1/12/06 Creative Writing Task Kirsten McGill
Drip,
Drip,
Drip,
Drip,
The tap water of the bath mimics the tears falling from my own eyes. I am sitting in the cold, white of my bathroom in the tub, water all around me. I have been bathing at least an hour and yet I still feel unclean. I am scared, scared of what I must do, what might happen, what my Mum may say. It's a crippling prosppect; the unknown.
I clamber out of the bath, I am shivering now although I no longer feel cold. I take it out of the box, sit on the toilet, follow the instructions and wait.... Each second feels like a lifetime. My body is numb with fear. When the time comes to check I panic, maybe if I don't look it won't happen it'll all go away I'll be fine I'll just carry on living, going to school, having fun. I don't need to know. But I do.
I turn over the test and there in blue reads the word that will destroy my life:
I'm not sure how long I've been standing here, naked and cold. One hour, two, maybe only a couple of minutes time has stood still, abandoned me. I am alone.
How could this happen? I am seventeen years old and I've only ever been with one guy, it was a mistake, everyone was "doing it" I just wondered what the fuss was about and so at a party. A few vodka's in me I left with some guy. I don't even remember his name. I felt so cheap, dirty. It wasn't a great experience, not even a good one. It hurt, it wasn't caring, nothing like all that crap on the movies.
I cried and I regretted it, I lost my innocence to some passing stranger. As full of regret as I was I put it behind me, vowed I would never again be used 'so' cheaply and yet here I am now crying into a towel and trying to weigh up my options: As I see it I only have two:
1) Have an abortion, continue school and pursuing my dream of becoming a doctor.
2) Have the baby and become a single mother at eighteen years old, leave school to care for baby, never become a doctor.
I can't believe that in the last few hours my life has changed forever and as selfish as it is, I can't help but think what people will think of me. Will they snigger at me in the street? Will they pity me? Will mothers use me to deter their children from having sex, "You don't want to end up like her, do you?" What will my mother think? Her only child, her straight-A, studious and well-behaved daughter having sex with a unknown boy and falling pregnant. I feel like it will kill her or that she will kill me.
For as long as I remember, becoming a doctor is all I have ever wanted. I used to dress up in the wee outfits Mum would buy me for Christmas and write prescriptins for everyone.
Now I might lose my dream. I can't have a baby I cant afford a baby: nappies, dummies, food, a pram they cry a lot I don't know how to look after a baby I'm a child I can't have a baby I can't, can I? but then an abortion I can't just destroy this feotus have it removed from me. What kind of person does that make me? Am I a murderer ?
What am I going to do?
I inhale deeply, wrap the towel around my body and pull a robe over my cold shoulders, I must face my Mum. I feel there is nothing she can say to worsten this situation and so I descend the stairs. I feel as though I am walking into hell itself.
I must go in to the kitchen and rationally explain. I'll tell her how it happened: when, where, why and how I am sorry, I'm so so sorry for ruining everything. I have to stay calm.
I open the kitchen door and sitting at the table reading a paper, with a cup of coffee is my Mum. As I walk to the table, I crumble. Tears cascade down my face, my body involuntarily shakes, I sob and words fall out of my mouth. I cannot stop I feel as like a volcano with all my emotions erupting out of me. When words finally fail me and I can no longer speak for the sobbing, I look to my Mum's face and watch as one single tear tumbles down her cheek and splatters onto her newspaper. I bow my head in shame, I have reduced the person in the world I love most to tears, as I realise I will NEVER forgive myself. My Mum comes to me and quietly whispers, "I love you, we will get through this." As she rocks me gently ,as she did when I was kid, I inhale and take in her scent. The smell of comfort, of love and just for a moment, I truly believe it might be okay.
When I woke up this morning, for a moment I totally forgot. I don't remember the anguish I have caused or the pain I have endured and yet as I awaken, the events of the night before hits me like a double decker bus.
It is Monday, Mum has left for work, there is a note by bed.
Darling'
I am sorry I couldn't be with you today, you know I
would if I could. I love you and whatever you decide I will be
here for you. I have booked an appointment for you with Dr.
Carr today at 11:10am, so you can get some advice. we will
be OK, honey.I love you so much and I am sorry that this is
such a difficult time for you. See you tonight. All my love,
Mum xxxxxxxxxx
Dr Carr's office strikes me as impersonal and empty. The walls are white with various posters on healthy eating and common ailments. She is a thin woman with flowing, curly, red hair neatly pinned back in a clip. She is wearing her white coat and stethoscope around her neck. I can't help but wonder if she is judging me.
Dr Carr: I know this must be hard for you but you must make a decision as soon as posible about whether or not you wish to terminate this pregnancy.
(I remain silent, my eyes sting with tears.)
Dr carr: Tell me your thoughts, what is your heart telling you to do?
Me: I don't want to have this baby, I am not ready, I can't look after a child I'm scared if I have a baby i'll never become a doctor I won't be able to finance a child. (I pause before I say the thing that scares me most) I don't want my baby to grow up not knowing its father.... like I did. I sob and i feel embarassed for revealling this to the unknown woman and yet she seems kind, unjudging and caring. I trust her.
Dr Carr: I am going to refer you to the hospital where you will receive counselling to help you get over this, you will be scanned to ensure your dates are correct and that you are in the earliest stages of pregnancy. You will be given time to think about this and although you may not believe it now, you will be okay.
* * * *
I am lying in my bed thinking how irresponsible I have been and about the decision I have made to end this pregnancy. I cannot raise a child I am not ready to be a mother. I have dreams and ambitions I must fulfill although I know that aborting is the right decision for me I am also aware that every day I must live with myself for denying life. The very opposite of what I wish to dedicate my life to but I don't wish to end my own by having a baby that I cannot care for entirely. As I close my eyes I finally start to believe that somewhere in the future, it really will be OK.
Friday, December 08, 2006
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Iona's Creative!
