Ross...

In Mr.Coles lesson last friday we were given the task of writting a story. Firatly we had to arrange ourself in age order, which you'd think is a simple task for a buch of A-level students however it took far too long! Mr.Cole gave us the first part of the story which went 'Ross a _____ year old male woke up and looked around him, he was...' From here onwards we had to write part of a story, which we were given a couple of minutes to do and then pass it on to the person sitting next to us. So by the end of the lesson we would have a number of peoples inputs to a story. So this is how my story went;

Ross, a 90 year old male woke up and looked around him, he was in an care home surrounded by more elders of a similar age to him sitting in arms chairs. He was a skinny, frail, very pale old man with a thining grey combover, he had extremely thin lips accompanied by very few teeth, He wears a Dark Green Robe paired with an old leather flying cap and in his wrinkly shaking hands he clenched a toy plane.
A knife and fork were thrust into his hands - it was time for dinner. Ross hated dinner here, they always forced him to eat things he didnt like and he especially hated it when they interpreted his thoughts. He looked at the gleaming cutlery and slow begn to eat with a frown on his face.
''Coffee Dear?'' Came a voice from his left. ''NO you know i hate coffee at at the best of times. You call yourself a Carer? Pffftt. You couldn;t even dress yourself appropriTELY TODy...red skirt, fishnet stockings, a purple jumper and a green scarf...Even i can tell that you look ridiculous...just think about what the other old gits think about you'' She tured away briskly looking rather hot and flustered; a loud crash could be heard as she ran into the lobby. Bert, the old crazy fool from 9a just laughed. ''Laughter, such a pleasant sound''
Ross thought of his daughter who was due to come and visit him today, now he'd been waiting weeks to see her, but something always came up. Her mum was ill, his heart attacks, The nurses strike. he'd even gone to the the kitchen to make a special request for a cake to be made on her arrival. Of course he was refused, neverthe less, he asked. ''Dear the phones for you' He wheeled his chair to the office and the receptionist handed it over with one of the most special smiles. ''Hi paps?'' ''Yes is that you Charlotte?'' ''Yeah it is, oh paps, it's mum somethings happened''
He listened carefully. To a passer the gentle buzz could only be a greeting - an average call about the day, the waether...
But to Ross it was the moment when his last hope collapsed. He looked at the reciever in grief, only holduing it by the tips of his fingers. He opened his dry mouth, and it trembled. After what could have felt like an hour, he mearly said ''okay'' - and let his arm drop the phone. His fingeres gripped on to the air, They were like little spider legs. His ees lurched as tears glistened at the corner of his red eyes. The tears seemed to shatter. ''She's gone. It's all over!''

I have highlighted in different colours from where a new person added something else on to the story, the forst bit in blue writting was mine.
I pictured the narration, following on from mine, to be something along the world war II lines, and how he always spoke about his past, I didn't expect the story to jump so much, forexample there was a bi about a carer in inappropriate clothing, and there was nothing more written about it, and then it just jumped to the sad news of his daughters mum dying. This also made no connection to the point that it was his daughters mum however wasn't his wife or ex-wife. It also talks about him 'wheeling himself over to the phone' there's no story behing why he's in a wheelchair, i wouldn;t have put him in one if i had carried on the narration. I would have hoped that the story could have follwed on from my idea little better, for exaple the description i gave of Ross the 90 year old, and the props he was wearing/holding. 
This is how i'd imaging the old man to look..