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 For how long has the speaker’s head been taken up with the legend?: All day—since early morning – 1 mark
• 1.2 Which of these does the speaker say the speaker cannot remember about the legend?: Whether the speaker read it – 1 mark
• 1.3 What does the speaker say the speaker cannot remember about hearing the legend?: Where the speaker heard it – 1 mark
• 1.4 How does the speaker describe the legend’s qualities?: Very remarkable and not very coherent – 1 mark

Question 2 - Mark Scheme

Look in detail at this extract, from lines 66 to 90 of the source:

66 By the path which ran down among the uncovered roots to the water's edge Kovrin descended, frightening the snipe, and disturbing two ducks. On the dark

71 pine trees glowed the rays of the setting sun, but on the surface of the river darkness had already fallen. Kovrin crossed the stream. Before him now lay a broad field covered with young rye.

76 Neither human dwelling nor human soul was visible in the distance; and it seemed that the path must lead to the unexplored, enigmatical region in the west where the sun had already set--

81 where still, vast and majestic, flamed the afterglow. "How open it is--how peaceful and free!" thought Kovrin, walking along the

86 path. "It seems as if all the world is looking at me from a hiding-place and waiting for me to comprehend it." A wave passed over the rye, and the light evening breeze blew softly

How does the writer use language here to present the setting and Kovrin’s mood? 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 tracks how the writer’s juxtaposition of light and dark — "glowed the rays of the setting sun" versus "darkness had already fallen" — alongside sublime, fiery imagery ("vast and majestic," "flamed the afterglow") and the quest-like spatial framing ("path... must lead to the unexplored, enigmatical region") crafts a liminal, awe-filled setting. It also analyses Kovrin’s mood through dynamic disturbance and personification ("frightening the snipe," "disturbing two ducks," "all the world is looking at me"), exclamative direct thought ("How open it is--how peaceful and free!"), and soft sound-patterning/metaphor ("the light evening breeze blew softly," "A wave passed over the rye") to show euphoric calm and harmony with nature.

The writer juxtaposes light and darkness to craft a liminal setting that elevates Kovrin’s mood. On the "dark pine trees" the "rays of the setting sun" still "glowed", yet on the river "darkness had already fallen": this antithesis places him at twilight, a threshold inviting reflection. The journey motif—he "crossed the stream" and follows a "path"—suggests passage into insight, reinforced by the expansive lexis "broad field" and "young rye", whose youth connotes renewal. The vista feels boundless, so his mood swells before the "vast and majestic" afterglow that "flamed".

Moreover, personification and elevated diction externalise his exaltation. The afterglow "flamed" and "all the world is looking at me... waiting for me to comprehend it": the cosmos is animated, implying a moment of communion. The exclamative tricolon "How open... how peaceful and free!" captures euphoria; the dash-caesura enacts breathless wonder. Parallelism in "Neither human dwelling nor human soul" foregrounds solitude, a stage on which his thoughts can expand toward the "unexplored, enigmatical region" of the west, aligning the setting with mystery and quest.

Furthermore, gentle sound and sentence craft create tranquillity. Sibilance in "setting sun", "surface", and "blew softly" hushes the scene, while the alliteration "breeze blew" and the soft plosives lull. Pathetic fallacy in "A wave passed over the rye" makes the field seem responsive; the present-participial clause "frightening the snipe, and disturbing two ducks" emphasises how minimal his intrusion is, intensifying the hush. Together, these choices render an open, sacred landscape that mirrors Kovrin’s serene, heightened consciousness.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Shows clear understanding; explains effects; relevant detail; clear and accurate terminology. Indicative Standard: Through contrast and imagery, the writer presents a tranquil yet mysterious landscape: the 'rays of the setting sun' that 'glowed' on 'dark pine trees' are set against 'darkness had already fallen' on the river and the 'unexplored, enigmatical region' where 'flamed the afterglow', while 'Neither human dwelling nor human soul' suggests isolation. Kovrin’s mood is shown by the exclamatory thought 'How open it is--how peaceful and free!' and personification 'all the world is looking at me', with the soft alliteration in 'breeze blew' (from 'light evening breeze blew softly') reinforcing calm and wonder.

The writer uses contrast and imagery to present a twilight landscape. The juxtaposition between “glowed the rays of the setting sun” and “darkness had already fallen” creates an in-between moment where light and shadow meet. The metaphor “flamed the afterglow” and the image of a “broad field covered with young rye” highlight space and grandeur; this openness feeds Kovrin’s awe, as the countryside feels “peaceful and free.”

Furthermore, personification conveys his heightened mood. He thinks “all the world is looking at me… and waiting for me to comprehend it,” making nature seem welcoming so he feels significant and attuned to it. The alliteration in “breeze blew” and the adverb “softly,” plus “A wave passed over the rye,” create a hushed, soothing atmosphere. Even the participles “frightening” and “disturbing” suggest only brief ripples in the calm.

Additionally, sentence forms shape his emotion. The exclamative “How open it is—how peaceful and free!” shows exhilaration, while a long, complex sentence (“Neither human dwelling…; and it seemed…”) slows the pace, mirroring his reflective walk toward the “unexplored, enigmatical region.” Thus the setting feels vast and mysterious, and Kovrin’s mood is liberated and contemplative.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment on effects; some appropriate detail; some use of terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer uses contrast and imagery to show a calm yet mysterious setting: "dark pine trees" against "rays of the setting sun" and "flamed the afterglow" highlight light vs dark, while "neither human dwelling nor human soul" and "unexplored, enigmatical region" make it feel empty and unknown. Personification and sentence form show Kovrin’s mood, as "all the world is looking at me" and the exclamatory "peaceful and free" with the soft detail "light evening breeze blew softly" suggest he feels calm, free, and reflective.

The writer uses contrast to present the setting. The “rays of the setting sun” glow on the “dark pine trees”, but “on the surface of the river darkness had already fallen.” This light–dark imagery makes the place feel calm yet mysterious.

Moreover, personification shows Kovrin’s mood. The “afterglow” “flamed” and “all the world is looking at me,” which suggests wonder and that nature feels alive. The adjectives “vast and majestic” make the west seem grand, matching his awe.

