Week 2 in Creative Writing
The clock struck twelve hours. It was midnight; the stars were smiling at the world again because they knew the war was over. The world seemed happy, sleeping peacefully but one soul was wandering, lonely, tortured by the nightmare of a death. That soul was trapped in a body, in a man. His name was Charlie Marvell. He was a twenty-five-year-old former solder. Charlie was sitting at the front steps of London Theatre. In front of his eyes pictures were changing – for a moment he saw the beautiful gypsy dancer from the ballet crying over her dead lover, alone at the street; then suddenly the body of the general, lifeless, came up in front of his eyes. Charlie opened his eyes trying to force the images out of his head but others came instead, even more horrible than before. “You are a murderer!” The leaves were whispering these words in his ears like the audience of the play did. “You are a murderer!” That was what the detectives said when they saw him over the captains dead body.
The year was 1947. It was a fresh April evening and Valeria Dobrev was preparing for her performance of a lifetime. She would dance in front of the elite of the Royal Army. Even the King himself would come and watch her dancing. She knew she was the best dancer and they came all to see her. That was her chance to get rid once and for all of her terrifying past. She put her dress on, a last look in the mirror and it was time. The music started, she felt the story she was dancing. It was her life story – the poor life on the street, her cruel master and the dead lover in the freezing December night. Another pirouette, another tear and it was over. The music stopped with a heartbeat. The audience stand on its feet showing she was the queen of their hearts. And there in the third role, she saw him. The same smile, the same black hair, the same grey eyes that burned her every time she looked into them. Her smile disappeared. She had to do something – he was dangerous. Her leg hurt her again; she had to sip some morphine. She took a big glass, opened the bottle with the painkiller, drank a little and with a bottle of vodka and her storybook she headed out.
“My morphine is over” thought Charlie Marvell as he was walking out of the theatre. His hand hurt all night but the beautiful dancer Valeria distracted him from the pain. When it was over he could not take it anymore so he walked fast of the theatre. Charlie was one of the first soldiers who went out. He saw Captain turning around the corner and followed him. When he went on the street; the captain was missing and only small droplets of water were dancing in the air. He turned and started walking towards his house. At the next corner he saw a bagger sleeping, holding all of his wealth into his hug. A bottle of vodka and a strangely decorated book grabbed Charlie’s attention. He noticed a drawing on the front cover of the book. There was a girl grabbed by a monster, a dragon that was smiling. The bottle of vodka was open and the liquid was dropping at the pavement. Above the bagger there was a poster of the tonight spectacle. Charlie bent to close the vodka bottle when he heard the siren. It was right behind him so he turned and saw two officers pointing at him. He got up and they ran to him, caught his arms and bent them behind his back. “What are you doing here, sir?” asked the taller one. He bent towards the bagger and the shook him. The hand of the man dropped as if he was a doll. The officer leaned over and checked if he was alive. Charlie’s wound burned him, his heart stopped. The officer stood up, his face pale, but his eyes sparkled with a greedy flame like a hound that had sniffed the rabbit in the bushes. “George, this is Captain James Rodney. I am afraid he is dead.”
Valeria was in her dressing room, in front of the mirror. She smiled to herself and took her coat off. She felt happy for the first time in her life. She did not have a past - she had erased her past. The smallest traces of her nightmare were out of her life. She stepped on her toes moving from side to side feeling beautiful, graceful, and alive. Her grass green dressed followed every single movement, her curls were happy. They danced with her making a cloud of amber. She felt the story was taking a new turn and it might finish happily after all. She looked for her diary, a where she was writing her life as a fairy tale and later she danced it revealing her soul at the stage in hall full of strangers, who wanted entertainment in their boring lives. It was missing - all her life was there drawing by drawing, story by story, tear by tear. Her happiness disappeared for a part of the second but she remembered that she is now free. No more lies, no more hiding for her, she could be whoever she wanted. The fact that she had lost the last evidence of her former life made her even happier. After all there were the nightmares left for her not forgetting where she comes from.
