P6 Prelim Composition: Model Essays for Popular PSLE Writing Topics

With the P6 Prelims approaching, our PSLE repository include model essays for some popular P6 prelim topics:

Making an Improvement • A Dream Come True • A Clever Plan • A Successful Plan

Quick tips:

- Look at how the topic is interpreted. Similar topics may still require different story focuses.

- Take note of useful WOWFATB expressions and characterisation.

- Study how the climax is developed to make the story more engaging.

- Most importantly, make sure the topic is clearly shown in the story and flashed again in the conclusion.

Use the model essays to revise the techniques we have taught and apply them confidently during the prelims.

A Clever Plan

“Stop! Somebody stop him!”

The desperate cry shattered the tranquillity of the nature reserve. I whipped around and caught sight of a man sprinting down the gravel path, a bulging black backpack bouncing violently against his back. Something about him immediately struck me as odd. Unlike the other joggers, he was clad in a crumpled grey shirt and long trousers, while a pair of polished leather shoes slapped awkwardly against the ground. A mop of greasy hair clung to his perspiring forehead and a jagged scar ran down one cheek. More suspiciously, he kept casting furtive glances over his shoulder. Before Grandfather could stop me, I sprang into action and tore after the stranger.

“Stop!” I yelled, pumping my legs furiously. The man glanced back and our eyes met for a fleeting second. His face paled. Instead of slowing down, he accelerated. I gritted my teeth and pushed myself harder, weaving past bewildered visitors, but the distance between us continued to widen. Within moments, he disappeared around a bend. I finally stumbled to a halt, doubled over and gasping for breath.

Grandfather caught up with me shortly afterwards. Even at seventy, he remained remarkably sprightly, with a ramrod-straight back and a brisk stride that often put people half his age to shame. His usually twinkling eyes were now narrowed in disapproval above his silver-rimmed spectacles. Grandfather had spent forty years as a mathematics teacher and believed that almost every problem could be solved if one remained calm enough to think. Charging after suspicious strangers was clearly not his idea of thinking. Before he could launch into one of his legendary lectures, however, a flustered park volunteer came rushing towards us. An injured hornbill that was being rehabilitated at the visitor centre had disappeared.

We hurried back with her. Staring in stunned silence, I gazed at the empty cage before me. Its metal door hung open while several black-and-white feathers lay scattered forlornly at the bottom. Only half an hour earlier, I had marvelled at the magnificent bird perched proudly inside. Now, it was gone. When the volunteer revealed that someone had spotted the same man loitering near the cage shortly before the bird vanished, realisation hit me like a thousand-pound sledgehammer. My body stiffened. The hornbill did not escape. He stole it! My blood ran cold as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place, the bulging backpack, the furtive glances and his desperate dash towards the exit. Unfortunately, knowing the identity of the culprit was useless if we could not catch him.

As Grandfather contacted the park rangers, I paced restlessly beside the information counter. There had to be another way. My gaze suddenly landed on a folded piece of paper protruding from my younger sister Chloe’s pocket.

The map!

I snatched it from her and spread it across a nearby bench. My finger traced the East Pond Trail along which the thief had fled. At first, my heart sank. It led directly to the eastern exit. Then I noticed that the trail curved almost completely around a sprawling pond before reaching it. In contrast, a narrow boardwalk sliced straight across the reserve and rejoined the trail farther ahead.

An idea flickered in my mind.

Instead of chasing the thief from behind, what if we got ahead of him?

I bent closer to the map. That was when a small red marking near the eastern exit caught my eye.

TRAIL CLOSED FOR MAINTENANCE.

My eyes widened. The thief would reach the barricade and have no choice but to retrace his steps. If the rangers took the shorter boardwalk, they could reach the junction before he returned. My earlier chase had failed because I had tried to outrun him. This time, I would outthink him.

I turned excitedly to Grandfather and explained my clever plan. His stern expression

gradually disappeared. The corners of his lips curled upwards and a familiar twinkle returned to his eyes. He gave me an approving nod before relaying the plan to the park rangers. Within minutes, everyone knew exactly where to go.

