2011 Creative Writing Competition Winner – Year 7
Busy days, busy days. People are dropping dead everywhere and expect me to clear it all up. You know, it’s not an easy job being Death. It’s not even a war. But, I remember World War II as well as anything– I’ve never worked so hard in my life! I never get any credit for what I do because no-one can see me or know when I’m coming (a few people being the exception). I’ve had my job for 150 years now and I was hired when I died. You’re probably wondering now, how I died, well it’s simple, I was murdered. Murdered by my own father in fact. The filthy lying murderer. Well now I’ve told you that, I suppose you’d want to hear how it happened. Here goes...
January 1861
Willow Cottage was covered in overgrown leaves, several of the windows were smashed and the door hung off its hinges. The garden consisted of nothing but weeds and thorns. A fierce wind entered the house through the shattered windows causing the things inside to be knocked over or broken. The house overall looked as uninviting as ever. Despite the unpleasant state of the house, it was still used as a home. It was home to the Jones family. The father was uncontrollably violent and often treated other people like dirt, and his wife was rather the opposite. She was called Lucy and was forced to marry Derrick Jones, as her family supposedly got on well with his. The remaining member of the family was me – John Jones.
Like my mother, I despised Derrick and we planned to run away but it was not to be. The day of our planned escape we found out that my mother’s dad was murdered. To show our respect we decided to stay for the funeral (which my father refused to go to) and to not run away. My mother’s family needed her more than ever.
One dull evening, when Lucy was with her family, I saw my father in the living room. However, he was not the only one because I could hear shrieks of pain coming from another person. I went to investigate. The sight was something you wouldn’t want to look twice at. A bloody mass lay upon the floor, clearly desperate for help. He was writhing and wincing whenever my father hit him.
‘Why don’t you just keep your nose out of my business,’ my father yelled. ‘Answer me you useless lump.’
I hid behind the sofa and to my astonishment I recognized the man at once. He was my Uncle. I always thought they got on well together but I was most definitely wrong.
‘HOW DARE YOU THREATEN ME,’ my father continued. ‘ANSWER ME!’
My uncle spoke in sharp breaths. ‘Please – I – didn’t – mean – to – do – this.’
‘GIVE ME ONE GOOD REASON WHY I SHOULDN’T JUST KILL YOU NOW!’
I had plucked up enough courage to speak and I would do anything in my power to help my uncle.
‘I’ll tell you why you shouldn’t kill him now.’ I tried to make my voice sound confident and fear free. But somehow this didn’t seem to work.
‘YOU DARE TELL LUCY – ‘he stopped mid-way in his sentence because I had interrupted him.
‘What. Tell her you’re a filthy murderer, of course I’m gonna tell her. Oh and I bet you anything that it was you who murdered my grandfather as well, didn’t you.’ I don’t know what came over me. I had never spoken to someone like that before...ever. I was going to get it now, I knew it.
‘If you don’t tell Lucy, I won’t kill your beloved uncle.’ He pleaded.
‘Well, he already looks dead to me now anyway’. This was true because he had stopped writhing on the ground and by the looks of things, he’d also stopped breathing. My father was now looking worried as he stared at the dead body on the ground. If that didn’t add to his troubles, my mother would arrive any minute. I didn’t know what to feel as I stared into my father’s cold black eyes. He stared back into mine as though he wished me a painful death (which was what I would certainly get if I didn’t get out of his way soon).
I ran to the door and saw a figure getting bigger and bigger, this must be my mother because no-one else would want to come to this excuse for a house. She became more visible as time wore on. When my mother was drawing nearer to the house I ran to her.
‘Mother, please – come – now.’
‘Whatever could be the problem, John dear?’ She said, eyeing the anxious look etched upon my face.
‘No time – for – explanations – follow me.’ I ran with my mother at my tail towards the house again. It seemed like years when we finally reached the front door.
‘Right mother, be careful.’ I finally drew my breath back and tip-toed my way to the living room door. And there he was. My father had picked up a knife and clutched it so hard he was shaking. My mother screamed deafeningly.
‘I-I-Is th-that my b-brother?’ She asked with a petrified expression wrapped around her face.
‘YES!’ My father bellowed. He smacked his fist against the dining table and one of the legs dropped off causing the table to collapse. I and my mother had to jump out of the way for this unexpected event. My mother had started to cry uncontrollably and she too collapsed to the ground like the table. My father had a blank expression on his face as he looked at his wife lying despairingly on the ground. He walked towards me with the knife still held tightly in his hand and looked at me face to face. There was complete and utter silence only broken by my mother’s sobs.
‘Why did you tell her’? He said in a dangerously low voice. I didn’t know what to say to this so I fixed my eyes on my mother as though in a trance. There was going to be two murders tonight, I could sense it. Unless I gave my father a decent answer (which I surely couldn’t) that knife would slice me up into smithereens.
‘Well, I suppose there’s only one thing for it then.’ He brandished the knife in front of my face and my mother screamed. My father showed no sign of remorse as far as I could tell. He lifted up the knife and plunged it into my stomach.