Charlie was sitting on the front steps of London Theatre. He was holding a small book with two letters beautifully drawn: “B.D.”. His eyes were wandering on the pages, gulping thirstily the words. He had never something more fascinating, something more beautiful and full of sorrow. The story seemed sp real he decided that was a life story. Charlie had to discover the mysterious owner of the diary because he was sure the murderer was hidden in these pages. The murderer that took his freedom away had to be found. Charlie was now a suspect because that little book had enchanted him and he stopped near the bagger. It was in his hands now but the cost was too expensive for him – his life. Thank God it was Cecilia beside him or now he would have been on the electrical chair. He had to discover the owner of the notebook, the real murder. Cecilia said she would meet him in front of the theatre. He was now waiting for her. Every minute seemed so longer, he felt the urge to run, to escape from everything and everyone in the world but his feet didn’t listen to him. He sat there, lonely, when he heard the mousy steps of his tiny friend. She was Irish as him. Her hair was blond as the sun, sparkling; her eyes were brown as the fertile soil and were deep as the ocean. She looked fragile but when he met her eyes he thought he could only obey her. She fought with him in war, she was beside him when he got injured and that ended his cricket career. Cecilia sat beside him with unhappy expression. Charlie knew the news were bad as always so he just started explaining what happened. She listened carefully and nodded from time to time. She knew how unlucky her friend was so she didn’t say anything. When he finished his story they stood silent. Clouds were above them throwing shadows in their souls. Neither of them wanted to speak first because every word they said sounded as a new goodbye.
Charlie Marvell opened his eyes and jumped on his legs. He had a new nightmare, which happened quite often after he came back home from Moscow fields. He was dreaming every night about falling bombs, singing bullets beside his ear and his friends falling dead one by one, and the Death smiling above the burning fields of Moscow. But this night it was different. Charlie saw Captain Rodney dead and the army detectives accused him the murder. There was one book left in him – a book with a beautiful story in it. Charlie felt cold all of a sudden. He realised he was sitting on something cold, a stone. He took a look around and his heart stopped beating. He hadn’t dream – the nightmare was real because he was sitting on the steps of London Theatre. Cecilia was also there, her head tilted. Charlie was going to be dead in a few days if he did not find the person whose stories he read.
Valeria woke up as the sun was rising. She slept dreamless for the first time in her life. The clouds were gone out of the sky for her, she felt like a bird just freed from a cage. Her heart warmed up her blood, she jumped. A childish laugh echoed and flew out of the window. As often happens in summer a storm was approaching and as a newborn bird Valeria did not felt it. She was blinded by the sunshine and she was flying towards the sun. She dressed and with sparks in her eyes she went down. The theatre was across the street. She crossed and stopped in front of the stairs. Young man and woman were sleeping, their faces carrying the grief of the hard life. He was handsome with his long eyelashes and read hair and she had the sparkling silk hair that reminded Valeria of home. She passed by them smiling hoping that their worries will soon be over. She opened the door of the theatre and saw the boy jumping on his legs.
Charlie and Cecilia headed off to the police station. There was a surprise for them. In the morgue the doctor Martin Russakov was waiting them with good news. “The Captain did not die from morphine poisoning. He was made to faint with a hit from behind and he drowned when air got into his stomach. However the police still has Charlie as main suspect because you have a motive to kill him. They suspect also the step-son of Rodney Markus James because he was with his father last night in the show and they were heard arguing.”
“Do you know something more about the Captain, Martin?” asked Cecilia.
“I am afraid I don’t. Let me think...
This week's creative writing class explored the theme of crime fiction. Inspired by the writer Colin Dexter and his famous detective Inspector Morse, we constructed stories in which our protagonists had to solve a murder. The stories showed a variety of storylines from the murder of Cesar's daughter in Ancient Rome by a member of a strange Egyptian sect (by Diane de la Forest) to Vessela Dobreva's story about a killer ballerina.
