English 7

Quarter 1 - Module 2: The Elements of a

Short Story
Introductory Message
This Self-Learning Module (SLM) is prepared so that you, our dear learners, can
continue your studies and learn while at home. The activities, questions, directions,
exercises, and discussions are carefully stated for you to understand each lesson.

Each SLM is composed of different parts. Each part shall guide you step-by-
step as you discover and understand the lesson prepared for you.

Pre-tests are provided to measure your prior knowledge of the lessons in each
SLM. This will tell you if you need to proceed with completing this module, or if you
need to ask your facilitator or your teacher's assistance for a better understanding of
the lesson. At the end of each module, you need to answer the post-test to self-check
your learning. Answer keys are provided for each activity and test. We trust that you
will be honest in using these.

In addition to the material in the main text, Notes to the Teachers are also
provided to the facilitators and parents for strategies and reminders on how they can
best help you on your home-based learning.

Please use this module with care. Do not put unnecessary marks on any part of
this SLM. Use a separate sheet of paper in answering the exercises and tests. Read the
instructions carefully before performing each task.

If you have any questions in using this SLM or any difficulty in answering the
tasks in this module, do not hesitate to consult your teacher or facilitator.

Thank you.
What I Need to Know
This module was designed and written with you in mind. It is here to help you master
the different elements that make up a short story. The scope of this module permits it
to be used in many different learning situations. The language used recognizes the
diverse vocabulary level of students. The lessons are arranged to follow the standard
sequence of the course. But the order in which you read them can be changed to
correspond with the textbook you are now using.

The module has one lesson:

Lesson 1 - Understanding the Elements of a Short Story

After going through this module, you are expected to:

1. Define the six key elements of a short story: Character, Setting, Plot, Conflict,
Theme, and Point of View.
2. Identify these elements within a provided short story text.
3. Analyze how the elements interact with one another to form a cohesive narrative.
4. Apply the knowledge of story elements to a practical creative writing task.
 UNDERSTANDING THE
LESSON 1 ELEMENTS OF A SHORT
STORY
What I Know
Before you start this module, take this pre-test to find out what you already know
about the topic. Take a comfortable position. Relax and prepare yourself to answer.
Are you ready?

Task 1. Story Snapshot

Read the short paragraph below.

The rain pattered against the window of the old, dusty bookstore as 12-
year-old Elias nervously clutched the faded leather notebook. He had been
sent on a secret mission to return the book to its rightful owner, but a
grumpy-looking man in a long coat was blocking the door, making Elias's
heart pound in his chest.

Now, choose the best answer for each question and write it in your notebook.
1. Who is the main person in this story?
a. The bookstore owner
b. Elias
c. The man in the long coat

2. Where does this story take place?

a. In a library on a sunny day
b. In a school during a storm
c. In a dusty bookstore on a rainy day

3. What is the main problem Elias is facing?

a. The book is too heavy.
b. He can't get past the grumpy man.
c. He doesn't know where the owner is.
Task 2. Reflect and Connect
Answer the following questions in your activity notebook.

4. What specific words or phrases in the paragraph helped you determine who and
where the story is?

5. Why do you think stories need a main person, a place, and a problem?
What's In
But before we proceed, let's have a review of our previous lesson.

Activity: Building Blocks

Study the pairs of words below and identify the relationship between them.
1. brick : wall (Part-to-Whole)
2. cold : shiver (Cause-and-Effect)
Now that you can identify the relationships between words, you can use that skill to
understand how the parts of a story relate to each other. Just as a brick is an
essential part of a wall, every story is built from essential parts. Let's find out what
they are.

What's New
The objective of this section is to get you thinking about the components of a story
that you already know from your favorite movies or books.

Activity: My Favorite Story

Think of your favorite movie, animated film, or short story. Now, fill out the graphic
organizer below with the answers to these questions. Write your answers in your
activity notebook.
● Who is the main person in this story?
● Where and when did it happen?
● What was the biggest problem they faced?
This task leverages your existing knowledge of narratives, ensuring that the new,
formal concepts are not alien but rather a structured way of understanding what you
already know and enjoy.
Read the short story below.

