ORGINIAL WRITING Short Stories
Snap He deserved it. He did. Eggs have always been the best sellers, milk too; best cows in Yorkshire I had! All good things have to come to an end though I guess. Moneys the problem, moneys always the problem. Couldn’t afford to maintain the equipment which meant no crops, couldn’t afford animal feed which meant no animals which meant no produce. No produce, no farm, no money. Course as soon as anybody caught on the farm was going downhill offers were being thrown at me from miles around, everyone surrounding these green pastures wanted what I had. Typical. After the farm went bust everyone looked down on me, talked behind my back, laughed at me. I knew they did, I just knew it. Everyone called me mad, said I was going crazy, deranged. That I should sell the farm if I knew what was good for me (stop me going even loopier). Guess I did go a bit mad, couldn’t blame me though; if I had just been left alone. People just didn’t understand, they didn’t realise that the farm wasn’t just a bit of mud and some smelly animals; it was a family heirloom. It had been in my family for countless generations and now I had run it to the ground; I had brought humiliation upon the family. They were offering me peanuts, taunting me with the prices they offered. I soon told them, sent them on their way. One man just wouldn’t leave it, wouldn’t accept that I just wasn’t ready to go, especially if the farm would be left in his hands. He was stuck up, a snob and filthy rich. Rolling in money yet he offered me an amount not even close to what I knew it was worth. Everyday he visited me, slowly pushed the price higher and higher. Higher and higher until I snapped. It wasn’t my fault you know. He deserved it. He had it coming. He had it coming all along. Bills were piling up more and more by the day, I didn’t even bother to move them from the letterbox some days. I did my best to keep the farm respectable, keep the animals and crops alive whilst holding onto the remainders of my sanity. Though it soon became apparent to everyone it was a burden too heavy for my shoulders to carry. Then spring came, which meant lambs. Lambs that I could not afford to feed, let alone home. I took each one of them, one by one, away from their mothers and into the barn. I slit their throats and burnt each one of their feeble bodies along with the letters. I sat. I sat all day thinking about those lambs. The look in their eyes, the confusion as to why I was so cruelly snatching them away from the world after only a few hours of existence? All because I couldn’t afford to look after them. I decided I couldn’t do that again, I had to pick up the pieces and put them back together myself. Then he came. ‘Two hundred and seventy five thousand’ he sneered ‘that’s my final offer’ Snap. It served him right.
I never bothered to move the body; too much faffin’ about, I left him in the barn and locked the doors; put a padlock on for good measure. I thought it would be easy, easy to forget about him lying there on the cold stone floor, his blood soaking into the hay that surrounded him. I saw him sometimes. He stood and watched me from the end of my bed. He never spoke, just watched me. His eyes cursing me for what I had done, his mouth pressed into a smile, a smile that uttered ‘I told you so, I was right all along’. My mind would not settle, would not rest. I slowly became ill with fear, I saw him all the time now, he followed me everywhere I went; just watching and waiting for the moment he could strike and give me my comeuppance. I rarely slept now; instead I sat and waited for him to visit me again. He deserved it, i’m sure of it. He had it coming. Why did I feel so guilty? Why was I being punished for doing nowt’ wrong, for doing what was right. I knew I had committed a sin but it was for all the right reasons. I wasn’t a murderer, I wasn’t. I visited his body once; it lay exactly as I remembered. His eyes stared into nothing, straight past me, like they did when he visited my dreams. His arms were outstretched, his hands looked as though they were slowly entrapping my ankles, he was going to drag me down any second now, make me suffer, make me pay for what I did! I kicked his arms away from me and didn’t stop; I needed to make sure he wouldn’t visit me again. ‘You leave me alone’ I screamed ‘You deserved it, you hear me? You deserved it! You rot in hell and leave me alone’. I swear I heard him laugh. I decided to move the body, I took hold of his once polished leather shoes and I heaved his rotting body across the snow and into the field of withering wheat. He was limp and heavy, heavier than I had imagined for such a short build. I shovelled the blood soaked snow to the side of the road to cover any tracks of what had happened, though no matter what the blood would not disappear. It continued to drip through the fresh snow. I threw the spade onto the crimson stained snow and scurried home. Stumbling. I daren’t look back because I knew he was following me, I knew that if I stopped I too would soon be rotting in the crop fields. His blood stained my hands. I scrubbed my hands until they were red raw, skin peeling away, but the blood remained.