Ves' story was read out during the presentations on Sunday night. This story is in it's beginning stage, but I thought I would share with you this terrific work in progress. I thought it was interesting how the murder is not described, but rather implied. A touch of magic realism can also be detected in this work and I hope you enjoy it as much as I have...
Ves' story (untitled)
The clock struck twelve hours. It was midnight; the stars were smiling at the world again because they knew the war was over. The world seemed happy, sleeping peacefully but one soul was wandering, lonely, tortured by the nightmare of a death. That soul was trapped in a body, in a man. His name was Charlie Marvell. He was a twenty-five-year-old former solder. Charlie was sitting at the front steps of London Theatre. In front of his eyes pictures were changing – for a moment he saw the beautiful gypsy dancer from the ballet crying over her dead lover, alone at the street; then suddenly the body of the general, lifeless, came up in front of his eyes. Charlie opened his eyes trying to force the images out of his head but others came instead, even more horrible than before. “You are a murderer!” The leaves were whispering these words in his ears like the audience of the play did. “You are a murderer!” That was what the detectives said when they saw him over the captains dead body.
The year was 1947. It was a fresh April evening and Valeria Dobrev was preparing for her performance of a lifetime. She would dance in front of the elite of the Royal Army. Even the King himself would come and watch her dancing. She knew she was the best dancer and they came all to see her. That was her chance to get rid once and for all of her terrifying past. She put her dress on, a last look in the mirror and it was time. The music started, she felt the story she was dancing. It was her life story – the poor life on the street, her cruel master and the dead lover in the freezing December night. Another pirouette, another tear and it was over. The music stopped with a heartbeat. The audience stand on its feet showing she was the queen of their hearts. And there in the third role, she saw him. The same smile, the same black hair, the same grey eyes that burned her every time she looked into them. Her smile disappeared. She had to do something – he was dangerous. Her leg hurt her again; she had to sip some morphine. She took a big glass, opened the bottle with the painkiller, drank a little and with a bottle of vodka and her storybook she headed out.
“My morphine is over” thought Charlie Marvell as he was walking out of the theatre. His hand hurt all night but the beautiful dancer Valeria distracted him from the pain. When it was over he could not take it anymore so he walked fast of the theatre. Charlie was one of the first soldiers who went out. He saw Captain turning around the corner and followed him. When he went on the street; the captain was missing and only small droplets of water were dancing in the air. He turned and started walking towards his house. At the next corner he saw a bagger sleeping, holding all of his wealth into his hug. A bottle of vodka and a strangely decorated book grabbed Charlie’s attention. He noticed a drawing on the front cover of the book. There was a girl grabbed by a monster, a dragon that was smiling. The bottle of vodka was open and the liquid was dropping at the pavement. Above the bagger there was a poster of the tonight spectacle. Charlie bent to close the vodka bottle when he heard the siren. It was right behind him so he turned and saw two officers pointing at him. He got up and they ran to him, caught his arms and bent them behind his back. “What are you doing here, sir?” asked the taller one. He bent towards the bagger and the shook him. The hand of the man dropped as if he was a doll. The officer leaned over and checked if he was alive. Charlie’s wound burned him, his heart stopped. The officer stood up, his face pale, but his eyes sparkled with a greedy flame like a hound that had sniffed the rabbit in the bushes. “George, this is Captain James Rodney. I am afraid he is dead.”
Valeria was in her dressing room, in front of the mirror. She smiled to herself and took her coat off. She felt happy for the first time in her life. She did not have a past - she had erased her past. The smallest traces of her nightmare were out of her life. She stepped on her toes moving from side to side feeling beautiful, graceful, and alive. Her grass green dressed followed every single movement, her curls were happy. They danced with her making a cloud of amber. She felt the story was taking a new turn and it might finish happily after all. She looked for her diary, a where she was writing her life as a fairy tale and later she danced it revealing her soul at the stage in hall full of strangers, who wanted entertainment in their boring lives. It was missing - all her life was there drawing by drawing, story by story, tear by tear. Her happiness disappeared for a part of the second but she remembered that she is now free. No more lies, no more hiding for her, she could be whoever she wanted. The fact that she had lost the last evidence of her former life made her even happier. After all there were the nightmares left for her not forgetting where she comes from.