THE CENTIPEDE
by Rony V. Diaz

When I saw my sister, Delia, beating my dog with a stick, I felt hate heave like a
caged, angry beast in my chest. Out in the sun, the hair of my sister glinted like metal
and, in her brown dress, she looked like a sheathed dagger. Biryuk hugged the earth
and screamed but I could not bound forward nor cry out to my sister. She had a weak
heart and she must not be surprised. So I held myself, my throat swelled, and I felt
hate rear and plunge in its cage of ribs.
I was thirteen when my father first took me hunting. All through the summer of
that year, I had tramped alone and unarmed the fields and forest around our farm.
Then one afternoon in late July my father told me I could use his shotgun.
Beyond the ipil grove, in a grass field we spotted a covey of brown pigeons. In
the open, they kept springing to the air and gliding away every time we were within
range. But finally they dropped to the ground inside a wedge of guava trees. My father
pressed my shoulder and I stopped. Then slowly, in a half-crouch, we advanced. The
breeze rose lightly; the grass scuffed against my bare legs. My father stopped again. He
knelt down and held my hand.
“Wait for the birds to rise and then fire,‖ he whispered.” I pushed the safety
lever of the rifle off and sighted along the barrel. The saddle of the stock felt greasy on
my cheek. The gun was heavy and my arm muscles twitched. My mouth was dry; I felt
vaguely sick. I wanted to sit down.
“You forgot to spit,” my father said.
Father had told me that hunters always spat for luck before firing. I spat and I
saw the breeze bend the ragged, glassy threads of spittle toward the birds.
“That‘s good,” Father said.
“Can‘t we throw a stone,” I whispered fiercely. “It‘s taking them a long time.”
“No, you‘ve to wait.”
Suddenly, a small dog yelping shrilly came tearing across the brooding plain of
grass and small trees. It raced across the plain in long slewy swoops, on outraged
shanks that disappeared and flashed alternately in the light of the cloud-banked sun.
One of the birds whistled and the covey dispersed like seeds thrown in the wind. I fired
and my body shook with the fierce momentary life of the rifle. I saw three pigeons
flutter in a last convulsive effort to stay afloat, then fall to the ground. The shot did not
scare the dog. He came to us, sniffing cautiously. He circled around us until I snapped
my fingers and then he came to me.
“Not bad,” my father said grinning. “Three birds with one tube.” I went to the
brush to get the birds. The dog ambled after me. He found the birds for me. The breast
of one of the birds was torn. The bird had fallen on a spot where the earth was worn
bare, and its blood was spread like a tiny, red rag. The dog scraped the blood with his
tongue. I picked up the birds and its warm, mangled flesh clung to the palm of my
hand.
“You‘re keen,” I said to the dog. “Here. Come here.” I offered him my bloody palm.
He came to me and licked my palm clean. I gave the birds to my father. “May I
keep him, Father?” I said pointing to the dog. He put the birds in a leather bag which
he carried strapped around his waist. Father looked at me a minute and then said:
“Well, I‘m not sure. That dog belongs to somebody.”
“May I keep him until his owner comes for him?” I pursued.
“He‘d make a good pointer,‖ Father remarked. “ But I would not like my son to
be accused of dog-stealing.
“Oh, no!” I said quickly. “I shall return him when the owner comes to claim
him.”
“All right,” he said, “I hope that dog makes a hunter out of you.”
Biryuk and I became fast friends. Every afternoon after school we went to the field to
chase quails or to the bank of the river which was fenced by tall, blade-sharp reeds to
flush snipes. Father was away most of the time but when he was home he hunted with
us.
Biryuk scampered off and my sister flung the stick at him. Then she turned
about and she saw me.
“Eddie, come here,” she commanded. I approached with apprehension. Slowly,
almost carefully, she reached over and twisted my ear.
“I don‘t want to see that dog again in the house,” she said coldly. “That dog
destroyed my slippers again. I‘ll tell Berto to kill that dog if I see it around again.” She
clutched one side of my face with her hot, moist hand and shoved me, roughly. I
tumbled to the ground. But I did not cry or protest. I had passed that phase. Now,
every word and gesture she hurled at me I caught and fed to my growing and restless
hate.
My sister was the meanest creature I knew. She was eight when I was born, the
day my mother died. Although we continued to live in the same house, she had gone,
it seemed, to another country from where she looked at me with increasing annoyance
and contempt.
One of my first solid memories was of standing before a grass hut. Its dirt floor
was covered with white banana stalks, and there was a small box filled with crushed
and dismembered flowers in one corner. A doll was cradled in the box. It was my
sister‘s playhouse and I remembered she told me to keep out of it. She was not around
so I went in. The fresh banana hides were cold under my feet. The interior of the hut
was rife with the sour smell of damp dead grass. Against the flowers, the doll looked
incredibly heavy. I picked it up. It was slight but it had hard, unflexing limbs. I tried to
bend one of the legs and it snapped. I stared with horror at the hollow tube that was
the leg of the doll. Then I saw my sister coming. I hid the leg under one of the banana
pelts. She was running and I knew she was furious. The walls of the hut suddenly
constricted me. I felt sick with a nameless pain. My sister snatched the doll from me
and when she saw the torn leg she gasped. She pushed me hard and I crashed against
the wall of the hut. The flimsy wall collapsed over me. I heard my sister screaming; she
denounced me in a high, wild voice and my body ached with fear. She seized one of
the saplings that held up the hut and hit me again and again until the flesh of my
back and thighs sang with pain. Then suddenly my sister moaned; she stiffened, the
sapling fell from her hand and quietly, as though a sling were lowering her, she sank
to the ground. Her eyes were wild as scud and on the edges of her lips, drawn tight
over her teeth, quivered a wide lace of froth. I ran to the house yelling for Father.