Willow Cottage was covered in overgrown leaves, several of the windows were smashed and the door hung off its hinges. The garden consisted of nothing but weeds and thorns. A fierce wind entered the house through the shattered windows causing the things inside to be knocked over or broken. The house overall looked as uninviting as ever. Despite the unpleasant state of the house, it was still used as a home. It was home to the Jones family. The father was uncontrollably violent and often treated other people like dirt, and his wife was rather the opposite. She was called Lucy and was forced to marry Derrick Jones, as her family supposedly got on well with his. The remaining member of the family was me – John Jones.
Like my mother, I despised Derrick and we planned to run away but it was not to be. The day of our planned escape we found out that my mother’s dad was murdered. To show our respect we decided to stay for the funeral (which my father refused to go to) and to not run away. My mother’s family needed her more than ever.
One dull evening, when Lucy was with her family, I saw my father in the living room. However, he was not the only one because I could hear shrieks of pain coming from another person. I went to investigate. The sight was something you wouldn’t want to look twice at. A bloody mass lay upon the floor, clearly desperate for help. He was writhing and wincing whenever my father hit him.
‘Why don’t you just keep your nose out of my business,’ my father yelled. ‘Answer me you useless lump.’
I hid behind the sofa and to my astonishment I recognized the man at once. He was my Uncle. I always thought they got on well together but I was most definitely wrong.
‘HOW DARE YOU THREATEN ME,’ my father continued. ‘ANSWER ME!’
My uncle spoke in sharp breaths. ‘Please – I – didn’t – mean – to – do – this.’
‘GIVE ME ONE GOOD REASON WHY I SHOULDN’T JUST KILL YOU NOW!’
I had plucked up enough courage to speak and I would do anything in my power to help my uncle.
‘I’ll tell you why you shouldn’t kill him now.’ I tried to make my voice sound confident and fear free. But somehow this didn’t seem to work.
‘YOU DARE TELL LUCY – ‘he stopped mid-way in his sentence because I had interrupted him.
‘What. Tell her you’re a filthy murderer, of course I’m gonna tell her. Oh and I bet you anything that it was you who murdered my grandfather as well, didn’t you.’ I don’t know what came over me. I had never spoken to someone like that before...ever. I was going to get it now, I knew it.
‘If you don’t tell Lucy, I won’t kill your beloved uncle.’ He pleaded.
‘Well, he already looks dead to me now anyway’. This was true because he had stopped writhing on the ground and by the looks of things, he’d also stopped breathing. My father was now looking worried as he stared at the dead body on the ground. If that didn’t add to his troubles, my mother would arrive any minute. I didn’t know what to feel as I stared into my father’s cold black eyes. He stared back into mine as though he wished me a painful death (which was what I would certainly get if I didn’t get out of his way soon).
I ran to the door and saw a figure getting bigger and bigger, this must be my mother because no-one else would want to come to this excuse for a house. She became more visible as time wore on. When my mother was drawing nearer to the house I ran to her.
‘Mother, please – come – now.’
‘Whatever could be the problem, John dear?’ She said, eyeing the anxious look etched upon my face.
‘No time – for – explanations – follow me.’ I ran with my mother at my tail towards the house again. It seemed like years when we finally reached the front door.
‘Right mother, be careful.’ I finally drew my breath back and tip-toed my way to the living room door. And there he was. My father had picked up a knife and clutched it so hard he was shaking. My mother screamed deafeningly.
‘I-I-Is th-that my b-brother?’ She asked with a petrified expression wrapped around her face.
‘YES!’ My father bellowed. He smacked his fist against the dining table and one of the legs dropped off causing the table to collapse. I and my mother had to jump out of the way for this unexpected event. My mother had started to cry uncontrollably and she too collapsed to the ground like the table. My father had a blank expression on his face as he looked at his wife lying despairingly on the ground. He walked towards me with the knife still held tightly in his hand and looked at me face to face. There was complete and utter silence only broken by my mother’s sobs.
‘Why did you tell her’? He said in a dangerously low voice. I didn’t know what to say to this so I fixed my eyes on my mother as though in a trance. There was going to be two murders tonight, I could sense it. Unless I gave my father a decent answer (which I surely couldn’t) that knife would slice me up into smithereens.
‘Well, I suppose there’s only one thing for it then.’ He brandished the knife in front of my face and my mother screamed. My father showed no sign of remorse as far as I could tell. He lifted up the knife and plunged it into my stomach.
150 years later...
When I look back on it each time, it makes me hate my father more and more. One more thing I wish to know is what happened to my mother. Death must have come to her at one point but how it met her I don’t know.
You must welcome ten new people into the arms of Death.
How I said, people are dropping like flies, there won’t be any people left at this rate. Anyway, I have to go and recruit more people to help me with my job. And boy, do I need it.
©Jasmine Samra
When I look back on it each time, it makes me hate my father more and more. One more thing I wish to know is what happened to my mother. Death must have come to her at one point but how it met her I don’t know.
You must welcome ten new people into the arms of Death.
How I said, people are dropping like flies, there won’t be any people left at this rate. Anyway, I have to go and recruit more people to help me with my job. And boy, do I need it.
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