Charlie was sitting on the front steps of London Theatre. He was holding a small book with two letters beautifully drawn: “B.D.”. His eyes were wandering on the pages, gulping thirstily the words. He had never something more fascinating, something more beautiful and full of sorrow. The story seemed sp real he decided that was a life story. Charlie had to discover the mysterious owner of the diary because he was sure the murderer was hidden in these pages. The murderer that took his freedom away had to be found. Charlie was now a suspect because that little book had enchanted him and he stopped near the bagger. It was in his hands now but the cost was too expensive for him – his life. Thank God it was Cecilia beside him or now he would have been on the electrical chair. He had to discover the owner of the notebook, the real murder. Cecilia said she would meet him in front of the theatre. He was now waiting for her. Every minute seemed so longer, he felt the urge to run, to escape from everything and everyone in the world but his feet didn’t listen to him. He sat there, lonely, when he heard the mousy steps of his tiny friend. She was Irish as him. Her hair was blond as the sun, sparkling; her eyes were brown as the fertile soil and were deep as the ocean. She looked fragile but when he met her eyes he thought he could only obey her. She fought with him in war, she was beside him when he got injured and that ended his cricket career. Cecilia sat beside him with unhappy expression. Charlie knew the news were bad as always so he just started explaining what happened. She listened carefully and nodded from time to time. She knew how unlucky her friend was so she didn’t say anything. When he finished his story they stood silent. Clouds were above them throwing shadows in their souls. Neither of them wanted to speak first because every word they said sounded as a new goodbye.
Charlie Marvell opened his eyes and jumped on his legs. He had a new nightmare, which happened quite often after he came back home from Moscow fields. He was dreaming every night about falling bombs, singing bullets beside his ear and his friends falling dead one by one, and the Death smiling above the burning fields of Moscow. But this night it was different. Charlie saw Captain Rodney dead and the army detectives accused him the murder. There was one book left in him – a book with a beautiful story in it. Charlie felt cold all of a sudden. He realised he was sitting on something cold, a stone. He took a look around and his heart stopped beating. He hadn’t dream – the nightmare was real because he was sitting on the steps of London Theatre. Cecilia was also there, her head tilted. Charlie was going to be dead in a few days if he did not find the person whose stories he read.
Valeria woke up as the sun was rising. She slept dreamless for the first time in her life. The clouds were gone out of the sky for her, she felt like a bird just freed from a cage. Her heart warmed up her blood, she jumped. A childish laugh echoed and flew out of the window. As often happens in summer a storm was approaching and as a newborn bird Valeria did not felt it. She was blinded by the sunshine and she was flying towards the sun. She dressed and with sparks in her eyes she went down. The theatre was across the street. She crossed and stopped in front of the stairs. Young man and woman were sleeping, their faces carrying the grief of the hard life. He was handsome with his long eyelashes and read hair and she had the sparkling silk hair that reminded Valeria of home. She passed by them smiling hoping that their worries will soon be over. She opened the door of the theatre and saw the boy jumping on his legs.
Charlie and Cecilia headed off to the police station. There was a surprise for them. In the morgue the doctor Martin Russakov was waiting them with good news. “The Captain did not die from morphine poisoning. He was made to faint with a hit from behind and he drowned when air got into his stomach. However the police still has Charlie as main suspect because you have a motive to kill him. They suspect also the step-son of Rodney Markus James because he was with his father last night in the show and they were heard arguing.”
“Do you know something more about the Captain, Martin?” asked Cecilia.
“I am afraid I don’t. Let me think...
Comments
Post a Comment