She came back from the hospital in the city, pale and quiet and mean, drained,
it seemed, of all emotions, she moved and acted with the keen, perversity and
deceptive dullness of a sheathed knife, concealing in her body that awful power for
inspiring fear and pain and hate, not always with its drawn blade but only with its
fearful shape, defined by the sheath as her meanness was defined by her body.
Nothing I did ever pleased her. She destroyed willfully anything I liked. At first, I
took it as a process of adaptation, a step of adjustment; I snatched and crushed every
seed of anger she planted in me, but later on I realized that it had become a habit with
her. I did not say anything when she told Berto to kill my monkey because it snickered
at her one morning, while she was brushing her teeth. I did not say anything when
she told Father that she did not like my pigeon house because it stank and I had to
give away my pigeons and Berto had to chop the house into kindling wood. I learned
how to hold myself because I knew we had to put up with her whims to keep her calm
and quiet. But when she dumped my butterflies into a waste can and burned them in
the backyard, I realized that she was spiting me.
My butterflies never snickered at her and they did not smell. I kept them in an
unused cabinet in the living room and unless she opened the drawers, they were out
of her sight. And she knew too that my butterfly collection had grown with me. But
when I arrived home, one afternoon, from school, I found my butterflies in a can,
burned in their cotton beds like deckle. I wept and Father had to call my sister for an
explanation. She stood straight and calm before Father but my tear-logged eyes saw
only her harsh and arrogant silhouette. She looked at me curiously but she did not
say anything and Father began gently to question her. She listened politely and when
Father had stopped talking, she said without rush, heat or concern: ―They were
attracting ants.‖
I ran after Biryuk. He had fled to the brambles. I ran after him, bugling his
name. I found him under a low, shriveled bush. I called him and he only whimpered.
Then I saw that one of his eyes was bleeding. I sat on the ground and looked closer.
The eye had been pierced. The stick of my sister had stabbed the eye of my dog. I was
stunned. For a long time I sat motionless, staring at Biryuk. Then I felt hate crouch;
its paws dug hard into the floor of its cage; it bunched muscles tensed; it held itself for
a minute and then it sprang and the door of the cage crashed open and hate clawed
wildly my brain. I screamed. Biryuk, frightened, yelped and fled, rattling the dead
bush that sheltered him. I did not run after him.
A large hawk wheeled gracefully above a group of birds. It flew in a tightening
spiral above the birds. On my way back to the house, I passed the woodshed. I saw
Berto in the shade of a tree, splitting wood. He was splitting the wood he had stacked
last year. A mound of bone-white slats was piled near his chopping block. When he
saw me, he stopped and called me.
His head was drenched with sweat. He brushed away the sweat and hair from
his eyes and said to me: “I‘ve got something for you.”
He dropped his ax and walked into the woodshed. I followed him. Berto went to
a corner of the shed. I saw a jute sack spread on the ground. Berto stopped and
picked up the sack.
“Look,” he said.
I approached. Pinned to the ground by a piece of wood, was a big centipede. Its
malignantly red body twitched back and forth.
“It‘s large,” I said.
“I found him under the stack I chopped.” Berto smiled happily; he looked at me
with his muddy eyes.
“You know,‖ he said.” That son of a devil nearly frightened me to death‖
I stiffened. “Did it, really?” I said trying to control my rising voice. Berto was
still grinning and I felt hot all over.
“I didn‘t expect to find any centipede here,” he said. “It nearly bit me. Who
wouldn‘t get shocked?” He bent and picked up a piece of wood.
“This wood was here,” he said and put down the block. “Then I picked it up, like
this. And this centipede was coiled here. Right here. I nearly touched it with my hand.
What do you think you would feel?”
I did not answer. I squatted to look at the reptile. Its antennae quivered
searching the tense afternoon air. I picked up a sliver of wood and prodded the
centipede. It uncoiled viciously. Its pinchers slashed at the tiny spear.
“I could carry it dead,” I said half-aloud.
“Yes,” Berto said. “I did not kill him because I knew you would like it.”
“Yes, you‘re right.”
“That‘s bigger than the one you found last year, isn‘t it?”
“Yes, it‘s very much bigger.”
I stuck the sliver into the carapace of the centipede. It went through the flesh
under the red armor; a whitish liquid oozed out. Then I made sure it was dead by
brushing its antennae. The centipede did not move. I wrapped it in a handkerchief.
My sister was enthroned in a large chair in the porch of the house. Her back
was turned away from the door; she sat facing the window. She was embroidering a
strip of white cloth. I went near, I stood behind her chair. She was not aware of my
presence. I unwrapped the centipede. I threw it on her lap.
My sister shrieked and the strip of white sheet flew off like an unhanded hawk.
She shot up from her chair, turned around and she saw me but she collapsed again to
her chair clutching her breast, doubled up with pain The centipede had fallen to the
floor.
“You did it,” she gasped. “You tried to kill me. You‘ve health… life… you tried…”
Her voice dragged off into a pain-stricken moan. I was engulfed by a sudden feeling of
pity and guilt.
“But it‘s dead!” I cried kneeling before her. “It‘s dead! Look! Look!” I snatched up
the centipede and crushed its head between my fingers. ―It‘s dead!
My sister did not move. I held the centipede before her like a hunter displaying
the tail of a deer, save that the centipede felt thorny in my hand.
What's It
Let’s have a short review about The Centipede.
The story is about a boy named Eddie who has a very cruel sister, Delia. Delia
constantly bullies Eddie and abuses his dog, Biryuk. Eddie feels a great deal of hatred
towards his sister. One day, while hunting, Eddie's brother brings him a large
centipede as a pet. This gives Eddie an idea for revenge.

