyes full of leaves. The air smells of incense and fruit skins—sweet, a little sour—and the floor is littered with petals and tough husks gnawed to threads.

Inside the main hall the heat loosens, and the stone sweats. Water collects in a cracked bowl at the foot of the altar, catching a torn patch of sky; a baby clings to its mother and dips a paw in, surprised by the cold. The ceiling is peeled blue; flakes drift when a body brushes past. There is a constant patter of feet and nails—a private rain—mixed with squeals and sudden thumps as someone slips and then pretends it was planned.

I edge along the wall, not to disturb them. The temple seems to hold its breath; it remembers prayers although no one speaks them now. They groom where worshippers once knelt, they guard the inner door, and they watch us with careful eyes. An old male sits upon the cracked altar like a statue, a square of sunlight on his back. For a moment the place feels holy again, but a different holiness.

Option B:

Morning arrived thin and pale; mist folded along the hedges and the car park glimmered with a wet shine. The rescue centre hummed, fridges ticking. In the exam room, the air smelled of straw and antiseptic. On the table, a carrier waited with its door open.

I slid a hand inside to test the blankets. Warm, barely. My fingers trembled; I told myself it was just the cold. The owl blinked at me—silver coins for eyes—and gave the tiniest hiss. She was lighter than her name, Astra, but heavier than worry: precious because she had survived last night’s storm, and because Miss Armitage trusted me to take her to the specialist hospital. One rule: keep her calm, keep her dark.

“Don’t jostle her, Sam,” the vet murmured. “Keep her steady.” I nodded. I clipped the door, checked the latches, then covered the carrier with a folded towel so the world became softer. The box turned into a travelling nest.

Outside, the old minibus coughed itself awake. Gary raised a hand. I lifted Astra with both hands, elbows tucked, like carrying a bowl you mustn’t spill. Feathers tickled my knuckles. The word FRAGILE glared from the label I had tied on. It felt ridiculous that a city could be so loud when something so breakable was in my arms.

The ride began gently; buildings slid past like tired animals, windows yawning. A man with paint on his jeans glanced at the owl sticker and smiled. Every bump felt personal. I kept my palm flat on the side, feeling Astra’s small, steady thud.

At the roundabout, someone braked too hard. The minibus lurched; the carrier slipped a breath, and my heart jumped. From inside, a rustle, a sound like paper folding. For a moment the engine seemed to hold its breath. Then we rolled on, slower. We still had miles to go.

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

Option A:

The ancient temple squats in the thick heat; its stones are cracked and warm. Vines climb the pillars, threading over carvings that used to be sharp. Dust hangs like tired incense. The doorway yawns and the steps are shallow. Once there were prayers here, maybe drums, neat sandals set in rows; now the only tapping comes from paws.

Monkeys claim every ledge and balcony on the crumbling walls. Little ones squeal and spring, their tails swinging like ropes; older ones sit like judges. They pick at each other's fur with tiny careful hands, then snatch at fruit skins, stuffing their cheeks. A sharp screech flashes across the courtyard and the sound bounces off the walls, again and again. The smell is sweet and sour, both ripe and stale. Faded prayer flags flap and slap; two youngsters tug the same strip until it rips.

Above the altar a god's face is broken, the nose gone, the smile rubbed thin. A monkey perches there, a crown of leaves slipping over its ears. The biggest male watches me. A scar splits his brow. He blinks, golden eyes hard, and scratches the stone as if signing his name. For a moment the chattering drops away; the wind leans through the court and the bell gives one tired clang. Then it starts again, busy and unstoppable, and the temple—this patient, broken place—must share its throne.

Option B:

Dawn. The depot smelled of petrol and wet cardboard; a pale sky pressed on the roof windows. In the back of the van, a wooden crate with finger-wide air holes seemed to breathe. A red sticker warned: FRAGILE – LIVE ANIMAL. My palms were damp as I tightened the straps; each click felt too loud.

Inside was a snow leopard cub, precious as a coin in a fist. I had only seen pictures before; this one was small, fur spotted like ash, its tiny mouth opening and closing. The vet had said, keep it warm, keep it dark, keep it steady. So I layered towels, slid in a hot-water bottle, checked the thermometer again and again. This isn’t like moving furniture, I told myself; it is carrying a heartbeat. What if I drop it? What if the lid jumps on a bump?

Then the engine grumbled awake and the doors rolled up like eyelids. The city yawned: buses hissed, shutters clapped. I knelt with one hand on the crate. “Almost there,” I whispered. A siren tore past and the van shivered.