That accent. I can still hear it echoing in my head, rattling off my brain like an extra bouncy ball that’s just been launched. That accent that’s so different from my own. I can’t get my head around it. It just won’t. Go. AWAY. Everytime I look back to that night, well what I can remember of it, I hear his voice and I cringe, shutting my eyes as hard as I can, as if that’s going to make it go away.
I am SO DRUNK. I can barely see his face as he kisses me once, twice, three times. I can feel his warm breath gently washing over my face. It tickles slightly. Before I know it we’re lying on the cold, hard, tiled floor. Is he just using me? Maybe. Do I care? Maybe not. It’s all over before I know it. “See you around. This was fun. I better go.”
It is still pretty much of a blur. Even now I look back and my stomach twists uneasily into a knot. I’m not really sure how I feel. Happy? DIS. Pleased? GUS. Contented? TED.
Maybe I should just get over it. It’s been six weeks for Christ sake. I mean all I know….six?.....is that his name is Dave and he’s from…..weeks?......Essex. SIX WEEKS? No way. I’m over reacting. He used a condom. Did he? I can’t remember.
I
Can’t
Be
Pregnant.
Why do doctors always do this. Make you wait for an answer. He’s judging me, I can see it in his eyes. He thinks I’m just another girl whose ambition in life is to be a young mum.
Doctor: Well, we have your test results back.
Stupid teenager: And?
Doctor: You’re pregnant. The test came back positive.
That last word echoes in my mind. I sit dazed as he recites my “options” “…..not easy………………….abortion…………………….adoption………………right for you………….” I’m not really paying attention, just staring at the floor, having visions of what I’ve got in store for the next 8 months or so. A continuos cycle of feeding and nappy changing. The thought of it numbs my brain.
He hands me leaflets as I saunter out of the door, still not really with it. My mum is going to KILL ME.
It’s my decision. All mine. It’s not as If I could contact the baby’s dad even if I wanted to. I can hear it again. The accent that once more brings a rush of red embarrassment to my cheeks. I can’t believe I was such an idiot. I never in…….idiot…….a million years……..idiot…….thought I would………..idiot……end up in this situation.
Giving up my life for a night I can’t even remember? WHAT THE FUCK. was I thinking? WHAT THE FUCK. was I doing? What the fuck was the point?
I am SO DRUNK. I can barely see his face as he kisses me once, twice, three times. I can feel his warm breath gently washing over my face. It tickles slightly. Before I know it we’re lying on the cold, hard, tiled floor. Is he just using me? Maybe. Do I care? Maybe not. It’s all over before I know it. “See you around. This was fun. I better go.”
It is still pretty much of a blur. Even now I look back and my stomach twists uneasily into a knot. I’m not really sure how I feel. Happy? DIS. Pleased? GUS. Contented? TED.
Maybe I should just get over it. It’s been six weeks for Christ sake. I mean all I know….six?.....is that his name is Dave and he’s from…..weeks?......Essex. SIX WEEKS? No way. I’m over reacting. He used a condom. Did he? I can’t remember.
I
Can’t
Be
Pregnant.
Why do doctors always do this. Make you wait for an answer. He’s judging me, I can see it in his eyes. He thinks I’m just another girl whose ambition in life is to be a young mum.
Doctor: Well, we have your test results back.
Stupid teenager: And?
Doctor: You’re pregnant. The test came back positive.
That last word echoes in my mind. I sit dazed as he recites my “options” “…..not easy………………….abortion…………………….adoption………………right for you………….” I’m not really paying attention, just staring at the floor, having visions of what I’ve got in store for the next 8 months or so. A continuos cycle of feeding and nappy changing. The thought of it numbs my brain.
He hands me leaflets as I saunter out of the door, still not really with it. My mum is going to KILL ME.
It’s my decision. All mine. It’s not as If I could contact the baby’s dad even if I wanted to. I can hear it again. The accent that once more brings a rush of red embarrassment to my cheeks. I can’t believe I was such an idiot. I never in…….idiot…….a million years……..idiot…….thought I would………..idiot……end up in this situation.
Giving up my life for a night I can’t even remember? WHAT THE FUCK. was I thinking? WHAT THE FUCK. was I doing? What the fuck was the point?
Monday, December 04, 2006
Becca Dee, Finally Got It On!
Higher Creative Writing.
Rebecca Davidson 5S3.
Task: Using a stream of consciousness narrative (in the style of Janice Galloway) write a short story to describe a woman who has ended up pregnant after a one night stand. You should consider her shock at this discovery, the options that would open to her whether she actually knows the father etc.
OH what have I done?
MY what have I done?
GOD.
Vomit is in my throat. His hand is stroking my stomach, my naked stomach...
Christ, my Dad! My Mum! The parents of the slut who slept with her maths teacher? They wouldn't even want to know me anymore, their stupid, stupid 15 year-old.
Can't we just leave it? I can forget all this. I won't tell anyone. It could be our secret, please. I don't expect anything from you, this never happened. Just teach me Pythagorus theorem again.
Slut: ''I best be going home.'' I never want to re-live this again.
I am covered in invisible dirt. Sitting alone on the cold, tartan printed chair of the number 26 bus. Christ even a stranger probably wouldn't sit next to me. I can still feel him. He is safely a mile or to away from me, lying like some fake royalty on his king sized bed, a dent to his left where I had lay merely two hours ago.
AND YET I CAN STILL FEEL HIM.
Rebecca Davidson 5S3.
Task: Using a stream of consciousness narrative (in the style of Janice Galloway) write a short story to describe a woman who has ended up pregnant after a one night stand. You should consider her shock at this discovery, the options that would open to her whether she actually knows the father etc.
OH what have I done?
MY what have I done?
GOD.
Vomit is in my throat. His hand is stroking my stomach, my naked stomach...
Loved? No.
Taken advantage of? Maybe.
Used? Definitely.
Taken advantage of? Maybe.
Used? Definitely.
30 years. 30 flaming years are between us. I mean, he grew up in a time, that I have no idea about. The celebrities, I wouldn't even have known their names. My Dad is the same age as him, Jesus..