Furthermore, the exclamative “How open it is—how peaceful and free!” reveals his happiness and freedom. The phrase “neither human dwelling nor human soul” creates isolation, but it is positive for him.

Additionally, gentle verbs and soft words (“a wave passed over the rye” and “the light evening breeze blew softly”) create soothing imagery, which reflects Kovrin’s calm, thoughtful mood in the open landscape.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple comment; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer uses simple descriptive contrast like "dark", "glowed", and "afterglow" to make the setting seem calm and beautiful. Kovrin’s mood is shown with emotive words and personification, such as "peaceful and free", "all the world is looking at me", and the gentle sound of "light evening breeze blew softly", which makes him seem relaxed.

The writer uses adjectives like “dark pine trees” and “broad field” to show the setting. This makes it seem big and natural. The phrase “neither human dwelling nor human soul” shows it is empty. Furthermore, personification is used in “darkness had already fallen” and “flamed the afterglow”, which makes the scene feel alive. Moreover, Kovrin’s exclamation “How open it is—how peaceful and free!” shows his happy, calm mood. Additionally, “blew softly” creates a gentle tone, and “A wave passed over the rye” suggests quiet movement. The short sentence “Kovrin crossed the stream.” sounds calm and steady.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Dynamic verbs of disturbance foreground human intrusion into a living landscape, creating initial tension before later calm (disturbing two ducks).
• Light–dark contrast and personification convey twilight’s liminality, shifting the mood toward contemplation and transience (darkness had already fallen).
• Inverted syntax and luminous imagery elevate the scene, giving the setting a poetic, reverent quality (glowed the rays).
• A terse simple sentence marks a threshold, suggesting movement into a new mental and physical space (crossed the stream).
• Expansive scale and explicit absence stress solitude, making openness feel liberating rather than lonely (Neither human dwelling).
• Lexis of mystery and direction frames the west as alluring unknown, mirroring a questing, speculative mindset (unexplored, enigmatical region).
• Fiery metaphor and grand modifiers make nature sublime, inspiring awe that enlarges Kovrin’s mood (flamed the afterglow).
• Direct thought with exclamatives reveals uplift and release, explicitly tying setting to emotional liberation (peaceful and free).
• Personification suggests the landscape’s intent and secrecy, as if inviting revelation, heightening his sense of significance (looking at me).
• Soft sibilance and gentle kinetic imagery settle the atmosphere, closing with a soothing calm that steadies him (blew softly).

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 revelation?

You could write about:

• how revelation emerges 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 analyse how the writer frames and then fulfills the prophecy, moving from the dialogic uncertainty of the legend ("my head has been taken up with a strange legend,", "I cannot remember", "Now the whole point, the very essence of the legend, lies in" the timing "to-day or to-morrow") to a structural shift into solitary, sensory scene-setting ("he went out of the house, and walked lost in thought", "the afterglow"), before a sudden visual disruption ("a great, black pillar", "was borne past") delivers the climactic revelation ("after all, the legend was true!") that resolves the built anticipation.

One way in which the writer has structured the text to create a sense of revelation is by opening with an embedded legend whose proleptic prediction operates as a countdown. The speaker’s hesitant framing—“not very coherent… I cannot remember”—and ellipses delay certainty, while the catalogue of sightings (“Africa… Spain… India… the Far North… Mars”) expands the scale. This widening focus then narrows at “the whole point… lies in the prediction” and the temporal marker “to-day or to-morrow,” which signposts imminence, priming the reader for a manifestation.

In addition, the middle section engineers a shift in focus and space, moving from interior sociability to outdoors at dusk to stage the epiphany. Temporal references (“Already the sun was setting”; “Yet a minute more”) compress time, while, after Tánya’s brief dissent, focalisation settles on Kovrin—“How open it is… It seems as if all the world is looking at me”—slowing the pace into anticipation. The spatial progression (house to park to river to field to west “afterglow”) enacts a threshold crossing, a tranquil mood (“peaceful and free”) sharpening the contrast for revelation.

A further structural choice is the volta and acceleration that deliver the climactic revelation. At “Kovrin stopped in amazement,” the narrative zooms: a “great, black pillar” rushes nearer, then resolves into short, staccato clauses—“A monk in black clothing… His bare feet… His face…”—crystallising the sight. A brief coda—“You see… the legend was true!” and “Making no attempt to explain”—confirms disclosure yet withholds rationale, so revelation remains shadowed by ambiguity.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Explains effects; relevant examples; clear terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 3 response would explain how the writer moves from uncertainty to confirmation: beginning with a "strange legend" and repeated "I cannot remember", even signposting the climax with "Now the whole point", the focus shifts from indoor talk to the liminal setting of "sun was setting" and a "broad field covered with young rye" to build anticipation. This steady build is released in a sudden vision—a "great, black pillar" resolving into "a monk in black clothing"—so the prophecy is revealed and confirmed by "the legend was true!"

One way the writer builds revelation is by framing the scene with a legend. The opening dialogue recounts a “strange legend” whose origin is “not very coherent”, foregrounding uncertainty. Crucially, the prediction that “we must expect the Black Monk to-day or to-morrow” plants a narrative question; Tánya’s scepticism increases doubt so any later sighting will register as a reveal.

In addition, the writer shifts focus and pace from talk to solitary movement. Following Kovrin out through sunset light and “darkness... on the surface of the river” slows time and alters mood from music indoors to a “peaceful and free” landscape. This contrast heightens the shock at the structural pivot: “Kovrin stopped in amazement” as a “great, black pillar” forms.

A further structural choice is swift escalation into climax and a brief resolution. The apparition rushes toward him, then resolves into “a monk in black clothing” who “smiled”—the answer to the set-up. The closing line—“after all, the legend was true!”—returns to the opening thread, so the structure moves from speculation to confirmation, delivering a clear sense of revelation.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment; some examples; some terminology. Indicative Standard: Level 2: Recognises that the text moves from an unclear legend — "not very coherent" — to a set-up ("must expect the Black Monk to-day or to-morrow") and ends with the monk’s appearance, creating a sense of revelation. Offers basic examples of structural shifts, like the change from "how peaceful and free!" to the sudden "a great, black pillar", finishing with "the legend was true!" to show the impact.