Now, let's learn about the elements.

1. Character
A Character is an individual, animal, or figure who takes part in the action of a
literary work.
● Protagonist: The main character. In "The Centipede," the protagonist is Eddie.
● Antagonist: The character who opposes the protagonist. In "The Centipede," the
antagonist is Delia.
2. Setting
The Setting is the time, place, and environment in which the story takes place. It can
be a physical location or a social and emotional environment.
● In "The Centipede," the story is set in a rural, family home where the relationships
are filled with tension and cruelty. The environment, filled with Delia's constant
torment, shapes the events of the story.
3. Plot
The Plot is the sequence of events in a story. It's the "what happens" of the narrative.
A plot can be broken down into five parts:
● Exposition: The beginning of the story where the characters, setting, and basic
situation are introduced.
○ In "The Centipede": We are introduced to the sibling rivalry between Eddie and
his sister, Delia.
● Rising Action: The series of events that build tension and lead to the climax.
○ In "The Centipede": Delia's cruelty escalates, especially toward Eddie's dog,
Biryuk, and his other personal belongings. This causes Eddie's hatred to grow.
● Climax: The most exciting or dramatic moment in the story; the turning point of
the conflict.
○ In "The Centipede": Eddie, seeking revenge, places the live centipede on his
sister's sleeping body.
● Falling Action: The events that happen after the climax, leading to the resolution.
○ In "The Centipede": Delia's frantic screaming as she wakes up to the centipede.
● Resolution: The conclusion of the story, where the conflict is resolved.
 ○ In "The Centipede": The story ends with Eddie feeling both a sense of triumph
and a strange sense of loss, with the conflict left bitter and unresolved.
A plot diagram can help you visualize this sequence of events.

4. Conflict
The Conflict is the struggle or problem that the characters must face. It drives the
plot forward.
● External Conflict: A character's struggle with an outside force, like another
character or nature.
○ In "The Centipede": Eddie vs. Delia. Their constant fighting and Delia's abuse
are the main external conflicts.
● Internal Conflict: A character's struggle within themselves, such as a decision or
a moral dilemma.
○ In "The Centipede": Eddie's internal conflict is his struggle with his intense
hatred for his sister and his desire for revenge.
5. Theme
The Theme is the main message, moral, or lesson of the story. It's the central idea the
author wants to convey.
● In "The Centipede," the themes are the destructive nature of hate and revenge.
The story shows how a desire for revenge can lead to harmful actions.
6. Point of View
The Point of View is the perspective from which a story is told.
● First-person: The narrator is a character in the story and uses "I" or "we."
○ In "The Centipede": The story is told from Eddie's perspective, so we see
everything through his eyes and feel his hatred for Delia.
What's More
This section provides guided practice to reinforce the concepts you just learned. The
activities are designed to be hands-on and directly linked to our anchor text, "The
Centipede."