We hurried across the boardwalk and reached the junction well before the thief. A burly ranger concealed himself behind a dense wall of shrubbery. His broad shoulders strained against his khaki uniform and his weather-beaten face remained impassive as he surveyed the trail. Two other rangers were dispatched farther down the opposite path in case the thief tried to flee. Grandfather, Chloe and I remained a safe distance away.

Then, we waited.

Nothing.

Only the rustling of leaves disturbed the eerie silence.

Ten seconds became thirty.

Thirty became sixty.

I could feel sweat beading on my forehead. What if I had misread the map? What if there was another path I had overlooked? What if the thief had already escaped? My mind was all over the place. I clenched my fists tightly as my heart hammered against my chest. Minutes earlier, my plan had seemed ingenious. Now, countless possibilities for failure flooded my mind.

A twig snapped.

My breath caught in my throat.

Footsteps.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

They grew louder.

A figure emerged from behind the trees.

My pulse sprinted.

The crumpled grey shirt. The greasy hair. The black backpack.

It was him.

Completely unaware that he was being watched, the thief hurried past our hiding place towards the eastern exit. I dared not move. Even Chloe, who normally found remaining silent for ten seconds an impossible feat, had clamped both hands over her mouth.

We waited again.

One minute.

Two.

Then hurried footsteps thundered towards us.

The thief reappeared, his face crimson with frustration. Just as I had predicted, the barricade had forced him to turn back.

The burly ranger stepped onto the path.

The thief stopped dead in his tracks.

For one suspended moment, neither man moved. The thief’s eyes darted frantically from the ranger to the surrounding trees. His fingers tightened around the straps of his backpack. Then, without warning, he spun around and bolted.

My heart lurched.

Had my clever plan failed at the very last moment?

No.

Seconds later, two uniformed figures emerged from the opposite end of the trail. The thief skidded to a halt. He looked ahead. Then behind. The burly ranger was already advancing towards him. Trapped between the three men, the thief's shoulders sagged in defeat. There was nowhere left to run.

When the rangers unzipped his backpack, they discovered a small ventilated carrier concealed inside. A frightened rustling came from within before the unmistakable beak of the missing hornbill appeared through one of the openings. A wave of relief washed over me. The bird was carefully carried back to the visitor centre and returned safely to its cage, apparently unharmed by its ordeal.

The senior ranger commended me for studying the map carefully and anticipating the thief's movements. Swelling with pride, I could barely conceal the grin spreading across my face. Grandfather adjusted his silver-rimmed spectacles and gave me an approving pat on the shoulder. Coming from him, that meant more than any praise.

As we left the nature reserve, I looked once more at the crumpled map in my hand. My first attempt to catch the thief had failed miserably because I had acted without thinking. It was only when I stopped, observed the clues and used the map to predict his movements that my clever plan succeeded. That day, I learnt that solving a difficult problem did not always require strength or speed. Sometimes, all it took was a calm mind, careful observation and the ability to think one step ahead.

Making An Improvement

I would say my life changed the day I said yes to Julian. He was not like most boys our age. While other boys spent time playing mobile games on their phones, Julian was busy playing soccer. While other boys laughed at the idea of sweating under the blistering sun, Julian embraced it. He was on the ‘Track and Field’ team and was always training, always running. He was disciplined, calm and somehow always managed to come in first, without bragging.

My Julian was different.

It was not that we were together. We were just best friends. I just happened to find him beautiful, and my heart just happened to sing whenever he was near. He did not know this, of course, so I guess you could say that I was secretly in love with my best friend.

In fact, I was so in love with him that I truly believed that I would have done anything just to spend more time with him.

Then one day, he asked.

“You should sign up for the cross-country race with me,” Julian casually suggested one afternoon, taking a sip from his bottle as we did our homework together in the canteen after school. “It’s going to be at Macritchie Reservoir Park so that should be really fun!”