One way the writer creates a sense of revelation is by beginning with a legend and a prediction. The opening dialogue says the Black Monk will appear “to-day or to-morrow.” This foreshadows the reveal and makes the reader expect it at the end.

In addition, in the middle the focus and setting shift from the house to the park, river and field. Temporal references like “Already the sun was setting” slow the pace. Calm details of rye and breeze are followed by “Kovrin stopped in amazement.” This change of pace prepares the surprise.

A further structural feature is the climax at the end. The vague “black pillar” resolves into “a monk in black clothing”, and the exclamation “after all, the legend was true!” links back to the beginning. Keeping Kovrin's viewpoint makes the revelation feel personal.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: At Level 1, a response might simply say the text starts with a "strange legend" and "the prediction" of the Black Monk’s return, then moves from talk to Kovrin walking as "the sun was setting." By the end he actually sees "a monk in black clothing," so the revelation comes at the end when he says "after all, the legend was true!"

One way the writer structures the text to create revelation is by starting with the legend in dialogue. At the beginning, a character tells a “strange legend” and a prediction for “to-day or to-morrow,” which sets up expectations.

In addition, in the middle, the focus shifts from talking indoors to description outside. Time moves on (“Already the sun was setting”), the pace slows, and the setting builds suspense as we wait.

A further structural feature is the ending, where the “black pillar” becomes the monk. The final line, “the legend was true!”, delivers the reveal and surprises the reader.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Embedded legend as prologue with admitted uncertainty primes a delayed reveal and reader curiosity: "not very clear"
• The legend’s timed prophecy structurally plants a countdown that drives expectation of the reveal: "to-day or to-morrow"
• Expanding scope from local to planetary amplifies inevitability and grandeur of the coming sight: "Southern Cross"
• Pivot from sociable dialogue to solitary movement focuses the narrative for a personal epiphany: "went out of the house"
• Sequential threshold-crossings (park→river→field) and day→dusk progression signal approach to the unknown: "crossed the stream"
• Layered sensory cues and uncanny music heighten expectancy before the event: "like a human voice"
• Incremental pacing via repeated temporal markers tightens tension just before appearance: "Yet a minute more"
• Sudden horizon rupture delivers the revelation with shocking scale and momentum: "great, black pillar"
• Abstraction resolves into a fleeting figure, maintaining mystery even as it manifests: "vanished like smoke"
• Reaction close ties prophecy to fulfilment and withholds rationalisation to preserve the awe: "the legend was true"

Question 4 - Mark Scheme

For this question focus on the second part of the source, from line 51 to the end.

In this part of the source, where the black pillar rises up towards Kovrin, it seems like a terrifying vision. The writer suggests that the monk is actually a friendly figure and not a monster at all.

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

In your response, you could:

• consider your impressions of the appearance of the black pillar
• comment on the methods the writer uses to portray the Black Monk's friendly behaviour
• 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 typically evaluate that the writer largely reframes a terrifying vision as benign, analysing the shift from the ominous "great, black pillar"—"like a cyclone or waterspout", moving with "inconceivable speed"—to the humanised monk who "nodded his head", "smiled kindly and at the same time slyly", and is shown "crossing his hands upon his chest." It would also weigh the extent by balancing Kovrin’s positive response—"agitated agreeably"—against lingering unease in the adverb "slyly" and uncanny motion—"His bare feet were above the ground," "struck inaudibly," "vanished like smoke"—to judge how far the monk seems friendly rather than monstrous.

I largely agree with the statement: the approach of the “black pillar” is rendered as a terrifying vision, but when the figure resolves into the Black Monk, the writer recasts him as courteous and almost benign—though a faintly unsettling undertone prevents him from seeming “not a monster at all.”

The terror is engineered through a sharp tonal shift and ominous imagery. Immediately before the apparition, the scene feels “peaceful and free,” with the “light evening breeze” and the “afterglow” calm and expansive. This serenity is abruptly disrupted by the meteorological simile “like a cyclone or waterspout,” as “a great, black pillar rose up from earth to heaven.” The hyperbolic vertical scale (“from earth to heaven”) and colour imagery (“black”) evoke apocalyptic grandeur. Kinetic detail intensifies threat: its “outlines were undefined,” yet it was “moving with inconceivable speed,” a combination of vagueness and velocity that makes it uncanny. The repetition “smaller and smaller” as it nears is paradoxical and disorienting, while “Involuntarily Kovrin rushed aside” signals instinctive fear. The structural pivot “Yet a minute more” and the crescendo from “breeze” to “dull murmur of the pines” operate as a kind of auditory foreshadowing, heightening dread before the vision breaks.

However, the figure that emerges is unexpectedly decorous. The narrative deflates the menace when the “pillar” resolves into “a monk in black clothing,” whose gesture—“crossing his hands upon his chest”—connotes piety and humility. His “bare feet … above the ground” and the passive construction “was borne past” suggest he is carried by a force rather than attacking, minimising agency and threat. Most crucially, he “nodded his head, and smiled kindly,” a deliberate choice that codes the encounter as cordial. Yet the adverbial qualification “at the same time slyly” injects ambiguity; his friendliness is tinged with mischief or secrecy. Descriptors like “pale and thin” and his spectral kinetics—he “flew,” “struck inaudibly,” “passed through” trees, and “vanished like smoke” (a simile that stresses intangibility)—render him uncanny rather than monstrous. The listing of rapid verbs creates breathless motion, but the oxymoron-like “struck inaudibly” undermines physical menace, implying an apparition that cannot harm.

Finally, the focalisation through Kovrin clinches the effect. His exclamatory “after all, the legend was true!” and being “agitated agreeably” show wonder and exhilaration, not horror. He is “satisfied” rather than terrified, which guides the reader to interpret the monk as a fascinating, even friendly, visitation.

Overall, I fully agree that the “black pillar” appears terrifying, but I only mostly agree that the monk is simply friendly: his smile and courteous nod soften him, yet the “slyly” and his supernatural, smoke-like ephemerality preserve an eerie, ambivalent edge that stops short of monstrosity without dispelling unease.