Commentary
My piece is in the form of a short story and it is a fictional text in written mode. It is in neutral register; this aims to develop the character and the characters dialect. I aimed for the piece to entertain the reader and to make the reader feel for the character though also realise how deranged he is slowly becoming. My short story would not be aimed at children as it is quite a macabre piece because it has a theme of murder throughout; therefore it is aimed at anyone ranging from teenagers to adults.
My piece is written in first person therefore the events in the short story are told from only one persons point of view, this gives the reader the chance to see the situation from the characters perspective and understand his feelings and emotions.
Throughout my short story I use a wide range of sentence structures, the main one being simple sentences. Using simple sentences creates a dramatic atmosphere and adds to the feelings created throughout my short story. For example, when it says ‘snap’ it is a simple but effective way of showing the reader that the character has changed and that something is going to happen or has already happened. The fragment also links to the sentence earlier in the monologue which says ‘higher and higher until I snapped’; it helps to tell the reader the reason why the character has ‘snapped’. Simple sentences are also used when it says ‘ I swear I heard him laugh’, this short sentence creates an eerie atmosphere as it follows a paragraph describing the encounter with the dead body and is on its own with no other text surrounding it. This could represent the character in the monologue feeling as though he is alone and isolated from everyone else. Other examples of short sentences throughout my piece are ‘I sat’, ‘He had it coming all along’ and ‘It served him right’.
There is also a lot of repetition used in my short story, for example ‘it wasn’t my fault’, ‘he deserved it’, ’he did’ and ‘he had it coming’ are repeated quite often throughout the piece. This creates a feeling of guilt which the character is feeling, although he continuously repeats that he ‘deserved it’ and it ‘wasn’t his fault’, the fact that he repeats it shows the reader he is trying to convince himself that he deserved it, making the reader doubt this. It is also repeated randomly throughout the monologue, this shows the reader that it is something which is always on the characters mind, therefore he must be unsure as to whether he did actually deserve it.
Connotation is also used within my piece when the character describes the killing of the lambs; lambs are seen as sweet and innocent and are associated with spring and new life. The fact that he murders them then burns their body’s shows that he is trying to forget and block out his problems and worries, he burns the pile of bills along with them, this also showing that he is trying to forget about the chaos which is occurring. Also, the fact that he describes murdering them in such a straightforward way also adds to an eerie atmosphere that is constantly being created throughout the piece.
Throughout my short story I aimed to include parts of the characters dialect. This to develop the character and help the reader to get to know him; meaning they will understand his feelings and situation therefore they will empathise with him. The character is from Yorkshire, therefore I aimed to use some typical Yorkshire words, some of these which I included in my piece were ‘ faffin’, ‘nowt’ and ‘comeuppance’.
There is no particular semantic field all the way throughout my piece though once the character has committed the murder, there is a semantic field of horror which appears in the short story. Words like ‘blood’, ‘cursing’, ‘suffer’, ‘screamed’ and ‘rotting’ are used, all of which link to murder and create further negative and scary feelings towards the situation.
The use of adjectives in my piece helps to create imagery, for example when it says ‘crimson stained snow’ it creates a strong image of snow soaked with bright red blood, which then contributes to the eerie atmosphere that the short story creates. It also adds to the atmosphere when it describes the killing of the lambs and it says ‘I slit their throats and burnt each one of their feeble bodies along with the letters’, the sentence is quite straightforward and said with almost no emotion, which is quite chilling. Also, the use of the word ‘feeble’ makes the reader feel further sympathy for the lambs as it shows that they were helpless in the situation.