Hearing this, I gulped. I wanted so badly to say no. If there was one activity I could say I hated to the core of my being, it was running. The thought of doing my most hated activity under the hot sun with aching limbs and sore muscles made me wince.

However, seeing Julian’s eyes light up made the next word leave my mouth before I could stop it, “Sure!”

I facepalmed myself inwardly. Did I really just say yes? I instantly wished that I could take it back but Julian seemed so happy that I bit my tongue. I loved seeing him happy.

Little did I know that that decision would change the way I saw myself.

I had never been an athletic girl and I had hated running ever since I first had to run during Physical Education (PE) lessons. It was the most agonising experience of my life and I felt like my heart was going to pound its way right out of my chest every time. I had vowed to never run voluntarily if I could help it.

Until now. I sighed. Anything for Julian, I guess.

The first day of training with Julian was a nightmare. I could not even run 400 metres without wheezing like an old steam train! My legs felt like jelly and sweat rolled off my back like a waterfall. I was happy to be there with Julian but I was mortified that he was witnessing my horrendous stamina in action. I wished I could quit right there and then.

Despite being embarrassed, Julian never once laughed at my struggle. He jogged beside me slowly, stopwatch in hand, never making me feel bad for slowing him down, and encouraged me with every step.

Every time we trained together, he would point out my improvements. “You’re doing so much better than yesterday. Your stride is much bigger this time and you can run without stopping for at least three minutes already,” he would say. “That’s all that matters. Keep going!”

Day after day, we trained. At first, I dreaded the sessions but slowly, something started to shift. I could run a little farther without stopping. Then, I could breathe a little easier during the runs. The stopwatch that Julian held in his hand during our sessions stopped being something I hated and started becoming something I wanted to beat.

Soon, I realised that somewhere during the training sessions, I had stopped running for Julian and had started running for me. It was not about impressing anyone anymore. It was the adrenaline pounding through my veins and the burn in my muscles turning into a strange kind of pleasure, each heartbeat pushing a fresh wave of energy throughout my body. With every stride I took, the world blurred at the edges and a weightlessness flooded my chest. The endorphins that came after washed away every anxious thought, every doubt and replaced them with a fierce, breathless joy.

The day of the school cross-country race finally arrived. I was nervous but excited. I just want to finish. I don’t have to win, I assured myself as I readied myself at the starting line with all the other participating students. Julian stood next to me, giving me a sweet smile of encouragement before getting into his ready stance.

I smiled back and faced forward. I took a deep breath.

Phweetttt! The whistle blew, signalling the start of the race. Instantly, everyone surged forward. Many runners started sprinting ahead but I kept my pace steady. I knew I could not run that quickly if I wanted to have enough energy and stamina for the entire race. As we ran through the single trek dirt path of Macritchie Reservoir Park, there were moments my legs screamed at me to quit. My chest felt like it was burning and I had to slow down to gain better control of my breathing.

“You should go ahead! I want you to win the race!” I told Julian breathlessly. He turned to me, unsure if I was being serious.

“Are you sure?” he asked with a quizzical look on his face. I nodded enthusiastically. He paused, gave me a smile and then took off like the wind. I watched him go, feeling proud of him.

My legs were burning, every breath like a gasp through fire. I was halfway through the race, and the once-steady rhythm of my steps had turned into a desperate shuffle. Sweat stung my eyes. You can't do this, a voice whispered in my head. You were never meant for this.

Just then, from the corner of my eye, Julian fell. I caught up with him. He was clutching his ankle, his face twisted in pain. For a moment, everything froze. The boy who always came in first. The boy who got me here. My heart leapt into my throat.

“Go,” he gasped, seeing me hesitate. “You can do this.”

I was in a terrible dilemma, whether I should stay by his side or forge ahead. However, something changed at that moment. I felt a rush within me. Determination soared through my veins. I gritted my teeth and my gaze filled with a steely determination. Adrenaline pumped around my body. That was the moment everything clicked. I understood. This was never about him. It was never about winning or being fast. It was about becoming someone who did not quit. Someone I could be proud of.