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 partly agree, explaining the contrast: the vision first seems threatening through simile and motion ('like a cyclone or waterspout', a 'great, black pillar' 'moving with inconceivable speed' so that he 'rushed aside'), but the monk’s behaviour appears friendly as he 'nodded his head' and 'smiled kindly', though 'slyly' adds ambiguity and Kovrin is 'agitated agreeably'. It would evaluate the writer’s viewpoint by arguing that the description shifts from ominous appearance to gentle conduct, using these details to support the idea that the monk is more benign than monstrous.

I mostly agree with the statement. The arrival of the “black pillar” is framed as a terrifying vision, but once it resolves into the Black Monk, the writer’s choices make him appear courteous and even gentle, though there is an eerie undertone.

At first, the build-up is ominous. The writer contrasts the earlier calm—Kovrin thinks the field is “peaceful and free”—with a sudden shift in atmosphere. The soundscape darkens as the “breeze blew again, this time more strongly,” the “rye rustled,” and the pines give a “dull murmur.” This sensory imagery and structural shift heighten tension before the apparition appears. The simile “like a cyclone or waterspout” presents the “great, black pillar” as a violent natural force rising “from earth to heaven,” while “moving with inconceivable speed” suggests unstoppable menace. Kovrin’s reaction—he “involuntarily… rushed aside”—shows instinctive fear, reinforcing the impression of threat.

However, when the figure clarifies, the writer undercuts monstrous expectations. The noun “monk,” with “black clothing,” introduces religious imagery rather than a beast. His gestures—“crossing his hands upon his chest,” a “nod,” and a smile “kindly”—show politeness and restraint. Yet the adverbial qualifier “at the same time slyly” adds ambiguity, implying a playful or secretive edge. The description of his movement—“borne past,” “swept,” “flew”—and the simile “vanished like smoke” make him ethereal and insubstantial, more apparition than attacker. Even the uncanny details (“bare feet… above the ground,” his “pale and thin” face) suggest otherworldliness rather than brutality.

Crucially, Kovrin’s response confirms the non-monstrous impression. Though he “stammered,” he is “agitated agreeably,” “satisfied” to have “plainly seen” the monk, and makes “no attempt to explain” it. This positive agitation and acceptance indicate fascination rather than terror.

Overall, I agree to a large extent: the pillar’s emergence is terrifying, but the writer presents the Black Monk as a courteous, almost friendly presence, albeit tinged with a sly, unsettling mystery rather than monstrous menace.

Level 2 (Some evaluation) – 6–10 marks Some understanding; some methods; some evaluative comments; some references. Indicative Standard: A Level 2 response would partly agree: the vision seems frightening with a "great, black pillar" "moving with inconceivable speed". However, the writer contrasts this with friendly behaviour like "nodded his head" and "smiled kindly", suggesting the monk is not a monster.

I mostly agree with the statement. When the black pillar rises towards Kovrin, it is described like a terrifying vision, but once it becomes the monk, the writer presents him as more friendly than monstrous.

At first, the setting seems calm and open: “How open… how peaceful and free!”, with the “evening breeze” and “afterglow.” This soft, peaceful imagery makes the sudden appearance of the pillar more shocking. The writer uses contrast in tone to build tension.

The pillar itself is scary. It is “a great, black pillar” “like a cyclone or waterspout”—a simile that suggests danger and unstoppable force. Its outlines are “undefined” and it moves with “inconceivable speed” towards him, so Kovrin “involuntarily… rushed aside.” These details make it feel threatening and out of control.

However, when it turns into the monk, his behaviour is gentle. He is “crossing his hands upon his chest,” “nodded his head, and smiled kindly.” This shows friendly manners rather than a monster. The smile is also “slyly,” which hints at some mystery, but not cruelty. Even the supernatural details—“bare feet… above the ground,” and he “vanished like smoke” (another simile)—seem quiet and light, not violent. Most importantly, Kovrin is “agitated agreeably” and feels “satisfied,” which suggests he is pleased, not terrified.

Overall, I agree: the writer first makes the vision frightening, then suggests the Black Monk is friendly. There is slight unease in “slyly” and his speed, but he does not act like a monster.

Level 1 (Simple, limited) – 1–5 marks Simple ideas; limited methods; simple evaluation; simple references. Indicative Standard: I partly agree: it first seems scary as a great, black pillar moving with inconceivable speed, but the monk appears friendly when he nodded his head and smiled kindly, so he doesn’t seem like a monster.

I mostly agree with the statement. At first the vision of the black pillar does seem frightening, but when the monk appears he comes across as gentle rather than monstrous.

The writer makes the pillar scary through simple imagery. The simile “like a cyclone or waterspout” suggests something wild and dangerous. The colour adjective “black” also makes it seem ominous. It is “moving with inconceivable speed,” which feels threatening, and Kovrin “involuntarily… rushed aside,” showing a fearful reaction. The pillar “rose up from earth to heaven,” which makes it seem huge and overwhelming.

However, when the monk is revealed, he seems friendly. He “nodded his head, and smiled kindly,” which are calm, welcoming actions. His hands are “crossing… upon his chest,” which looks peaceful. Even though his “bare feet were above the ground,” he does not attack. The simile “vanished like smoke” makes him seem light and harmless rather than a solid monster.

Overall, I agree that the first appearance is terrifying, but the writer also suggests the monk is friendly. Kovrin ends up “agitated agreeably,” which shows he is excited, not terrified. So the scary pillar changes into a figure who seems more like a strange friend than a monster.