The White Rider Everything was set. The capes were on and the half face masks were placed. Four figures strode across the frost infested lawn under the hazy evening sun. The crisp autumn leaves crunched under their ebony, knee-high boots as they approached a rotting, wooden building. Meanwhile down a dusty lane, a horse and carriage was pulling up outside a grand manor. The door swiftly opened and a young lady known as Miss Buckley emerged. Her radiant beauty beamed in the moonlight, and her soft cheeks glowed red from the chilly night air. She was well-groomed, dressed in a smart frock and overcoat, holding a little cream suitcase in her laced gloves. Her face was troubled by something, her eyebrows pulled down and her eyes teary. A gentle breeze blew through her golden locks as she approached the handsome cab. “Good evening Miss!” the courteous driver said as he took her suitcase from her and placed it on the roof of the carriage: “Where do you wish to travel this fine evening?” At once she climbed graciously into the carriage. “London! With all speed. Mother has been taken ill,” she quivered. Miss Buckley sat silently on the velvet seat. In the distance she heard the echo of a lonely tom cat meowing into the night, as she gazed over the dark hills. “Ready for the off Miss Buckley?” she nodded. Within minutes the carriage suddenly jerked forward and began to bounce uncomfortably away from the house. Passing through Kilton, Miss Buckley could smell the aroma over from ‘The Smugglers Den’ and she watched drunken oafs, stumbling here and there after a night of cigars and brandy. However her attention was suddenly caught by something pinned to a dead Ash tree. “Stop the carriage!” she called out to the driver, then hopped out and went to the tree. It was worn piece of parchment with an image of a tall, handsome man on a horse. She gazed into the mysterious black and white photograph, before her eyes flickered to the smudged ink writing below: ‘The White Rider’ “Miss Buckley? London is a long treacherous road, we cannot delay. Please, let me assist you back to the carriage,” the driver fussed. Reluctantly, she followed him back to the carriage. Once perched back on the velvet seat, the image had faded into darkness yet the thought of ‘The White Rider’ still lingered in her mind. During this time, Kilton was in bad company, the highway men had snuck into the village, and were hiding down a dark alley. Aged leaves circled their feet as they jumped down from their weary horses. The oldest and most cunning of the group breathed in sooty air and spoke. “My friends, if you are quick, and remember everything I’ve taught you … there will be no …mistakes.” He paused. “Will there?” His words were slow and tense. Whatever he said, whoever he spoke to, they were immediately hooked by his poisonous tongue. The man’s puppets shook their heads in fear; they dare not upset him. “As I speak to you all now, a carriage is wheeling happily down to London,” he began sarcastically. “Inside that innocent little carriage is our ticket to fortune and freedom! He has taken the road through Kilton Woods,” he whispered shrewdly, with a devious grin.
Overhead, enraged clouds were coming together accompanied by the fierce wind as the highway men once again mounted their steeds. “A cautious word of warning: the White Rider. He hunts us. Look to his coming, there is no doubt in my mind that he will grace us with his company tonight. Ride on!” The piercing icy air circled the highwaymen’s ears as they rode faster and faster through the maze of trees. All in one moment, four hearts were rapidly beating as adrenaline took over their limbs! The carriage was in their bloodthirsty sight. They forcefully heaved back on the leather reins and the horses came to a sudden halt. Nothing was said. The leading man pulled his horses in front of the others, turned to look at his followers and simply … nodded once. Unexpectedly a blinding flash of lightening sparked and his horse raised high onto its back legs and letting out an enormous penetrating noise. Ear-splitting thunder roared over the woods and torrential rain lashed down from the clouds above as the highwaymen charged towards the carriage. Water droplets rolled down their black tricorn hats. They were now close enough to strike! Two of the Highwaymen drew out silver swords while the other two pulled out bronze pistols. The horse of the carriage was spooked by the sight of these strange men and started to prance around nervously making an awful racket. The driver tried to calm the old girl down, but he saw what had caused the panic! He looked deep into the dark eyes of the highwayman, trying to appeal to his better nature. He had no better nature. The pistol was aimed and a shot was fired! Then silence. Thick blood ran from his frothing mouth before he stumbled and fell dead to the woodland path, the rain battering on his lifeless back. At the door of the carriage, one highwayman counted on his fingers; one … two … three… then ripped the door open seized her hair, heaving her out before throwing her in a heap on the floor. She whimpered helplessly as she saw the sprawled corpse of her driver lying next to her. The four highwaymen congregated together, shoulder to shoulder. “Pleasant dreams…” he raised his pointed sword high into the air. The woman