Thankful for Julian’s blessing, I turned back toward the trail. I pounded the path with every aching step, I sprinted for all the times I had doubted myself. For every PE lesson I had hated. For every voice that had told me I was weak. I ran for me.

For what felt like hours, I pushed through the race and finally, the finish line came into sight! My face broke into a disbelieving smile. Did I really do this? Did I, the girl who had really bad stamina and hated running, finally improve my fitness enough to take part in a cross-country race?

Sweaty and breathless, I crossed the finish line ecstatically. I did not place in the race but I had done something I never thought I could. I could hardly believe it.

Julian finally met me at the finish line, grinning from ear to ear. “You did it! I’m so proud of you!” he gushed. Before I could catch my breath, he enveloped me in a giant bear hug. I froze briefly before hugging him back but I knew something had shifted.

The adrenaline still thrummed beneath my skin and my heart still raced from the final sprint. However, I could feel a quiet triumph rising above it all. This was my victory, not his. I was not standing there because of Julian’s pride. I had crossed that finish line because I wanted to. Somewhere along the endless laps and breathless training sessions, I had stopped chasing his approval and started chasing my own limits.

That moment meant more to me than any trophy ever could. It taught me that making an improvement did not come from talent or luck. It comes from trying and persevering. It comes from believing in yourself. As Confucius once said, it does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop.

A Successful Plan

“Emma! Your water bottle!”

Mum’s exasperated voice rang through the house just as my younger sister was about to dash out of the front door. Emma skidded to a halt, slapped her forehead and raced back towards the dining table, nearly tripping over the schoolbag she had abandoned in the hallway. I sighed. This was classic Emma. At ten, my sister was a pint-sized whirlwind with an unruly ponytail and seemingly limitless energy. Wherever she went, a trail of forgotten belongings followed, uncapped markers, crumpled worksheets and half-eaten sandwiches. Yet, this scatterbrain desperately wanted one thing. A dog.

That Saturday, I accompanied her to Happy Paws Animal Shelter “just to look”. Volunteers bustled between enclosures while an enthusiastic chorus of barks filled the air. Emma darted from cage to cage until she suddenly stopped. Curled quietly in the corner of the last cage was a small brown mongrel. Unlike the other dogs clamouring for attention, he merely gazed at us with enormous doleful eyes. His name was Milo and his previous owner had abandoned him. Emma crouched down. Milo cautiously padded towards her and pressed his wet nose against the bars. Her face softened as she scratched him gently behind the ears. For once, my chatterbox sister was silent.

Predictably, she began begging Mum the moment we reached home. Mum simply pointed towards Emma’s half-eaten breakfast, yesterday’s dirty socks and the forgotten water bottle. Emma’s shoulders drooped. Even she could see the problem. That evening, I found her sitting forlornly amid the usual battlefield of clothes and stationery in her room, staring at Milo’s photograph. Suddenly, an idea crystallised in my mind. Mum did not dislike dogs. She simply did not trust Emma to care for one. If words could not convince her, actions could.

That was how our plan began.

For four weeks, Emma had to prove that she could be responsible without being nagged. I drew up a schedule and stuck it prominently on the refrigerator. She had to make her bed, pack her schoolbag, complete her homework before screen time and help with household chores. Every Saturday, we would volunteer at Happy Paws. Each successful day earned a tick on the calendar.

Initially, Emma attacked the challenge with gusto. However, her determination was soon tested when her best friend invited her to a movie on Saturday morning. Emma waved the ticket excitedly before her gaze landed on the calendar. Saturday, 9 a.m. — Happy Paws.

Her smile vanished.

For a long moment, her eyes travelled between the ticket and the calendar. Missing one Saturday would be so easy. Nobody would force her to go. Finally, she released a long sigh, picked up her phone and told her friend she could not make it.

I stared at her.

This was the same girl who once staged a twenty-minute protest because Mum had switched off the television.