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:

• Apocalyptic simile for the pillar → conjures a terrifying, natural-disaster scale vision, initially supporting “terrifying vision” → "like a cyclone"
• Monumental vertical scale → the rise "from earth to heaven" amplifies awe and threat, making the approach feel inescapable
• Paradox of approach → becoming "smaller and smaller" as it nears undercuts fear, reframing terror as an uncanny but diminishing phenomenon
• Instinctive deference → Kovrin yields space, treating it with awe rather than panic, suggesting reverence over horror → "made a path"
• Humanising revelation → the figure’s composed, devout posture suggests calm spirituality rather than monstrosity → "crossing his hands"
• Friendly social signals → direct acknowledgment and warmth soften dread and invite trust → "smiled kindly"
• Ambiguous edge → the smile is also "slyly", complicating friendliness with a hint of cunning and preventing a wholly benign reading
• Ethereal, non-violent exit → silence and dissolution evoke wonder more than aggression, diminishing monstrousness → "vanished like smoke"
• Protagonist’s affect → Kovrin is "agitated agreeably" and “satisfied,” implying pleasure, not terror, which supports the monk’s friendly effect
• Prophetic framing → the prior expectation we "must expect" normalises the encounter, reducing shock and making benevolence more plausible

Question 5 - Mark Scheme

An online journal about modern industry is asking for creative submissions.

Choose one of the options below for your entry.

• Option A: Describe a product testing lab from your imagination. You may choose to use the picture provided for ideas:

• Option B: Write the opening of a story about a rivalry between colleagues.

(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 lab breathes; vents exhale a conditioned, laminar sigh, and the lights never blink. Light falls without opinion: a taut, clinical sheet stretched over steel benches that gleam like polished bone. In the anodyne hush, the air tastes faintly of isopropyl, that astringent whisper of cleanliness, braided with the warm, metallic ghost of circuitry. Cables snake neatly along trays; warning chevrons interrupt the whiteness with impatient yellow. There is no mess, no mercy—only repetition measured to the decimal.

At the centre, a robotic arm poises as if in prayer. Its lacquered joints pivot with insect assurance; servomotors murmur, precise and implacable. A stylus—rubber-tipped, finger-soft yet unforgiving—descends towards a phone’s glass like a slow raindrop that has learned patience. Numbers wink to life on the force gauge; a red diode flickers; the readout accrues data without judgement. Tap—pause—tap; a tiny, ceremonial kiss. Again and again and again. The screen’s surface returns a thin, clean chirp, a sound so slight it is almost imagined; a microcosm of compliance. When the pressure surges past tolerance, a bloom of fractures spiders outwards, sudden as frost, beautiful in the worst way, and somebody notes the failure with a pen stroke that is startlingly gentle.

Beyond, an amber-lit chamber fogs its window with cold; inside, identical devices shiver at minus twenty before the thermostat nudges them into desert heat, plastic contracting and relaxing like lungs. A pendulum rig swings a steel ball at the corner of a screen: cruel pendulum, scrupulous angle, recorded outcomes. A tumble drum turns phones over and over—backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards—scuffing anodised edges into honesty. In a black room where foam pyramids climb the walls, a speaker exhales pink noise; the walls drink the sound whole. Who listens? A microphone with a gaze like a law, listening without sympathy, logging decibels that will never be heard beyond this door.

Gloved hands move in small economies of motion. Wrist straps bite faintly; the soft crackle of ionised air patrols for static. On screens, data streams in disciplined cascades: teal lines over onyx backgrounds, numbers tightening into verdicts. A graph leaps, steadies, falls. Someone lifts a failed sample to the light and traces a fracture’s coastline with a fine-tip marker; someone else annotates a spreadsheet with the slow authority of weather, patient, inexorable. There is talk, but it is hushed, practised, the grammar of scrutiny; occasionally a laugh leaks out, then remembers itself and subsides.

What is this place, if not a cathedral of repetition, a theatre of necessary harm? Here, failure is rehearsed until success becomes ordinary elsewhere. Outside, pockets and pavements and pockets again; fingers that will never think of gravity. Inside, measured drops, controlled tempests, tiny apocalypses that the world is spared. The arm dips; the glass accepts; the diode blinks; the machine begins again.

Option B:

Monday. The time of targets; calendars bristling with meetings, coffee grinding its dark promise, the city shrugging itself awake beyond the glass. A fresh start for some.

As the lifts exhaled their cargo of commuters, Mara aligned her pens until they formed a quiet parade. Her presentation glowed on the screen—edges crisp, fonts disciplined, conclusions inevitable. The cursor pulsed at the end of a sentence, a small, patient heartbeat. If she breathed slowly, if she kept the numbers steady and her voice steadier, the room would follow. It was only a presentation; it was also everything.

Across the aisle, Elliot arrived perfectly on cue. His smile was as polished as his shoes, clipped and professional, a crescent that revealed nothing. Cufflinks flashed—small coins of confidence—and his blazer sat just so. “Morning, Mara,” he said, voice pitched to carry just enough. “Minimalist slides. Bold.”

“Morning,” she replied, matching his tone, filing the comment where it belonged. “And you’ve booked the executive room for ten—efficient.”

“Habit,” he said. “They like clarity.”

The office hummed the way a hive hums when the beekeeper lifts the lid: industrious, bright, faintly dangerous. Keyboards rattled; the printer coughed. On the internal feed, the announcement sat like a crown on the page: Strategic Lead: candidate pitches at 10.00. Attach decks by 9.15, please.

Elliot’s email left his outbox with an unmistakable whoosh. “Received, thanks Elliot,” pinged back within seconds.

Mara clicked send. Nothing. The hourglass spun like a dare. Then: Delivery failed—attachment too large. She inhaled, pressed compress, waited; the progress bar inched forward with glacial decorum. Behind her, Elliot laughed softly, as if the joke were a private arrangement with the air.

“Wi‑Fi’s been temperamental,” he offered, friendly as a bandage. “If you need the shared drive—”

“I’ve got it.” She didn’t look up.

If rivalry could be bottled, it would fizz—colourless yet corrosive. They had learned the choreography years ago: he praised in public and pressed in private; she prepared in silence and unfolded the evidence. He dazzled; she delivered.

At 9.47, her file finally posted to the drive. Relief did not flood; it straightened her spine. She printed three copies—margins whisper-thin—and slid them into a folder that clicked shut with accidental finality.

By 9.58, they stood outside the glass-walled room where the city hung like a backdrop and the executives watched from their ergonomic chairs. Their reflections were faint ghosts on the pane. “After you,” he said.

“After you,” she echoed, a smile that showed nothing and promised plenty.