Christ, my Dad! My Mum! The parents of the slut who slept with her maths teacher? They wouldn't even want to know me anymore, their stupid, stupid 15 year-old.
Can't we just leave it? I can forget all this. I won't tell anyone. It could be our secret, please. I don't expect anything from you, this never happened. Just teach me Pythagorus theorem again.
[Awkward Silence] He stirs.
Slut: ''I best be going home.'' I never want to re-live this again.
His lips graze mine, I receive his attempt at a kiss. That vomiting feeling again. Quick slide out of the back door.
I am covered in invisible dirt. Sitting alone on the cold, tartan printed chair of the number 26 bus. Christ even a stranger probably wouldn't sit next to me. I can still feel him. He is safely a mile or to away from me, lying like some fake royalty on his king sized bed, a dent to his left where I had lay merely two hours ago.
AND YET I CAN STILL FEEL HIM.
Sickening.
It all seemed like a good idea at the time. I liked him, he liked me?
The clothes disappearing.
His kiss.
His touching.
The sex...
Minus the condom. Oh my god, the condom!
The clothes disappearing.
His kiss.
His touching.
The sex...
Minus the condom. Oh my god, the condom!
Fuckkkkkkkk.
Think POSITIVELY, blue doormat, everything will be allright, blue t-shirt, just try to be POSITIVE, blue gloves, it won't happen to you, blue toilet roll, you are too young. blue.. You are too..
line.
S e x u a l I n t e r c o u r s e.
line.
S e x u a l I n t e r c o u r s e.
A long word, an even longer month, no where near as long as the list of consequences. My very own, ''bundle of joy''. My first child before the grand old age of 16. One of those girls.
Toast is burnt. Raspberry jam scratches across it's black surface. It's basically unedible, just like charcoal. I shouldn't being eating anyway, don't want to show. Bin.
Is abortion the answer? I can't keep this, this part of him. But it's murder. MURDER. It's limbs slowly form inside of me, his limbs, his baby. BABY.
I don't want to be a murderer.
Pros and CONS.
1. It's part of me.
2. IT'S PART OF HIM.
3. I would be a murderer.
4. I'M NOT READY.
5. I would love it?
MR HILL.
MATHEMATICS.
Pervert.
1. It's part of me.
2. IT'S PART OF HIM.
3. I would be a murderer.
4. I'M NOT READY.
5. I would love it?
MR HILL.
MATHEMATICS.
Pervert.
Me: ''I need to speak to you.'' I never want to see you again.
Me: ''About that night.'' Forget it EVER happened. Please, i'm trying to.
Me: ''Well I felt you have the right to know.'' As if you give a fuck.
Me: ''I'm..'' What? Scared? Nervous? Make your flaming mind up!
''Pregnant.''
Me: ''About that night.'' Forget it EVER happened. Please, i'm trying to.
Me: ''Well I felt you have the right to know.'' As if you give a fuck.
Me: ''I'm..'' What? Scared? Nervous? Make your flaming mind up!
''Pregnant.''
S i l e n c e.
He mutters something, in the voice that I had once found sexy. But no longer. He doesn't care. As if he wants our child. Christ his kids are probably my age.
I don't want to be a murderer.
Sickening.
Creative Writing - Jonathan Holt
Creative Writing Jonathan Holt
I hold the photograph firmly in my hands. My kids mean the world to me, they are my everything, and to know that I’ll be with them in a matter of hours has helped to ease the pain of the last ten years. Prison life hasn’t served me well, I’m too nice, too kind … too gentle. Being locked behind bars for protecting your home, your family is total bullshit. The bastard got all he deserved.
BANG, BANG, BANG. John, someone’s in the house !
Did I do the right thing ? Could I have tackled the situation differently ? These questions constantly fill my head. I was, and still am SO confused.
Who
Am
I ?
It’s definitely my time to leave this shit hole. Same old, same old, day in, day out.
6:45 – get up
7:00 – breakfast
12:00 – lunch
6:00 – dinner
10:00 – bed
I’m here and my family are ten miles away. One zero miles. My heart races at the prospect of holding my kids in my arms. Not long now.
“John Brown. Collect your stuff. Your going home.” The dulcet tones of the prison officer entered my ears and sent shivers down my spine. I gathered up my non – existent wardrobe and exited my cell. Step
By
Step
The officer has a hold of me, via handcuffs, but this lack of personal space failed to phase me in the slightest, I was used to it. As I take my eyes up from the oh-so familiar prison floor, I see the big vault – like doors which are separating me from the “outside world”. As the doors open, a stream of light floods in and my eyes sting a little. Not used to the daylight. The officer hands me my “personal belongings” and I merrily left the hellhole.
Like a fish out of water, I stroll past the street signs
Park Grove St John’s Road Cottage Lane
and I feel rather defimiliarised. I fail to realise where I am but all of the doubts which fill my head seem somewhat irrelevant. I arrive at the local taxi rank and I sit on my “suitcase”. My eyes move
from left to right
I quickly realise that my peers are staring at me as they pass. As we exchange glances I notice that everyone looks so prim and proper with their “Guicci” and “Prada”, a far cry from what I was used to. These materialistic items are like a foreign object to me, I’d never heard of them ! I felt the weight of their judgement from their scornful stares but I just decided to ignore them.
“Taxi”. I lifted by belongings and threw them into the back seat of the taxi. “Where are you going mate?” I took a deep breath and sternly said, “Home”, but quickly corrected myself, “32 Grange Road.” My communication skills seemed to be poor but that was the last thing on my mind.
I was informed by the driver that the journey would take about an hour. Great. I knew I’d have to make small talk with the driver. I’ve had enough of that in the nick to last me a lifetime !
“How are you ?”
“Fine.”
“Wanna game of pool ?”
“Fine.”
It really pissed me off. Trying to dodge the shitty small talk and false smiles, I began to rummage in my bag and I retrieved my wallet. A photo fell onto my lap. It’s my kids. I felt the tears fill up in my eyes and they began to fall onto the photo drip
by
drip
As the taxi swerved around the corner I caught a glimpse of a newspaper stand :
BLAIR TO BECOME PRIME MINISTER
I looked at this stand with a confused glaze over my eyes. Who is this Blair ? Have I been locked away for so long that I don’t even know what’s going on in the world, my world ?
