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This narra ve could be published in a collec on of short stories of a similar theme.
He told us he was God. We didn’t believe him. Of course we didn’t. Nobody would take a messy, high school kid se-
riously. His trousers fell below his feet, and his black hair had been untouched for days at a time. He walked nerv-
ously, with slow movements, but always had a polite smile and a kind word for anyone he saw. His medical record
was clean, but he often visited the nurse for headaches, or leg cramps. I used to joke with my friends that painkillers
were the secret to his top grades.
And then there were his cranes. Everywhere he went, I saw him fold paper cranes. Origami, he called it. They were
truly beautiful things. He was so experienced that he could conjure them up using only his left hand, without even
looking. In class, as some unconsciously mess with their pens, he made cranes. The final part of his design required
him to pull the crane’s body open, usually done with both hands, pulling both of the wings. But he used his mouth.
Every time, he positioned the small, paper crane’s wing in his lips, careful not to get it inside his mouth, and with a
swift gesture, pulled the cranes open. When asked, he said that he needed his right hand to write. But he did that,
even in a conversation, interrupting his own speech to pull it open. I always admired him, and secretly wanted to
make the cranes that he did.
God once spoke to a bully. He was walking when he heard a cry. It was a little girl, much younger than he was, and
another boy, about his age, towering over her. As he approached them, still making his unfinished crane, the bully
changed his target. But he was calm, and asked the bully what he was doing, as he turned his head to the girl, ob-
viously beaten and bruised. When the bully replied that it was none of his business, he smiled for an instant, and
asked the bully how he would feel if someone did the same to him. Before the bully could finish his taunt, he
launched his left hand for the bully’s mouth, with such force that the bully was launched backwards. He walked to
where he had displaced him, but said nothing. Instead, with a stern look on his face, he let the crane fall on the bully’s
face and walked away, as calmly as he came. I was there. I saw, but I couldn’t believe. For such a person to have such
strength, they called it the work of God.
God once spoke to a girl in my class. She was involved in a serious car accident, but wasn’t very popular in her class,
even less than myself. When I went to the hospital, she was in a coma. I’d brought some flowers for her, on behalf
of the whole class. But he was there too. He found the doctors, who said that her chances of waking up were very
slim. Her parents were devastated by the news, but he merely nodded. Later, with a smile, he reassured her par-
ents that she would be okay. He left a paper crane next to her bed. We didn’t talk. I didn’t really know what to say.
A few days later, she made an unexpected recovery. The paper crane was the first thing she saw when she woke up.
Whether it was his work, or simply a biological miracle, they never knew. They simply called it the work of God.
God once spoke with me. It was on a cold evening after school. He approached me as I was sitting on a bench,
waiting for the bus. He sat next to me, without warning. I’d never really conversed with him. His left hand was me-
chanically working, as usual.
“Kami,” was the first word he spoke. “…means God in Japanese.” He turned to me, and I said nothing, waiting for
him to explain. “It’s kind of funny actually. When you say origami, it kinda sounds like it, doesn’t it? ori…kami,” he
said slowly, pointing out the syllables with his hand as he said them. I told him it did sound similar, still half waiting
for his explanation. He smiled, more than usual. His eyes were glowing, as if he was about to present some ground
breaking evidence in a courtroom. “Ori means folding. So, essentially,” he explained, as he finished another crane,
“it’s like saying that I’m folding God.” He let out a light chuckle. The bus arrived, and I asked him whether he wanted
to sit next to me. He agreed, as it was a long journey.
We sat comfortably towards the back of the bus. As soon as the bus started moving, he conjured a white, square
piece of paper from his pocket, and directed it towards me.
“Would you like to try?” he asked, his eyes open wide. “I think you’re ready,” he said and smiled, adding to my con-
fusion. I agreed cautiously, wondering if this was an experiment he was doing on me. I told him I hadn’t the faintest
idea what to do. “Don’t worry, anyone can do it. It’s nothing complicated; they just don’t know how. I’ll show you.”
He produced a piece for himself. I lazily asked him if he would go slowly. He laughed. “I’ll go as slowly as the bus
then.” I laughed in agreement.
He instructed me slowly and clearly.
“You know,” he brought up as I was trying to make a difficult fold, “sorry to say this so…bluntly, but I’ve been ob-
serving you for the past few days.” I stopped for a second, mildly surprised, and asked him why he observed me. “I
think we could become good friends,” he explained simply. I didn’t know quite how to respond, unsure of how one
could ever calculate something like friendship. “We are in the same classes, visit the same places at break and leave
by the same bus. It’s inevitable that we will begin chatting at some point.” He shrugged. “Why not kick-start the
whole thing, eh?” He looked at my almost finished crane. “You also seem to be pretty handy with paper.” I said that
I merely followed his instructions, and I didn’t think I could do it again on my own. “Well, there’s a bus tomorrow
too, if you’d like,” he invited me. I looked at the crane, and back at him. I liked him, even though I couldn’t fully un-
derstand him, I felt that there was something more to him than his untidy appearance. “Do you have a shelf under
your bathroommirror?” he asked suddenly, before I could respond. I answered that I did, as I finished my first paper
crane. I looked at it, one of the most beautiful things I have ever done. He nodded. “Your first crane, put it next to
your mirror.” I asked him why.
The next day, I woke up. I was troubled. I went to wash my face, as I did every morning. I had placed the crane next
to the mirror, as instructed, but that morning, I saw something much more than the crane. I looked at the mirror,
and I remembered him. I remembered his smile, and the fire and the passion in his eyes, the certainty in his voice.
I looked at my hands, and remembered his own, moving so mechanically, so perfectly. As the water was dripping
from my face, I remembered his response.
“So you will see God when you look in the mirror.”
Daniel Koudouna, 6J
Kami
An example of AS English
Language coursework.
Candidates develop a narrative
from an oral narrative they have
heard and recorded.
As well as the narrative, a com-
mentary is submitted exploring
the effectiveness of the linguistic
choices made. The commentary is
not included here.
English Department
28
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