They stepped through together. The clicker lay between them—small, innocuous, a trinket. It might as well have been a flint. The room inhaled; the clock clicked; somewhere, the city kept shrugging into day. And, quietly, the rivalry sharpened its edge.

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

Option A:

The light is ruthless: a flat white poured from the ceiling, sharpening every edge and bleaching the colour from hesitation. The air tastes faintly of ozone and alcohol; it is cool enough to keep tempers neat. Stainless benches run in straight lanes; the floor, glossy epoxy, holds pale reflections that vanish almost as they appear. Cables bow in obedient arcs; warning chevrons cut across the aisles; tiny monitors wink while a red LED pulses like a patient heartbeat—steady, unembarrassed.

At the centre a robotic arm pauses—listening, perhaps—then descends. Its joints, lacquered orange, rotate with ceremonial care; bearings sigh, and the gripped stylus, brass-tipped and unapologetically blunt, meets a phone's glass. It begins to tap: tap, tap, tap. Pressure climbs; numbers bloom on a side screen. The arm presses, releases, presses, releases—impartial, tireless—while a cradle shuttles the handset left and right and a camera stares, unblinking, cold, obliging.

Along one wall wait the ordeals: a drop tower curtained in rubber, a rain cabinet that squeezes water into vertical threads, a chamber glazed with frost. Here, devices are chilled until their breath fogs the window; there, they are heated until adhesive seems to weep. Salt mist broods in a sealed drum—time accelerated, corrosion blooming like a bruise. In the impact rig a steel ball swings and kisses a tempered sheet; a tremor spiders outward, hairline and delicate as a snowflake's map.

People orbit this choreography with quiet intent. Coats whisper; gloves snap; voices stay low, punctuated by the crisp click of a mouse. A woman circles a graph with a graphite pencil and nods, as if agreeing with a private suspicion; a man counts scratches through a jeweller's loupe and exhales in a thin ribbon. On the central monitor, patient columns crawl: impact Newtons; humidity percentages; dwell times; error bars; small numbers with stubborn consequences.

There is a seriousness that is not solemn, a belief that failure, repeated and recorded, is a kind of courtesy. What will yield first: the glass, the hinge, or the promise printed in the brochure? This room rehearses disaster so it will not arrive as surprise; outside, weather is capricious, pockets are deep, pavements are unforgiving. Inside, damage is domesticated and given a timetable. When the arm finally lifts, the screen wakes, indifferent, bearing a thin crescent scratch—small, honest, almost beautiful.

Option B:

Monday smelled of burnt coffee and bright intent; the open-plan floor gleamed under a thin wash of winter light while the air-conditioning whispered in a voice that never slept. Emails arrived like a tide—quiet at first, then insistent; the printer coughed; chairs rolled and squeaked. In that everyday orchestra, rivalry wore a smart jacket and a lanyard.

Riya aligned her pens into a neat arrow; across the desk, Callum straightened his tie and, without looking up, matched her symmetry with his laptop’s exact placement. Between them: a potted fern, a green border that pretended to be peace. Their screens glowed with the same deck, the same numbers; one difference, two titles.

Last December, he had told the room, “We pivoted the strategy,” and she had smiled because the pronoun was generous and not. It was her pivot—her late-night spreadsheet, her bullet points—yet the applause folded neatly into his cufflinks. She kept the bitterness in her throat, the way you hold a cough in a quiet cinema.

Since then, they had become careful. She arrived earlier, he stayed later. He sent her “minor corrections” (a comma shifted; a graph relabelled), and she replied with “helpful suggestions”—a line trimmed; a headline sharpened. Was he competitive, or did she just hate losing? The question hovered like static, lifting small hairs on the back of her hands.

At 9:42, the calendar chimed: Pitch – Oriole Foods. The glass room across the aisle sat empty, its polished table reflecting ceiling lights in strips like lanes in a pool. What mattered: being right, or being first? Riya clicked open her final file. Numbers unfurled, clean and persuasive. Somewhere behind her, Callum laughed—soft, rehearsed—at something someone said.

“Good luck,” he said, his smile politely edged.

“You too,” she answered, standing so they rose at the same time; two pieces pushed by the same invisible hand. The carpet became a chessboard; the glass door, a threshold.

At the door their reflections overlapped, then separated. Riya thought, briefly and annoyingly, that the real contest was inside her: fairness versus victory. The handle was cool; her heartbeat counted three.

The client filed in wearing rain and reserve. Handshakes stitched a temporary truce. There was only one chair at the head of the table: narrow, centred, expectant. Riya took the seat to the left; Callum to the right. Silence fell, precise as a ruler. Someone said, “Shall we begin?” and the rivalry, polite as ever, bared its teeth.

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

Option A:

The lab does not sleep; it glows. Fluorescent panels bleach the worktops; light settles in the corners like dust. The air is a cold blend of antiseptic and warm circuitry, a tang that sits on the tongue. Benches run in precise rows, each with quiet apparatus: clamps and lenses; wires glint like threads of rain. Monitors blink with obedient graphs. Even the floor seems to pay attention, polished into a hush.

At the centre, a robotic arm hovers over a glass rectangle, a phone so new it looks imaginary. The arm inclines, almost courteous, then taps. Tap. Tap. Measured pressure presses the glass; a minute shiver runs under the surface, recorded, examined, judged. The stylus traces a loop—another loop—another—marking microscopic scars nobody will see. Red numbers climb, pause, descend. There is a beat to it, as steady as a heartbeat and strangely patient, proof that endurance can be counted.

Meanwhile, behind safe glass, the drop tower rehearses disaster: a device let go, gravity doing the rest, the impact a coin of sound. Next door, a tank of clear water shivers as a watch goes under. Beyond, a climate chamber exhales frost; its door opens on winter, then on a dry heat. In the acoustic room, grey foam pyramids drink every note; even footsteps feel shy.

People move between the machines with practised stillness. Coats whisper; clipboards are lifted; a pencil hesitates, then writes a decisive tick. Coffee steams on a shelf where it shouldn't, leaving faint rings that will be wiped away. Their conversation is low and precise, salted with numbers, but sometimes there is a small laugh that reminds the room it is not only metal. They glance at screens; they listen; they reset, and begin again.