“We’ll only be another ten minutes mate.” My heart was beating so quickly that I began to feel faint. I had been waiting for this moment for ten long years, to be with my family again. I reached into my wallet to get out the money to pay the driver with. I only have fifty pounds, I hope that’ll be enough ! The taxi pulled up outside of the house and I gripped my belongings.
No
Going
Back
I place my hand on my chest and inhale deeply. “Thirty two pounds seventy five pence mate.” I hand over two twenty pound notes and tell the Geordie to keep the change, the value of money now baffles me.
I place my feet firmly onto the pavement and slowly, but surely walk up to my front door which reads number 32. I shakily raise my hand and push the door bell, waiting on the doorstep like a Christmas caroller. I hear footsteps and the door gradually opens. Two young boys stand before me, my kids. I gaze into their young, innocent eyes and realise that this is the moment that I’ve been dreaming of for ten years.
“Hey guys. It’s Daddy.”
I hold the photograph firmly in my hands. My kids mean the world to me, they are my everything, and to know that I’ll be with them in a matter of hours has helped to ease the pain of the last ten years. Prison life hasn’t served me well, I’m too nice, too kind … too gentle. Being locked behind bars for protecting your home, your family is total bullshit. The bastard got all he deserved.
BANG, BANG, BANG. John, someone’s in the house !
Did I do the right thing ? Could I have tackled the situation differently ? These questions constantly fill my head. I was, and still am SO confused.
Who
Am
I ?
It’s definitely my time to leave this shit hole. Same old, same old, day in, day out.
6:45 – get up
7:00 – breakfast
12:00 – lunch
6:00 – dinner
10:00 – bed
I’m here and my family are ten miles away. One zero miles. My heart races at the prospect of holding my kids in my arms. Not long now.
“John Brown. Collect your stuff. Your going home.” The dulcet tones of the prison officer entered my ears and sent shivers down my spine. I gathered up my non – existent wardrobe and exited my cell. Step
By
Step
The officer has a hold of me, via handcuffs, but this lack of personal space failed to phase me in the slightest, I was used to it. As I take my eyes up from the oh-so familiar prison floor, I see the big vault – like doors which are separating me from the “outside world”. As the doors open, a stream of light floods in and my eyes sting a little. Not used to the daylight. The officer hands me my “personal belongings” and I merrily left the hellhole.
Like a fish out of water, I stroll past the street signs
Park Grove St John’s Road Cottage Lane
and I feel rather defimiliarised. I fail to realise where I am but all of the doubts which fill my head seem somewhat irrelevant. I arrive at the local taxi rank and I sit on my “suitcase”. My eyes move
from left to right
I quickly realise that my peers are staring at me as they pass. As we exchange glances I notice that everyone looks so prim and proper with their “Guicci” and “Prada”, a far cry from what I was used to. These materialistic items are like a foreign object to me, I’d never heard of them ! I felt the weight of their judgement from their scornful stares but I just decided to ignore them.
“Taxi”. I lifted by belongings and threw them into the back seat of the taxi. “Where are you going mate?” I took a deep breath and sternly said, “Home”, but quickly corrected myself, “32 Grange Road.” My communication skills seemed to be poor but that was the last thing on my mind.
I was informed by the driver that the journey would take about an hour. Great. I knew I’d have to make small talk with the driver. I’ve had enough of that in the nick to last me a lifetime !
“How are you ?”
“Fine.”
“Wanna game of pool ?”
“Fine.”
It really pissed me off. Trying to dodge the shitty small talk and false smiles, I began to rummage in my bag and I retrieved my wallet. A photo fell onto my lap. It’s my kids. I felt the tears fill up in my eyes and they began to fall onto the photo drip
by
drip
As the taxi swerved around the corner I caught a glimpse of a newspaper stand :
BLAIR TO BECOME PRIME MINISTER
I looked at this stand with a confused glaze over my eyes. Who is this Blair ? Have I been locked away for so long that I don’t even know what’s going on in the world, my world ?
“We’ll only be another ten minutes mate.” My heart was beating so quickly that I began to feel faint. I had been waiting for this moment for ten long years, to be with my family again. I reached into my wallet to get out the money to pay the driver with. I only have fifty pounds, I hope that’ll be enough ! The taxi pulled up outside of the house and I gripped my belongings.
No
Going
Back
I place my hand on my chest and inhale deeply. “Thirty two pounds seventy five pence mate.” I hand over two twenty pound notes and tell the Geordie to keep the change, the value of money now baffles me.
I place my feet firmly onto the pavement and slowly, but surely walk up to my front door which reads number 32. I shakily raise my hand and push the door bell, waiting on the doorstep like a Christmas caroller. I hear footsteps and the door gradually opens. Two young boys stand before me, my kids. I gaze into their young, innocent eyes and realise that this is the moment that I’ve been dreaming of for ten years.
“Hey guys. It’s Daddy.”
Scott's Creative Writing
Paid Your Dues?
Jesus. The OUTside world. It’s a strange almost unpleasant feeling. It’s surreal to think I can go anywhere I want and do anything I want. IN.
WOW
OUT
My life is unrestricted. No guards. Oh man the possibilities. What to do first? Pub? Na…… Walk? Na……Food? Na…… Drugs? Hell no…… but it could be like the first time! Where the hell am I going to find a dealer? Ten years of dreamin’ about what I’ll do when I get out and I’m stood here unable to decide. I’m incapable of making decisions, in that place you don’t have to make any choices, you just follow orders. This could be tough. Oh well, proper bed it is! WITH
The spare bed at Jimmy’s place felt like heaven; a mattress with springs… two pillows … a duvet. What have I been missing?
THE DOSH. NO ONE
After waking up and taking a shower, good food was the next bounty of the outside world. And by God was it good. Bacon, fried egg, beans, tattie scones – sooooooooo good – I feel I’m hallucinating. GETS HURT….