Task 1. Element Hunt

Read the following paragraph and identify the elements you can find.

"The hate I had for my sister, Delia, was a living thing. It festered and grew,
a caged, angry beast inside me. The Centipede lay coiled in my hand, its
shiny black body a terrible promise. I crept into her room, the scent of her
perfume a sickening sweetness in the darkness of the evening. She was
already asleep, a frown on her face as if she were having a bad dream."

Now, use a graphic organizer to list specific examples of each element from the
passage above.
● Character:

● Setting:

● Conflict (External/Internal):

Task 2. Plot Mapping

Draw a blank plot diagram and map the key events of "The Centipede" from Exposition
to Resolution. Use the examples from the "What's It" section to help you.
Task 3. Conflict Match-Up
Match the scenario from "The Centipede" in Column A with the type of conflict in
Column B. Write your answers in your notebook.

Column A
1. Delia constantly hurts Eddie's dog, Biryuk.
2. Eddie is tormented by his own thoughts and feelings of hatred.
3. Eddie decides to put the centipede on his sister's neck.
Column B
a. Character vs. Self
b. Character vs. Character
c. Rising Action

What I Have Learned

This section will help you summarize the key takeaways of the lesson.

Activity: Complete the Narrative

Complete the sentences in the paragraph below using the words from the word bank.
Write your responses in your activity notebook.

Word Bank:
● Plot
● Setting
● Protagonist
● Theme
● Conflict
● Point of View
The main person in a story is the (1). The time and place where the story happens is
the (2). The sequence of events is called the (3), which is driven by the main (4). The
overall message or lesson of the story is the (5), and the perspective from which the
story is told is the (6).
What I Can Do
The objective of this section is to promote critical thinking and a higher-level
application of the concepts.

Activity: The Setting Swap

Think about "The Centipede." What if the setting was different? For example, what if it
was set in a bustling city apartment instead of a quiet rural home? Write a short
paragraph explaining how changing the setting would change the story's conflict and
theme.
Assessment
This section will test your mastery of the learning competencies.

Part A (Multiple Choice)

Choose the letter of the correct answer.
1. The protagonist is the main character in a story.
a. True
b. False
2. The setting is the sequence of events.
a. True
b. False
3. Which element refers to the central message or lesson of a story?
a. Plot
b. Theme
c. Conflict
4. What part of the plot introduces the characters and setting?
a. Climax
b. Resolution
c. Exposition
5. A struggle a character has with their own thoughts and feelings is an example of
what type of conflict?
a. Internal conflict
b. External conflict
c. Character vs. nature
Part B (Short Answer)
Read the short excerpt below and answer the questions that follow.

She was a large woman with a large purse that had everything in it but
hammer and nails. It had a long strap, and she carried it slung across her
shoulder. It was about eleven o'clock at night, and she was walking alone
when a boy ran up behind her and tried to snatch her purse. The strap
broke with the single tug the boy gave it from behind. The boy fell on his
back on the sidewalk, and his legs flew up. The large woman simply turned
around and kicked him right square in his blue-jeaned sitter. Then she
reached down, picked the boy up by his shirt front, and shook him until
his teeth rattled.

(Excerpt from "Thank You, M'am" by Langston Hughes)

1. Who is the protagonist of this story?

2. Who is the antagonist?

 3. What is the main external conflict in this excerpt?

4. What do you think the theme of the full story might be, based on this excerpt?
Explain your answer.

Additional Activities
These enrichment tasks are for further practice and to extend your engagement with
the material.

Activity: Author's Corner

Choose ONE of the following tasks to complete.
● Option 1: Point of View Change-Up: Rewrite the scene from "The Centipede"
where Eddie places the centipede on his sister, but from Delia's perspective. How
would she describe the events?
● Option 2: Storyboard a Scene: Create a visual storyboard of the Rising Action of
"The Centipede," showing at least three key events that lead to the climax. You
can draw this in your notebook.
● Option 3: Create a Plot Diagram for a Movie: Use the plot diagram model to
map out the plot of your favorite movie.

Answer Key
 Answers may vary.

References
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stories/