It is a kind of orchestra—an arrangement of hums, clicks and careful silences. Purpose thrums beneath the surfaces: to bruise things now so they do not bruise later. The lab seems to breathe, a lung of light, inhaling data, exhaling certainty. Under the lamps, the arm leans in one more time. Tap. Tap. Tap. The graphs climb. The glass holds. And the long, bright day continues, almost endlessly, almost calm.

Option B:

The office woke like a machine warming up: lights blinked, screens hummed, the printer cleared its throat. Monday sun seeped through the blinds in pale ladders, and the smell of burnt toast drifted from the kitchenette. By eight-forty-five, two cups sat beneath the coffee machine; two hands reached at once. Callum paused, offered the closest as if it were nothing; Nadia nodded, tight-lipped, and took the other. “Thanks,” she said, the word crisp. He smiled — that careful, neutral smile — and checked his watch.

Nadia’s desk was a diagram: pens aligned, notebook squared with the keyboard; a succulent turned to the window. Callum’s was a small storm — sticky notes, highlighters, a coffee ring bruising last night’s report. They were both talented; everyone said so. However, in meetings Nadia waited and stitched the conversation together, while Callum threw sparks and watched for something to catch. When the manager asked for volunteers, two hands lifted, almost in chorus.

At 8:58 an email landed: Northbridge pitch, Friday. The air thickened. Nadia glanced from her inbox to the glass office where Mr Okoye stood; Callum had already pushed his chair back, wheels whispering as he rose. One team lead needed. One step up. “We should collaborate,” he said lightly, hovering at her desk. “We could,” Nadia replied, fingers skating across her trackpad, “but our styles differ.” Polite. Accurate. A challenge folded into lace.

Meanwhile the office murmured — phones chirped, keyboards clacked — yet their day narrowed to a countdown. Nadia colour-coded her slides; she practised under her breath, precise and controlled. Callum drafted bold slogans and tore them up; he paced the window with the river blazing below. Every small thing mattered now: who booked the boardroom; who grabbed the projector; who printed first. It felt petty, almost childish, and still entirely real.

At nine, the lift sighed open, bringing a gust of damp air and a client’s laughter from the foyer. Nadia saved her deck; Callum tapped the printer queue. Somewhere, a kettle clicked off. Somewhere, a decision had already started to form. And whether they liked it or not, the office machine — those lights, that hum — would watch them race.

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

Option A:

The lab is bright in a way that makes edges sharper. Overhead panels pour white light onto steel benches; every surface seems to glow, clean and determined. In the centre, a robotic arm hovers over a glass rectangle, its articulated joints moving with careful patience, like a heron watching water.

It taps the screen once, twice, three times—then again, again, again. A tiny click, like fingernails on a tabletop, repeats until it almost disappears into the hum. On a monitor, lines ripple across a grid; data marches in neat numbers. The phone doesn’t complain, but the screen blinks, as if awake and slightly suspicious. Cables snake from the table, coloured sleeves hiding wires that pulse quietly.

Technicians drift between stations in pale coats, carrying clipboards and half-closed laptops. They speak in low voices and nod, nod again. One adjusts a dial—delicate—then steps back, eyebrows drawn, not frowning exactly. A timer rings with a polite chime; the arm pauses, then begins a second test: pressure, then bend, then heat.

The room smells faintly of plastic and lemon cleaner. There is also the dry scent of cardboard, and a trace of warm dust rising from fans. Each machine has its own voice: a whirr; a breath; a determined click. Together they make a steady music that is not beautiful, but steady enough to feel safe. On the far wall, hazard signs stare with yellow eyes. Behind them, a cabinet holds spare screens like sheets of winter ice. It is ordinary and strange; we break things here so that outside, in hands we will never meet, they do not break.

Option B:

Monday. The office hummed like a beehive; fluorescent lights buzzed, the printer coughed, and the coffee machine muttered. Between their desks, a border of stationery divided the space: pens like soldiers, a ruler between them. Maya sat straight, eyes on her screen. Lewis mirrored her. Neither looked at the other. The air felt tight.

Everyone knew, though no one said it, that their rivalry began with a spreadsheet. Last month, Maya stayed late, building a model with tidy formulas; the next day, Lewis presented it to the team with a smile that was almost sorry. ‘Great collaboration,’ he had said. The word hung like smoke. Praise drifted to his side of the desk.

Now the client pitch was hours away. They typed in a rhythm that refused to match: her keystrokes quick and light, his slower, deliberate, as if each word had weight. She adjusted the title slide, he polished a line of figures; both watched the clock. Who would blink first? The office plant leaned toward the window as if to escape the storm at their shared table.

‘Need the latest sales graph?’ Lewis asked, voice casual, eyes not so much. ‘Already sent,’ Maya replied. ‘And the forecast too.’ ‘Great,’ he said, tapping his pen. Tap. Tap.

Maya smelt coffee—burnt, bitter. She thought of times she had bitten back words because she was told to be a team player. Today felt different. Not angry; more like a tide lifting her to speak. She pictured the meeting room: glass table, projector glare.

The manager’s door opened. ‘You two. Five minutes,’ called Mrs Patel. They stood, chairs scraping. Papers were straightened, smiles prepared. At the threshold, Maya paused—half a heartbeat—and stepped first. The room noticed; so did he.

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

Option A:

The door slides with a soft sigh and the room meets you like a fridge. Cold air rolls out, smelling of disinfectant and warm plastic. The lights are fluorescent: a flat, humming ceiling. Benches line the walls; tools sleep in foam trays; cables loop like patient vines. There is no window, time is counted by blinking LEDs.

At the centre, a robotic arm waits—sleek and metalic—poised above a glossy phone. It moves with careful patience, like a heron over water. Tap. Tap. Tap. A rubber tip touches glass, lifts, returns; testing again and again. Pressure climbs; the screen shivers; a hairline crack crawls across and the sound is a small gasp.