The thick yellow yolk trickling down my chin gave me a sense of realisation. That night the “simple” job that turned ugly. The reason I stayed for ten years at her majesty’s pleasure.
It all came down to the money; ha-ha bloody money didn’t do me much good in the slammer.
“Right we’re in then out with the dosh. No one gets hurt………..” some plan that was Jimmy.
IN – goes fine, sufficient panic is caused with the shotguns and balaclavas.
Out with the dosh – goes tits up! The bank manager refuses to hand over the money.
“Just shoot him”
Jimmy’s fist slammed into my face, the blood trickled down my chin. Next thing I know
BOOM
The pungent smell of gun powder lingers at the back of my throat. My ears wring ominously. I feel a sickly sensation and my hand is trembling. I had pulled the trigger without taking any conscious decision. Meekly I looked at the dude I had just shot, he lay there whimpering, his leg was obliterated, “NO one gets hurt” My arse.
Christ. The fact I almost killed a guy hurts more out here. Inside, my story barely even compared to some of those sicko’s gruesome tales. It made my guilt seem inappropriate. My ten year sentence seems to be lasting longer than the prescribed limit.
Got to clear my head. Time for a walk. There’s a giant billboard across the street, it shows a good lookin’ girl but I’m clueless to who it is. Another one has an advert for a TV show called “Big Brother” but Christ knows what that is. What’s up with everyone having a mobile phone? I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.
Every person that looks at me I start to resent and I judge them.
HA, he would never survive in prison. There I go again; perhaps I think I’m better than them because I’ve been to jail. Anyone that laughs I’m almost convinced it’s at me and I feel like they know what I did and everyone hates me for it.
Oh Shit.
Life out here could be harder than in there!
Jesus. The OUTside world. It’s a strange almost unpleasant feeling. It’s surreal to think I can go anywhere I want and do anything I want. IN.
WOW
OUT
My life is unrestricted. No guards. Oh man the possibilities. What to do first? Pub? Na…… Walk? Na……Food? Na…… Drugs? Hell no…… but it could be like the first time! Where the hell am I going to find a dealer? Ten years of dreamin’ about what I’ll do when I get out and I’m stood here unable to decide. I’m incapable of making decisions, in that place you don’t have to make any choices, you just follow orders. This could be tough. Oh well, proper bed it is! WITH
The spare bed at Jimmy’s place felt like heaven; a mattress with springs… two pillows … a duvet. What have I been missing?
THE DOSH. NO ONE
After waking up and taking a shower, good food was the next bounty of the outside world. And by God was it good. Bacon, fried egg, beans, tattie scones – sooooooooo good – I feel I’m hallucinating. GETS HURT….
The thick yellow yolk trickling down my chin gave me a sense of realisation. That night the “simple” job that turned ugly. The reason I stayed for ten years at her majesty’s pleasure.
It all came down to the money; ha-ha bloody money didn’t do me much good in the slammer.
“Right we’re in then out with the dosh. No one gets hurt………..” some plan that was Jimmy.
IN – goes fine, sufficient panic is caused with the shotguns and balaclavas.
Out with the dosh – goes tits up! The bank manager refuses to hand over the money.
“Just shoot him”
Jimmy’s fist slammed into my face, the blood trickled down my chin. Next thing I know
BOOM
The pungent smell of gun powder lingers at the back of my throat. My ears wring ominously. I feel a sickly sensation and my hand is trembling. I had pulled the trigger without taking any conscious decision. Meekly I looked at the dude I had just shot, he lay there whimpering, his leg was obliterated, “NO one gets hurt” My arse.
Christ. The fact I almost killed a guy hurts more out here. Inside, my story barely even compared to some of those sicko’s gruesome tales. It made my guilt seem inappropriate. My ten year sentence seems to be lasting longer than the prescribed limit.
Got to clear my head. Time for a walk. There’s a giant billboard across the street, it shows a good lookin’ girl but I’m clueless to who it is. Another one has an advert for a TV show called “Big Brother” but Christ knows what that is. What’s up with everyone having a mobile phone? I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.
Every person that looks at me I start to resent and I judge them.
HA, he would never survive in prison. There I go again; perhaps I think I’m better than them because I’ve been to jail. Anyone that laughs I’m almost convinced it’s at me and I feel like they know what I did and everyone hates me for it.
Oh Shit.
Life out here could be harder than in there!
Creative Writing: Danielle Malinen
Task: Using a stream of consciousness narrative (in the style of Janice Galloway) write a short story to describe a woman who has ended up pregnant after a one night stand. You should consider her shock at this discovery, the options that would open to her whether she actually knows the father etc.
= Shit!! How did I get myself in this mess, I can’t believe this is happening to me.
I
Can’t
Believe
This
Is
Happening
To
Me!!!
And crying and dramatising the situation isn’t going to change anything because at the end of the day I am still going to be pregnant, up the duff whatever you want to call this predicament. I don’t even know how this could have happened, I’m still a virgin. At least that’s what I’m telling myself, to make these circumstances sound better. I don’t want people to think I am a slut, a whore, exactly what I would call someone if they ended up pregnant at this age. Maybe that’s what I am a fucking whore!
No I can’t be I don’t even know how this happened.
Wait a minute… Jenna’s party.
The flashing disco lights blind me. I move to the drinks table…
FIT LAD: Hey pretty lady, havin’ fun?
ME: I guess so [ I take a drink to calm my nerves]
FIT LAD: I’m Rob, by the way.
Before I get a chance to reply
ROB: So you wanna dance?
He grabs my hand and pulls me onto the dance floor. Normally I’m useless at talking to guys, but that vodka must have helped.
We dance for a while then I run to the toilet, the booze goes through me, to be honest I can’t really handle my drink. He hands me another glass and not wanting to seem like a lightweight, I throw it back in one gulp.
I stumble outside for some fresh air, he follows immediately, like a little lap dog.