screamed with fright, closing her eyes tight shut. The highwaymen thrust his blade towards her chest when suddenly it was knocked out of his grasp sending it soaring through the air. With her eyes still firmly sealed, she could hear swords clashing together. Bravely opening her eyes, she saw a new man on a magnificent silver stallion, dressed as the rest of the Highway men, however in white. Suddenly, amongst the mayhem, her mind flashed back to earlier on in the evening; the piece of parchment! It was the White Rider! He was real! Right there before her eyes! She watched him like a hawk as he fought the highwaymen in the pouring rainfall. The men in black dodged his whipping sword rather well until one of them made the mistake of turning his back away from him. Taking his opportunity to strike, the White Rider slashed the highwayman’s back, badly wounding him. He fell to his knees crying out pain. The White Rider protectively stood in front of the shell shocked woman, his sword dripping with blood, pointing it at the rest of the vermin. Seeing the rage in his eyes, the highwaymen collected their injured man. The White Rider now turned to the woman shaking on the floor, holding out his strong hand to her. This was the first time she had seen his perfectly carved face. She took his hand and he pulled her up. The rain began to ease, however it still drizzled ever so slightly and the woman still found herself holding The White Rider’s hand. Then, something happened that had never happened before. He spoke. “What is your name?” His voice was deep and fine. It was difficult not to get lost in his words. The
woman’s voice had gone dry, she had to gulp to get some feeling back. “Miss Buckley,” she stumbled, never breaking eye contact with the charming man. Little did she know that as she stood there, that the greatest love story of our time was about to unfold.
Commentary For my coursework I made the decision to write a short story based around the genre of adventure with a small amount of romance. Romantic lexis that supports the genre would be the noun phrases “love story” and “his perfectly carved face”. Plus the clause “the highwaymen charged towards the carriage” and the noun phrase “maze of trees” both give the effect an adventurous atmosphere. My story is in a written mode and there is a lexical field of historical features due to the context of the setting, for example the concrete nouns “frock” and “overcoat”, the fact that the only mode of transport is “horse and carriage” as well as one of the weapons being a “sword”. My intention for the semantic field was to not only create dramatic effects, but to be marginally educational as the themes and events in my story are based on the truth. The register is formal due to its historical setting and context which again reflects the time period the story is set in. It is written in the third person narrative and the use of extensive pre and post modification fits with the style and time period and adds to the atmosphere, for example “The courteous driver.” Plus, it is in a slightly archaic style which is appropriate with the genre as is “a blurred piece of parchment” because in the modern day it would be a poster not parchment. I have used adjectives to make the story interesting and descriptive, “The piercing icy air.” It is the adjective “piercing” in this sentence that is really effective for helping to describe the atmosphere which reflects some of the cold characteristics of the highwaymen. Plus, it could be suggested that it creates a cataphoric reference because it foreshadows the attack on one of the highwaymen as the sword pierces his back. Furthermore, “rotting” “dusty” and “crisp” all adjectives to create a sense of foreboding. I have used pathetic fallacy “overhead enraged clouds were coming accompanied by the fierce wind.” to suggest to the reader that something dramatic is going to happen further on the story and therefore build tension. In addition the past participle “enraged” has connotations of anger and fury, which mirrors the highwaymen’s actions, therefore could possibly make the reader fear them and express just how much power and dominance the highwaymen have. When it came to the characters of the highwaymen I felt it was necessary to use metaphors to create imagery as well as dramatic tension. The metaphor ‘The man’s puppets shook their heads in fear, they dare not upset him” shows power, which reflects intentional characteristics of the highwaymen. However “Her radiant beauty beamed in the moonlight,” is a complete contrast to the highwaymen because the lexis is much more gentle and delicate, which again mirrors the gentle and innocent characteristics of Miss Buckley. Having such a juxtaposition of description between two sets of characters sets the boundary between good and evil. Likewise when giving the protagonist no name other than the White Rider, the reader automatically makes the connection that the adjective ‘white’ has many connotations such as, innocence, purity, goodness and is often considered to be the colour of perfection, which is how the reader should feel about him. Against white, deliberately, the antagonists the highwaymen are dressed in black which would again imply good and evil, further adding to the idea that the White Rider is the hero and the highwaymen as villains.