Something was changing.

Week by week, the ticks multiplied. At the shelter, Emma learnt to refill water bowls, groom the dogs and even clean their foul-smelling cages without fleeing in disgust. Milo, in return, became hopelessly devoted to her. The moment he spotted her each Saturday, his tail hammered against the floor. At home, reminders from Mum gradually disappeared. Emma’s schoolbag somehow found its way beside the door each evening and, miraculously, so did her dirty dishes to the sink.

By the end of the fourth week, our calendar was filled with ticks.

Then my phone rang.

Another family wanted to adopt Milo.

My body stiffened. What if they took him home that evening? Had Emma's four weeks of hard work been for nothing? My heart pounded wildly against my chest as panic clawed at me. Then I spotted Emma quietly packing her schoolbag for Monday without being reminded.

No. We were not giving up now.

That evening, we put the final stage of our plan into action. We laid out the completed

calendar, photographs of Emma volunteering, information about dog-care expenses and a timetable showing how she would fit Milo’s needs around school. The following morning, Mum examined everything in silence.

My palms grew clammy.

Her eyes moved from the uninterrupted trail of ticks to photographs of Emma cleaning cages and grooming Milo. Finally, she looked at my sister. Instead of making extravagant promises, Emma calmly admitted that caring for Milo would sometimes mean sacrificing sleep, outings and screen time.

Silence descended upon the room.

Then Mum reached for her handbag.

“Perhaps it is time I met Milo.”

Our plan was working!

An hour later, we rushed into Happy Paws. Emma hurried towards Milo’s enclosure.

She stopped.

The cage was empty.

My blood ran cold.

Milo’s blanket was gone, together with his water bowl.

We were too late.

Emma gripped the metal bars. Her face turned as white as a sheet and her lower lip trembled. Four weeks of early mornings, chores and sacrificed Saturdays had led to this empty cage. My heart sank as I watched the sparkle disappear from her eyes.

Woof!

We spun around.

Milo was trotting through the entrance beside my cousin.

Emma's jaw dropped. Then Milo spotted her and bolted. She dropped to her knees as he bounded into her arms, his tail becoming a blur while he smothered her face with enthusiastic licks. My cousin explained that the other family had chosen another dog; Milo had merely been out for his morning walk.

A huge wave of relief washed over me. Mum watched Emma and Milo for several moments before a smile tugged at her lips.

“Let’s complete the adoption papers.”

Emma’s face lit up like a Christmas tree.

Our plan had succeeded!

Several weeks later, I woke early on Sunday and spotted Emma running along the pavement with Milo bounding happily beside her. Her unruly ponytail whipped from side to side as they disappeared around the bend. No one had woken her. No one had reminded her. On her desk, her schoolbag was already packed for Monday.

I smiled.

Looking back, our successful plan had achieved far more than bringing Milo home. Four weeks earlier, Emma could barely remember her own water bottle; now, another living creature depended on her. Milo may have been the reward at the end of our plan, but

Emma’s transformation was its greatest success. I learnt that a truly successful plan does not merely change an outcome. Sometimes, it changes a person.

A Dream Come True/ A Wish

An air of melancholy wrapped itself around me as I stared at my best friend, Jeffrey, who began placing his belongings in a huge duffel bag. The thought of never seeing my best friend again engulfed me in sadness. My eyes wandered around the dimly lit room where Jeffrey and I HAD spent 10 years of our lives in as memories of our time together started flooding in. I gazed at Jeffrey with a heavy heart as he packed the last of his belongings before he would leave the orphanage to be with his new family. Out of the blue, something caught my eye.

It was a keychain that I thought I had lost! I let out a soft gasp as I picked it up gingerly. My fingers grazed the keychain that had “JAY” carved on it. Jay was a nickname that only Jeffrey called me by, and the keychain had been a gift from him that I carelessly misplaced. A soft smile tugged at the edge of my lips, relieved to have found something that would remind me of my best friend once he was gone.