He takes my hand and pulls my body towards his, he leans in and our lips touch. He kisses my neck and the butterflies disappear. My whole body goes numb. My head starts to throb. I screw-up my forehead, the pain is unbearable. I fall to the ground. My vision black.
That bastard must have raped me!
How could I have been so stupid. How could I have been so STUPID!!!
This is typical me, trusting someone I barely know. It’s not my fault for my bad judge of character. I blame my mother, I get it from her. She is so gullible, she will believe anything or anyone. One of those people. She would have to be a fool mind you, well she married my father.
Shit! My father, I forgot about him for a second. He always had this low opinion of me anyway. He always said I would end up pregnant at fourteen, hooked on drugs living in the street because my alcoholic mother would have kicked me out.
Well his predictions weren’t half wrong. I can’t tell him. I don’t want to see that smug look on his fat ball head and him saying and I quote “told you so”.
I don’t even no why I am so bothered about this anyway, there is an easy solution. Abortion. The lousy NHS will give me one no probs. I’ll just go to the doctors shed some crocodile tears, you know put on my Oscar winning performance, and it’s a done deal. You know doctors, aren’t as smart as everyone thinks. We just think they are because, they have a Degree (what an achievement).
I promised myself I would not cry over this, but I can’t help myself. I knew something was wrong after I missed my period for the second month in a row. I just did not want to face facts.
Fact: Britain has the highest teenage pregnancy rate, in the whole of Europe.
And I suppose I’m just adding to those statistics. But I didn’t want to even have sex that night, I wasn’t ready. I seem to be blaming myself for this, and its not my fault. I was raped. But why do I feel so dirty and incompetent?
I need help to understand.
I once read that:
Rape is the only crime in which the victim must prove their innocence.
When I read that article I did not think that I would any day be the victim of a rape, and be the one proving my own innocence.
Fact: One in three women who are raped, actually report it to the police.
And I suppose I’m just adding to those statistics, again. I’m not even going to bother reporting him. Why should I? There is no point. It’s not going to change anything. I will probably never even see him again.
I lie in my bed, my head shouting and screaming all different things at once.
Coming to consciousness, I read the clock 15:24. I stand up and head into the bathroom. I see the used pregnancy test, I pick it up, thinking it will have changed and now say I am not actually pregnant. I look at it = shit, so it wasn’t just a dream then. I throw it on the floor in rage.
Slamming my front door and running down my steps. I decide I need some fresh air. It’s not until now that I realise I really don’t have anyone I can go to when I am in trouble.
I walk to the park and sit down on the first bench I see.
My head is so messed up at the moment. I don’t know what to do. Two hours later and I am still sitting here, in the freezing cold.
For the first time since I found out I am pregnant, I have a decent thought. I start walking again. I stop outside this old building and walk inside:
MAN: Can I help you miss?
ME: Yes, I would like to report a rape. [the policeman stares at me with a blank expression. After all what could he say to comfort me]
That two hours sitting on the park bench made me realise, lets change statistics and nail this bastard.
= Shit!! How did I get myself in this mess, I can’t believe this is happening to me.
I
Can’t
Believe
This
Is
Happening
To
Me!!!
And crying and dramatising the situation isn’t going to change anything because at the end of the day I am still going to be pregnant, up the duff whatever you want to call this predicament. I don’t even know how this could have happened, I’m still a virgin. At least that’s what I’m telling myself, to make these circumstances sound better. I don’t want people to think I am a slut, a whore, exactly what I would call someone if they ended up pregnant at this age. Maybe that’s what I am a fucking whore!
No I can’t be I don’t even know how this happened.
Wait a minute… Jenna’s party.
The flashing disco lights blind me. I move to the drinks table…
FIT LAD: Hey pretty lady, havin’ fun?
ME: I guess so [ I take a drink to calm my nerves]
FIT LAD: I’m Rob, by the way.
Before I get a chance to reply
ROB: So you wanna dance?
He grabs my hand and pulls me onto the dance floor. Normally I’m useless at talking to guys, but that vodka must have helped.
We dance for a while then I run to the toilet, the booze goes through me, to be honest I can’t really handle my drink. He hands me another glass and not wanting to seem like a lightweight, I throw it back in one gulp.
I stumble outside for some fresh air, he follows immediately, like a little lap dog.
He takes my hand and pulls my body towards his, he leans in and our lips touch. He kisses my neck and the butterflies disappear. My whole body goes numb. My head starts to throb. I screw-up my forehead, the pain is unbearable. I fall to the ground. My vision black.
That bastard must have raped me!
How could I have been so stupid. How could I have been so STUPID!!!
This is typical me, trusting someone I barely know. It’s not my fault for my bad judge of character. I blame my mother, I get it from her. She is so gullible, she will believe anything or anyone. One of those people. She would have to be a fool mind you, well she married my father.
Shit! My father, I forgot about him for a second. He always had this low opinion of me anyway. He always said I would end up pregnant at fourteen, hooked on drugs living in the street because my alcoholic mother would have kicked me out.
Well his predictions weren’t half wrong. I can’t tell him. I don’t want to see that smug look on his fat ball head and him saying and I quote “told you so”.
I don’t even no why I am so bothered about this anyway, there is an easy solution. Abortion. The lousy NHS will give me one no probs. I’ll just go to the doctors shed some crocodile tears, you know put on my Oscar winning performance, and it’s a done deal. You know doctors, aren’t as smart as everyone thinks. We just think they are because, they have a Degree (what an achievement).
I promised myself I would not cry over this, but I can’t help myself. I knew something was wrong after I missed my period for the second month in a row. I just did not want to face facts.
Fact: Britain has the highest teenage pregnancy rate, in the whole of Europe.
And I suppose I’m just adding to those statistics. But I didn’t want to even have sex that night, I wasn’t ready. I seem to be blaming myself for this, and its not my fault. I was raped. But why do I feel so dirty and incompetent?
I need help to understand.
I once read that:
Rape is the only crime in which the victim must prove their innocence.
When I read that article I did not think that I would any day be the victim of a rape, and be the one proving my own innocence.