Complex sentences have been used within my writing to provide fluency and detailed description. To describe the lead Highwayman’s effect on people, “Whatever he said, whoever he spoke to, they were immediately hooked by his poisonous tongue”, I have shown his corrupt unquestionable power. In contrast, simple sentences have been used to create moments of tension within the narrative. The simple declarative sentence “He hunts us.” implies the speaker feels threatened by the “White Rider” as he chooses not to dwell on the matter. Furthermore, the minor sentence “Then silence.” is impactful because it occurs immediately after a dramatic event which indicates death “the pistol was aimed and a shot was fired!” It is ironic that “The silence” followed straight after the previous quote as silence often associated with death and that is shown as a sign of respect after someone has died. The imperative “Stop the Carriage!” briefly shows Miss. Buckley in a different light, showing her as being commanding and rather forceful.
His Woman of Eternity For so long, he had known even without meeting her, that she was the one who he had been waiting for. Centuries passed and still, he was alone. He had already brought an end to his foolish caring of mortal souls. Every time he allowed himself to drown and wallow in a woman’s embrace, time seemed to always remind him that love and endearment for a creature of eternity such as himself cannot be granted. He had watched his past lovers deteriorate and disappear from existence far too many times that he had stopped moving on to another. He knew that the only way for him to fully enjoy the extent of immortality that his bed partner, as well as the one who sates his bloodlust, must also be like him. Although it is not forbidden to change a human, he just hadn’t ever wanted a woman that badly. Whenever he was distraught with thirst and having been without a consort, he would feed off any human who came his way. Time and time again, he had looked for the woman who would rouse his inner beast and looking straight ahead of him, the subject of his musings was stood - unaware of his intent scrutiny... Atop of a slightly upraised land, perched, was a creature far beyond any he had ever seen. Long cascading hair, the colour of midnight, danced around straight levelled, slender shoulders. Its head whipped to a side and his hooded eyes, the colour of exotic cerulean, widened in awe for what greeted him was not a creature of his kind which he had assumed, but a sensuous woman of extravagant beauty. As he stood, rooted, time froze momentarily. Every cell in his body jarred, making him shudder violently at the intensity of it, so rampant that it almost brought him to his knees. The more he looked at her delicate heart shaped face, the more his hunger for blood burned. He wanted her. He wanted her now; against the stone cold terrain, neck bared, hair fanned out like a peacock in its glorified state. Lost in his fantasies, he missed the low almost inaudible animalistic growl coming from a dark shape, as it brought her down to the ground. He briefly snapped his eyes shut, for the wrath of fury which he was struggling to hold onto, threatened for release. After stifling a ragged breath, he jerked them open. Red clouded his vision. The lustrous tint of glacier fire blazed, overpowering and shadowing the once dominant colour. Mouth curving into a feral smile, two sleek and deadly canines descended, soaked in venomous saliva. Within the space of a couple of seconds, he reached what he had pinpointed and attacked. Prying the unknown away from the beauty, he roared savagely, lashing his bare muscled arm in a swiping motion, purring in triumph at the sound of something broken. Ensuring that the woman was out of the others vision, he turned. Eyes stark and bold flared, fixated on the man crouched into a defensive position. Just one look verified that the other man was clearly no match for him. ‘’Leave!’’ he snarled, eyes ablaze, ‘’If you do not want to die by my hand tonight, leave.’’