We hit the first pothole and my stomach fell; the crate slid an inch, the straps tight but not tight enough. A cry, high and thin, leaked from the holes. I re-did the buckle—twice—and pushed the box back; the labels flapped like small flags. Now the road felt longer than usual, grey and endless; the airport ahead, both promise and deadline. In my head I kept the rules, like a small spell: keep it warm, keep it dark, keep it steady. I breathed slow, counting the seconds between bumps.

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

Option A:

At first, the ancient temple crouches under a tangle of vines; its steps are chewed by roots and moss. Grey blocks sit in awkward stacks, like teeth missing from a smile. Carvings of gods are worn thin, their faces smudged by rain and grubby paws. The air is damp and a bit sweet, like overripe fruit.

Then the monkeys. They own the place. They hop along the crumbling walls, chattering, scolding, then laughing again. Tails hang like ropes. Tiny hands tap on stone; claws clatter. A mother tucks a baby to her chest, solemn as a statue, while a bold male tips over an offering bowl.

Inside the shadowed hall, dust floats in long shafts of light. Where priests once sang, there is a chorus of screeches. I brush a pillar and grit sticks to my fingers, rough and ancient. The silence is not silent: full of small noises—wings, paws, whispers; it feels almost like a ceremony. Is this decay, or a different kind of worship?

Finally, the sun slides behind a fig tree and the temple turns to silhouette. Monkeys settle, tails curled; the place breaths again, slow and heavy. Nature owns it now, and the old stones seem to listen.

Option B:

Morning was thin and pale; frost on the yard shivered under my boots. The wooden crate waited by the ramp, smelling of straw and clean metal and something sweet. Today we were moving a precious animal, not a box, not just cargo. Precious. Fragile. A fresh start for her, if we kept her safe.

Firstly, I checked the straps and the tiny window. The air vents buzzed. I taped the corners, even though they were already taped, because my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. In the crate, a soft blanket made a small nest; a warm gel pack slid under it like a secret. The vet had said keep her calm, keep the temperature steady, watch her breath. Her eyes were dark and bright at the same time, like two wet stones.

Then the van engine started and the whole morning changed, the vibration crawled up my arms. I climbed in beside the crate—seat belt clicked, harness clicked—and I listened. Tick, tick, tick: the monitor blinked green. “Only two hours,” I told her, though maybe she couldn’t hear. Outside, the road was long and grey. I breathed in, slow; tried to be steady. If we hit traffic—no, we just go. We go now.

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

Option A:

The temple is old and broken. Stones sit in little piles and the walls are cracked. Vines hang like ropes, green and dusty. Sunlight falls in lines on the floor and into dark rooms. It is quiet but it is not, because the monkeys is here.

They are everywhere.

They run up and down the steps, up and down. Their feet pat on the stone and their tails flick. They pick at the carvings and pull flowers from a bowl. One sits on the head of a statue like a king. They chatter, chatter, a sharp noise that bounces off the pillars. The air smells of old stone and fur and sweet fruit.

Dust floats and the light shakes because leaves move. The temple seems to watch and it sighs in the heat. I stand still and the monkeys just look back. They is not scared, they own it now.

Only this is left: stone, vines, monkeys.

Option B:

Morning. The box on my knees felt heavy, and I held it close. Inside was the small animal, a precious one, the only one left, they said. Its fur was white like snow and its breath was soft on my fingers through the little air holes.

The van engine coughed and Dad said hurry. We was late for the ferry. I said, careful, careful, like I was talking to a baby. The road was full of bumps and every bump made my heart jump.

I put the box seat belt on. It looked silly but I done it anyway. People stared, I didnt smile back because my hands was shaking.

Don't drop it! I told myself. If anything happen it will be my fault.

The sky was low like a lid. I opened the van door and the cold hit me, and the animal made a small sound, a tiny cry. We go now.

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

Option A:

The temple is old and broken. Stones fall in peices and sand is on the floor, it taste dry in my mouth. Monkeys are everywhere, they run on the walls and over the steps and on my head, they grab and chatter and scream. One monkey sit on a crumbling statue, it looks like a king but the face is gone. The sky grey and heavy. I hear the leaves shake, I smell bad fruit and wet fur and the air is hot. I stand and look and I am scared, the monkeys was in charge now, the temple is theres!

Option B:

It is morning. I forgot my jacket. The box in my lap is small and has holes. Inside is the bird, rare and precious, the man at the vet said it was special. I try to tape the lid but my hands shake, I feel shaky like a baby lamb. I have to take it across town to the airport and then a plane, I never done this. The box slides, I grab it fast and almost drop my phone. The bird peeps like a whistle. people stare, I smile, I dont know what to say. I hold it tight, the road feels long.