Fact: One in three women who are raped, actually report it to the police.
And I suppose I’m just adding to those statistics, again. I’m not even going to bother reporting him. Why should I? There is no point. It’s not going to change anything. I will probably never even see him again.
I lie in my bed, my head shouting and screaming all different things at once.
Coming to consciousness, I read the clock 15:24. I stand up and head into the bathroom. I see the used pregnancy test, I pick it up, thinking it will have changed and now say I am not actually pregnant. I look at it = shit, so it wasn’t just a dream then. I throw it on the floor in rage.
Slamming my front door and running down my steps. I decide I need some fresh air. It’s not until now that I realise I really don’t have anyone I can go to when I am in trouble.
I walk to the park and sit down on the first bench I see.
My head is so messed up at the moment. I don’t know what to do. Two hours later and I am still sitting here, in the freezing cold.
For the first time since I found out I am pregnant, I have a decent thought. I start walking again. I stop outside this old building and walk inside:
MAN: Can I help you miss?
ME: Yes, I would like to report a rape. [the policeman stares at me with a blank expression. After all what could he say to comfort me]
That two hours sitting on the park bench made me realise, lets change statistics and nail this bastard.
"The Crucible" - Key Moments - Act 4
The Decision to Die
When told he must sign his confession, Proctor at first refuses, then he signs it and snatches it away from Danforth. Proctor says that he has signed the confession, they ahve seen him sign it and that they have no need to take the paper away with them. His sense of honour means that he does not want his friedns and family to know he has been weak on the day when others will have been hanged. proctor tears the confession and seals his fate. Proctor helps Rebecca Nurse to walk to the scaffold. Parris and Hale try one time try one last time to get Elizabeth to reason with her husband. She refuses and, from the cell window, watches him die, saying finally: "He have his goodness now. God forbid I take it from him".
After the events of the play and the executions
* Parris was voted out of office and never heard of again.
* Abigail is said to have turned up as a prostitute in Boston.
* Twenty years after the executions, surviving victims were awarded compensation.
* Some people still refused to admit their guilt.
* The excommunications were overturned in 1712
* Farms belonging to th victims remained unoccupied for up to a hundred years.
When told he must sign his confession, Proctor at first refuses, then he signs it and snatches it away from Danforth. Proctor says that he has signed the confession, they ahve seen him sign it and that they have no need to take the paper away with them. His sense of honour means that he does not want his friedns and family to know he has been weak on the day when others will have been hanged. proctor tears the confession and seals his fate. Proctor helps Rebecca Nurse to walk to the scaffold. Parris and Hale try one time try one last time to get Elizabeth to reason with her husband. She refuses and, from the cell window, watches him die, saying finally: "He have his goodness now. God forbid I take it from him".
After the events of the play and the executions
* Parris was voted out of office and never heard of again.
* Abigail is said to have turned up as a prostitute in Boston.
* Twenty years after the executions, surviving victims were awarded compensation.
* Some people still refused to admit their guilt.
* The excommunications were overturned in 1712
* Farms belonging to th victims remained unoccupied for up to a hundred years.
"The Crucible" - Key Moments - Act 3
The "Yellow Bird" episode
At this point Abiagil screams and claims that there is a bird on the beam above and that it is attempting to attack her. She speaks to the bird as though it is or has been sent by Mary. When Mary tries to stop her, Abigail repeats Mary's words, "Abby, you musn't!". Abigail's power is once more evident as she goes on to control the girls psychologically just as much as she did physically an Act 1. The other girls soon join Abigail in mimicking Mary.
The girls flee from the yellow bird taht they say is attacking. This so frightens Mary that she runs to the group of girls and is immediatley comforted by them. Proctor's attempts to persuade the court that the girls are merely pretending are thwarted when Mary cries out "you're the Devil's man!". She further claims that Proctor tried to make her sign the Devil's book. Proctor is arrested and accused of being "combined with anti-Christ". Hale denounces the court and leaves with Danforth angrily calling after him.
At this point Abiagil screams and claims that there is a bird on the beam above and that it is attempting to attack her. She speaks to the bird as though it is or has been sent by Mary. When Mary tries to stop her, Abigail repeats Mary's words, "Abby, you musn't!". Abigail's power is once more evident as she goes on to control the girls psychologically just as much as she did physically an Act 1. The other girls soon join Abigail in mimicking Mary.
The girls flee from the yellow bird taht they say is attacking. This so frightens Mary that she runs to the group of girls and is immediatley comforted by them. Proctor's attempts to persuade the court that the girls are merely pretending are thwarted when Mary cries out "you're the Devil's man!". She further claims that Proctor tried to make her sign the Devil's book. Proctor is arrested and accused of being "combined with anti-Christ". Hale denounces the court and leaves with Danforth angrily calling after him.
Truth
sorry miss we haven't got the last part cos it was supposed to be sent to me but i never got it
Truth
conformity to fact or actuality
a statement prove to be, or accepted as true
sincerity, integrity
At the beginning of “The Crucible”, lies and suspicion are rife, and no one trusts anyone else. By the end, the truth is out. Truth is the driving force behind the witch hunt, though the truth was not always what the court wanted to hear, nor was it always what they received. Character such as Abigail Williams deliberately fed the court lies, distorting their perceptions, and exerting influence over them so that they did not recognise the truth when they heard it. On the other hand, John Proctor and his wife, Elizabeth, find truth of their own, and rediscover there love for each other. Reverend Hale also discovers truth during the course of the play, and is the first character outside of the conspiracy to realise what is going on behind the veil of justice.
Each character reflects the theme of truth in a different way as some are honest and true puritan citizens whereas others exploit the truth for their own benefit.