“Hey Jay. Looks like this is it,” Jeffrey spoke as he strode up to me with a bittersweet smile on his face. Jeffrey opened his arms wide expectantly while motioning me to get closer. I let out the faintest chuckle as I enveloped him in a tight hug. “I’m going to miss you,” I sobbed as I tried to blink back my tears but failed miserably. Once we broke the hug, I reached my arms up to cover my tear-filled face. I did not want Jeffrey’s last memory in our room to be of my ugly crying. I noticed Jeffrey’s eyes turning glassy as his lips quivered. Jeffrey promised that he would come visit whenever he had the chance. We then shared one last hug before I waved him goodbye.

That night felt a lot lonelier since it was the first time that I was alone in that room. My

fingers grazed the windowpane as I gazed at the picturesque night sky. I watched as the stars sparkled beautifully while my thoughts drifted to the dream I had held close to my heart for as long as I could remember. More than anything, I dreamed of being adopted by a kind family and having a loving home to call my own. Perhaps one day, just like Jeffrey, my dream would come true.

Since then, days turned into weeks and weeks into months. I watched as kids younger than me left to join their new families. I became the oldest boy in the orphanage and the longest to have stayed there. The feeling of despair that I would never get adopted kept growing bigger and ended up diminishing the hope that I had felt before. My lifelong dream of having a family of my own seemed to be slipping further and further away.

I was walking through the halls of the orphanage when I overheard my name being spoken in a conversation. I craned my neck and noticed that the ones talking were Mrs Tan and Miss Emily. They were the owner and caregiver of the orphanage who had been taking care of me since I was little. Curiosity got the better of me when I heard my name again as I tiptoed closer to eavesdrop.

“We need to try and recommend Jayden to these couples. That boy deserves a loving home too,” Mrs Tan commented. “I know but the ones looking to adopt aren’t so open to adopting a child who is almost a teenager. At his age, it is going to be hard for Jayden to get adopted,” Miss Emily replied.

Grief-stricken, I dashed back to my room as I cried in an avalanche of emotions. My torrent of tears soaked through my pillow, letting out feelings of disappointment, anger, worry and heartache altogether. Was my dream of having a loving family never going to come true? I silently drowned myself in tears until the pain sapped all of my energy and I drifted off to sleep.

When I woke up to the flinching rays of sunlight piercing through the windows of the room, my eyes immediately caught sight of Miss Emily who was reaching for my duffel bag at the top of my wardrobe. Once she noticed that I was awake, Miss Emily rushed up to me and said, “Jayden! You’re going to be adopted! We are sending you to your new loving home today.”

Stupefied, I froze as if a stun dart was shot directly at me. A small gasp managed to escape my lips. Simultaneously, my eyebrows rose in shock and I kept blinking, wondering if this was just a dream.

It was not a dream. My dream was actually coming true!

The former feeling of shock morphed into happiness as I enveloped Miss Emily in a bear hug. My heart sang and I squealed in delight. My grin was so wide that I could probably eat a banana sideways! I was on cloud nine and happiness was painted all over my face. I could barely conceal my delight as happiness glowed from inside of me.

Without hesitation, I immediately scurried around the room as Miss Emily helped me to pack my belongings. I could not erase the huge grin on my face even when I was done getting ready and I was smiling so wide for so long that my cheeks started

I swivelled around as the shock from finding out who it was that tapped my shoulder made me drop the bottle that was in my hands. I let out an inaudible gasp as my eyes widened.

“Hey Jay!” Jeffrey exclaimed while waving enthusiastically at me.

Realisation dawned on me almost immediately. The family that adopted me was the same family that adopted Jeffrey!

Up till this day, I can still vividly recall how euphoric I was when I was adopted into Jeffrey’s family. For ten long years, I had dreamed of the day when I would finally have a loving family and a home to call my own. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that I would also be reunited with my best friend. That unforgettable day taught me that even a dream that seems impossible can become reality when we least expect it. It was truly a dream come true.