I have always enjoyed writing, and reading a good book. English literature was my favourite subject at school and I would often be found w...

I have always enjoyed writing, and reading a good book.

English literature was my favourite subject at school and I would often be found with my nose in a book in my spare time.

In fact reading is still one of my passions (the only difference now is that I don't have much in the way of spare time to be able to enjoy it).

This is something I seem to have passed on to my eldest daughter CJ.

She has literally read every book we own, except for the ones that are not age appropriate of course (*cough*  50 Shades Of Grey  *cough*).

And trust me when I say we own a lot of books.

Throughout her time at junior school we were told by her teachers that she has a real talent for literacy, and that we have a budding author on our hands.

It looks like they were right!

A few days ago 14 year old CJ was asked to produce a piece of creative writing for her GCSE coursework. (She is taking her English Literature GCSE exam this summer - 1 year early).
It needed to based on a Jekyll and Hyde type character, and she was only required to write the opening paragraphs of her 'book'.  She was then asked to write her own GCSE style questions based on her writing.

She completed the work as requested and asked me to read through the story for her.
I couldn't believe what I was reading.

Let's just say I have begged her to write the whole book so that I can find out the rest of the story!

Alas, with GCSE's to study for she doesn't have time to complete the story, but I thought that, with her permission, I would share what she has written with you all:

Behind Closed Doors

The silence is eerie. Well needed and wonderful I’m sure, but eerie all the same. Something just doesn’t feel right, probably because I’m so used to the screaming, raving antics of my two very own pint-sized drama queens. All day long I’m subjected to the most stubborn little girls I’ve ever know and their gale force tantrums. Behold the wrath of toddlers. After a day’s work of cleaning up their messes, wiping away their tears and essentially preventing world war 3, I finally manage to settle them down in their beds, but not without a struggle or two, of course they made sure of that.

Peace at last. Well almost. I can hear the click-click-clicking of the keyboard in the study. My husband must be home from work. I poke my head round the study door to check on him. ‘Creeeaakkk’. The traitorous floorboard beneath me gives away my presence, causing me to jump in the process.

“You’re going to work?” he asks, almost as if he knows the answer already. I nod my head; he sighs and smiles weakly back at me.

“Have fun then”, he chuckles under his breath. I turn my back on the door and make my way down the hallway towards the front door.

Heading down towards the garage, the sky a deep black abyss dancing with the stars above my head, I take in my surroundings. It’s a perfect night; few clouds in the sky, a gentle breeze, the moon casting its light down on the earth below. I strut into the garage, gear up, and scan through my list one last time:

Martha Edwards – status: eliminated
Jerry Smith – status: eliminated
Taylor Ernst – status: eliminated
Douglas Roberts – status: alive

A small grin makes its way across my face as I pull up all the records on my lucky victim:

Douglas Roberts, 46 year old male of British descent. He is exceedingly rich and notoriously nasty. He’s been divorced 3 times due to accusations of domestic abuse. Douglas works near Hyde Park and leaves late every single day. – Client anon.

Along with this file came an image of a short, stocky man with a receding hairline and a hideous tweed suit. Well, he shouldn’t be too hard to find in a crowd.

The wind whistles through my hair; I weave my way in and out of the twisted, winding streets of London, lurking in the shadows, a creature of the night. I feel my senses heighten. Footsteps of the innocent and unwary, I hear them. Everywhere I look there are people enjoying their lives completely unsuspecting of the havoc I could wreak. But luckily for them I only have one target tonight.

I make my way through various alleyways, each as dark and dingy as the next, until I spot the very same man I had seen in the photo earlier. Like a lioness stalking her prey, and with the grace of a ballerina, I begin to follow him, submerged in the shadows and ready to pounce. Every left or right turn he made, I did the same. Every time he stops, I stop. It’s almost like dancing a waltz, perfectly synchronised in every way, except my partner doesn’t know I’m here...yet. I dodge the judgemental glare of security cameras and keep myself away from the prying eyes of car headlights, dancing around all the obstacles in my way, awaiting the time when I can strike.

Finally! Douglas takes a turn I wasn’t expecting and heads down an old alley, rarely used due to its decrepit state; it is the perfect place for me to complete my little job. Like a baby learning to walk, after the first step everything else just comes naturally. I position myself behind a dumpster and begin to edge my way closer and closer and closer until...

SMACK! I hit him in the back of his head with deadly precision. So precise in fact, that he drops down unconscious right before my very eyes. With one swift movement and the accuracy of a butcher, I slice his jugular vein. Blood surges from the wound, the deep red liquid cascading down his neck onto his shirt, now stained red too. The blood wiggles its way into every nook and cranny, illuminating the otherwise dingy alley in all of its scarlet glory. I lean in close to Douglas, slightly amused by the odd gurgling noise he was making.

“It’ll all be over soon” I whisper “sweet dreams”.

Checking myself for any specks of blood, I tuck my knife back under my belt, listen for any sign of life, and then I make my way home for a well-deserved rest

Douglas Roberts – status: eliminated.

I am seriously impressed with her writing and storytelling skills.

As her mum I know that my opinion may be slightly biased, but I hope you found her writing as captivating as I did.

Missy x

No comments:

Note: only a member of this blog may post a comment.