Abigail Williams
We begin to see Abigail’s manipulation of the truth in the first act. From the beginning she fiercely denies having any involvement in witchcraft even after her uncle has seen her in the woods, which is forbidden. Throughout this act we get to see how Abigail exploits certain situations to save herself and is willing to lie in front of all authority figures, including god, if she gains her one true desire, John Proctor. She triggers the witch hunt when she realises she will be condemned for witchcraft and therefore says that Tituba was the one who conjured spirits. In fear Tituba declares she saw Sarah Good with the devil. Abigail realise that this declaration is being taken seriously so she begins to name villagers aswell to save herself. This shows the self-obsessed side to her personality as she is willing to lie and condemn others to die to save herself. One of the most important parts to this theme is when Abigail runs away as she realises the villagers no longer believe her lies and it is she who will condemned to misery by the villagers for all the lives she has ruined.
John Proctor
John Proctor is the most important character in the play as he is determined to do what is right for his friends and tell the truth even if he sacrifices his own name. He is one of the few people in the play who have not become susceptible to the mass hysteria and sticks to his own premonitions. In the first act we can see that while he is alone with Abigail in Reverend Parris’ house she admits the truth and tells him there was no witchcraft involved. This and the fact that Mary had said there was no witchcraft confirms his belief that the thought of the devil in Salem is outrageous. This presses on his conscience in the days between act 2 and 3 while innocent villagers are being condemned to death and at the beginning of act 3 we see he can no longer hide the truth and confesses what he knows. When the court dismisses his claim he is determined to do everything in his power to get justice for all those innocent people either forced to confess or condemned to death for a crime they did not commit. He is so determined he even blackens his own name by admitting he committed adultery with Abigail to prove that she may have an ulterior motive. However, the trials are not the main way he portrays the theme of truth; it’s his guilt about his affair with Abby. In his scene with Abigail we do not know who he is lying to, himself, Abigail or Elizabeth. This is shown when he says “I have hardly stepped off this farm this seven month”. His honesty with his wife about the affair has lead to their relationship becoming under strain and the regret of the affair adds extra guilt as he realises what a mistake he has made. At the end of the play after john has decided to protest his innocence and stay true to his name we can see his conscience is finally clear and he dies without any regrets of his actions during the trials. This shows us that one of the only few people who are honest is throughout the play are truly “free” from the hysteria at the end of the play.
Reverend Hale
When reverend Hale is summoned at the beginning of the novel he is deemed to be the expert so the villagers take his word as the truth and do not question it. As it gets to the end of the play in the trials Hale sees the ridiculousness of the mass panic in the village and vows he will do everything in his power to protect those who are innocent and protest against the lying girls. His aim is to uphold the truth in the town as the only one who can see through the lies the girls have created.
Steven, Iona and Samantha
Truth
conformity to fact or actuality
a statement prove to be, or accepted as true
sincerity, integrity
At the beginning of “The Crucible”, lies and suspicion are rife, and no one trusts anyone else. By the end, the truth is out. Truth is the driving force behind the witch hunt, though the truth was not always what the court wanted to hear, nor was it always what they received. Character such as Abigail Williams deliberately fed the court lies, distorting their perceptions, and exerting influence over them so that they did not recognise the truth when they heard it. On the other hand, John Proctor and his wife, Elizabeth, find truth of their own, and rediscover there love for each other. Reverend Hale also discovers truth during the course of the play, and is the first character outside of the conspiracy to realise what is going on behind the veil of justice.
Each character reflects the theme of truth in a different way as some are honest and true puritan citizens whereas others exploit the truth for their own benefit.
Abigail Williams
We begin to see Abigail’s manipulation of the truth in the first act. From the beginning she fiercely denies having any involvement in witchcraft even after her uncle has seen her in the woods, which is forbidden. Throughout this act we get to see how Abigail exploits certain situations to save herself and is willing to lie in front of all authority figures, including god, if she gains her one true desire, John Proctor. She triggers the witch hunt when she realises she will be condemned for witchcraft and therefore says that Tituba was the one who conjured spirits. In fear Tituba declares she saw Sarah Good with the devil. Abigail realise that this declaration is being taken seriously so she begins to name villagers aswell to save herself. This shows the self-obsessed side to her personality as she is willing to lie and condemn others to die to save herself. One of the most important parts to this theme is when Abigail runs away as she realises the villagers no longer believe her lies and it is she who will condemned to misery by the villagers for all the lives she has ruined.
John Proctor
John Proctor is the most important character in the play as he is determined to do what is right for his friends and tell the truth even if he sacrifices his own name. He is one of the few people in the play who have not become susceptible to the mass hysteria and sticks to his own premonitions. In the first act we can see that while he is alone with Abigail in Reverend Parris’ house she admits the truth and tells him there was no witchcraft involved. This and the fact that Mary had said there was no witchcraft confirms his belief that the thought of the devil in Salem is outrageous. This presses on his conscience in the days between act 2 and 3 while innocent villagers are being condemned to death and at the beginning of act 3 we see he can no longer hide the truth and confesses what he knows. When the court dismisses his claim he is determined to do everything in his power to get justice for all those innocent people either forced to confess or condemned to death for a crime they did not commit. He is so determined he even blackens his own name by admitting he committed adultery with Abigail to prove that she may have an ulterior motive. However, the trials are not the main way he portrays the theme of truth; it’s his guilt about his affair with Abby. In his scene with Abigail we do not know who he is lying to, himself, Abigail or Elizabeth. This is shown when he says “I have hardly stepped off this farm this seven month”. His honesty with his wife about the affair has lead to their relationship becoming under strain and the regret of the affair adds extra guilt as he realises what a mistake he has made. At the end of the play after john has decided to protest his innocence and stay true to his name we can see his conscience is finally clear and he dies without any regrets of his actions during the trials. This shows us that one of the only few people who are honest is throughout the play are truly “free” from the hysteria at the end of the play.
Reverend Hale
When reverend Hale is summoned at the beginning of the novel he is deemed to be the expert so the villagers take his word as the truth and do not question it. As it gets to the end of the play in the trials Hale sees the ridiculousness of the mass panic in the village and vows he will do everything in his power to protect those who are innocent and protest against the lying girls. His aim is to uphold the truth in the town as the only one who can see through the lies the girls have created.
Steven, Iona and Samantha
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