Meanwhile, two technicians in blue coats track it all. One scrolls through data columns; the other notes calibration numbers on a tablet. Their mugs leave circles on the desk, their voices stay low and practical. They speak of failure rates and algorithms, as if the devices can hear. A printer rattles, spitting a label: PASS; sometimes, FAIL. A red bin waits under the table for the cracked glass, like a mouth.

Heat from the machines mixes with the cold air and makes a thin haze you can almost see. The lab feels clinical, controlled—almost antiseptic—but there are fingerprints on a clamp and a lost screw hiding in the dust. Again and again, the arm presses; again and again, numbers rise. Outside, the day moves on; inside, the future is rehearsed, tested, and slightly bruised.

Option B:

Monday morning. The air tasted of coffee and toner; fluorescent lights hummed above rows of screens. Maya slid into her chair and set down her mug with careful fingers. Across the aisle, Lewis did the same—mirror, shadow, rival.

His smile was precise, calculated, living on the surface; his tie was straight, his desk almost surgical. Between them the printer coughed, spitting pages like white flags nobody accepted.

At 9:12 the email arrived: Pitch at eleven; your best two ideas; winner leads the account. When the subject line flashed, the room seemed to lean. Maya’s stomach tightened; how hard could it be to breathe? She opened a new document and watched the cursor blink—blink—blink, a tiny metronome cutting time.

Lewis stood. "Big morning," he said, passing her desk so close the air moved. His tone was polite, shiny; like a blade polished too long. "Good luck."

"You too," she replied. She typed while he paced. The office chattered, but their universe shrank to two planets in the same orbit, tugging.

By ten-thirty her first idea felt bold and a bit risky; his laugh, drifting over the partitions, made it sound foolish. Still, she tightened the sentences and added a confident line. He gathered mood boards, colours marching in rows.

At ten fifty-nine, the conference room door squeaked. "Maya, Lewis," called the manager. "Let's see what you've got." They rose together; two colleagues, side by side, and yet not together at all.

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

Option A:

White, buzzing lights wash the lab. The benches are stainless and straight, rulers of steel lined up, cables coiled like sleepy snakes. In the centre a robotic arm reaches down to a smartphone, its joint clicking softly: a patient, careful movement. It taps the glass, then slides back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. The screen wakes with a cold glow. Numbers crawl along a small monitor, green on black; a thin printer whispers. The air smells of antiseptic and warm plastic, with a sharp tang of metal. It feels tidy here, almost clinical, and the quiet whirr seems to stop time.

Meanwhile, along the wall, there is rows of phones waiting, like a classroom before the bell. A technician watches through clear goggles—eyes flicking, pen tapping—writing down results. On another bench, weights drop in a measured rhythm; each thud tests strength, each thud measures trust. The arm repeats its tiny test: it pauses; it presses; it waits, as if listening for a crack that doesn’t come. Sometimes a silver scratch spreads like a spiderweb, and the room gives a soft sigh. Then the device is labelled, logged, and sent on. Again, and again, and again.

Option B:

Monday smelt like burnt coffee and printer ink. The office woke slowly; lights flickered; keyboards began to chatter. The clock dragged its hands round the wall as if it was tired already. Outside, rain drew thin lines. Inside, the air buzzed. The copier hummed like a bee. Same desks, same swivel chairs, same race.

Maya slid her card and stepped in first, or she thought she was first. Tom was there. He had beaten her by two minutes, and his jacket hung on his chair like a flag. Was he early on purpose? Maya put her notebook down, deliberate, and lined up the pens. Tom smiled, it didn’t reach his eyes. Ever since the promotion was mentioned, they had been polite rivals—colleagues who watched each other, counting.

At nine, the meeting would start. Meanwhile, little battles began. He printed the report on heavy paper; she stapled it with gold clips. He CC'd the manager on every email. She did too, quickly. The corridor filled with voices; the tension climbed. Maya’s phone buzzed. A message from HR: Reminder: bring ideas. Her stomach flipped like a coin. She had ideas. He had ideas. One room, one chance, one winner.

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

Option A:

The room is white like milk and the lights buzz. It feels cold, and clean, and a bit empty. There is wires on the floor and tables are shiny metal. The smell of plastic and spray cleaner sits in the air, sharp in my nose. Machines hum in the corners.

A yellow robot arm stands in the middle like a big claw. It moves slow, then quick. Tap tap tap on the phone screen. Beep. Beep. The screen goes blue, then red, then green. It presses hard, it presses soft, again and again, again. The light are too bright so the glass shines.

Two people in white coats watch. One has a clip board and a pen, they write numbers and little ticks. A belt carries more phones past a camera - the camera blinks. Boxes with labels lean on the wall. The clock ticks and the air hums.

Option B:

Monday morning again. The office lights buzzed and the printer coughed out paper, and I watched Dan come in with his red tie. He looked at me like he won already. My chair squeaked. My coffee was too hot, it burnt my lip. Today was the meeting about the new team leader, the big thing, the thing we both wanted.

I smiled at him, but my teeth felt tight. We had the same desk once, side by side, we shared staplers and jokes, now we counted each others emails and who stayed later. He typed loud, on purpose. I typed louder. I didnt blink.

It felt like a race that never stops, like two dogs pulling the same bone. The clock ticked hard; my heart ticked harder.

The boss coughed in her office and the glass shook a bit. I stood up first. he stood up too, faster. Our eyes met, they sparked, like wires.

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

Option A:

Bright white lights buzz in the lab The room is big and clean but not warm, the air is cold on my arms. A robot arm moves slow and then fast, it taps a phone screen again and again, beep beep. I remember my old phone from the shop and chips for lunch. I hear fans and a low hum, also a metal scrape. I smell plastic and hot wires, it is kind of sharp. People in coats watch and write things. I think it is boring and a little scary, the arm looks like a claw and it points at me, it were loud

Option B:

Morning. The office hum is flat and slow. Liam sits next to me and he smiles, it is a thin smile like a stapler. We both want the new job. The boss said Friday. I watch the clock and the screen and the coffee. He prints pages and pages. I put my report on the desk, he nudges it with a finger like it was nothing. I dont say anything. I type fast. He types faster. I think about the bus home. The air feels tight. I think I will win, then I think he will.