She was tightly clutching the hem of his shirt. Trembling. Almost immediately, all traces of violence and rage depleted. He put her away from him, only to curse under his breath. ‘’Please...’’ she whimpered, ‘’don’t hurt me...’’ A cry, wretched from her parched throat. Upon hearing the plea in her voice, he cursed yet again and crushed her petite trembling frame against the hard wall of his chest. He gently smoothed his fingers through her hair, inhaling the underlying scent of pine and wild-berries. It was evident from the dark smudges under her eyes, the light green sundress torn at the edges that she had been in the forest for some time. The very essence of her was the wilderness. Once the tremors calmed, breathing steadily, he spoke with barely suppressed anger. ‘’What are you doing in these woods, woman?’’ When silence replied, he growled silently, took her by her arms, held her away from him and fixed his hungry eyes on her pale face. A sound that seemed to be not of fright and terror but of something he couldn’t identify escaped her peach coloured plum lips. He revelled in the thought of bringing his head down, pulling hers back, parting those luscious lips and penetrating them with the deep thrust of his tongue. The thought made him convulse. A gasp of pure delight had his mind returning to the present. Looking at the spark in her amethyst eyes, he could not shake off the message that was lying beneath them. He could tell she wanted him. Closing his eyes, he took a series of deep calming breaths. When he opened them again, his gaze was enigmatic. ‘’You have not answered my question, woman. Why are you in these woods?’’ She shrugged. Shaking his head, he closed the gap between them. His great height towered intimidatingly over her yet, when she met his gaze, hers was unmoving. Her hand reached, paused, and then retracted. ‘’I... I want you t-to turn me into what you are.’’ Shock and disbelief blanketed his features as her words registered. ‘’You know nothing of what you speak,’’ he replied, hard edged. This time, when her hand reached out it did not falter. He closed his eyes suppressing the shiver that raked him; her touch making him meek. ‘’Please! Oh please I beg you! I want this! I----‘’ She broke off on a choked sob, making his eyes snap open. The top of her head bowed, face hidden from him. Her grip didn’t loosen, though he could feel her tremble yet again. She whimpered when his lips brushed fleetingly across hers. Damnation!
Riveted on her deliciously shaped mouth, he watched as it turned into an O before spreading out like a bow. Her awe-filled face buried closer to his taut, muscled chest. His fists clenched in tight endurance as her action made him come face to face with the hollow of her throat. His nose flared as every one of his pores opened and feasted on the maddeningly sublime scent of her, making him ravenous and salivating. His watchful eyes fell on the slow rise and fall of her chest. It was she who withdrew her own midnight black hair to expose the most velvet layer atop the object of his desire: her pulse. He let a finger glide down the softness of her high set cheek, roaming down to hook her chin, tilting it upwards for scrutiny. He heard her sharp intake of breath as he placed a butterfly kiss at the column of her throat, where he couldn’t ignore the pagan drum beat beneath her quivering flesh as it called out to him. His smile feral... Then the world unfocused as an awakening occurred.
Commentary
My short story, “His Woman of Eternity’’ is a fictional story written to entertain. I chose to write it because of the supernatural mixed with romance genre. My inspiration came from the various novels and films that I have watched and read. I originally planned to do a monologue which included the same genre and supernatural being but then I realised that my expertise laid in extended narrative. I am a great fan of fictional romance and this is how I have kept the interest and endurance for writing this particular piece of work. The particular audience of my short story is those who are interested in supernatural beings as well as the fans of romance. This will be a range from teenagers or young adults but I would say it is mostly targeted for teenagers. I would say that the main attraction that would attract my audience to read what I have written is mostly centered on the theme and genre. The register is a mix between neutral and high class. The effect of having my register like this is because this way, I can mix the past and present times together since my character is a being from past and present. By having a high class register, this can reflect the knowledge and expertise of my main character – such as having a good control of his emotions from “he spoke with barely suppressed anger” to “he closed his eyes suppressing the shiver that raked him”. On the other hand, by having a neutral register, this can also reflect the fact that my character is somehow adapting to the language of modern times, such as compared from the beginning where my main character’s way of speaking sounds formal ‘’he had known’’ instead of the modern language of he’d known. Through the use of the metaphor, “the very essence of her was the wilderness”, this gives off an image that the woman in my text also has a sense of supernaturalism since the abstract noun “wilderness’’ also a metaphorical contrast to concrete noun has many connotations such as animalistic, predator, free, natural and therefore, branding her as not a normal human but someone who is most fitted to be otherworldly. This creates an effect of something ominous and in a way, foreboding.
Although I haven’t stated the being of my character in the text, the lexis of the semantic field such as “blood, bloodlust, canine’’ mixed with “immortality, centuries, eternity’’ my characters being can be adequately identified. I have chosen this particular semantic field in order to keep the being of my character mysterious yet at the same time, obvious. My use of lexis makes this possible due to the fact that the abstract nouns “bloodlust’’ and “immortality” as well as the adjective “canine” are all associated with wild beasts and century living creatures. I wanted to make my character mysterious because he doesn’t really have a past and his being is a secret to the whole world. I wanted to maintain his mysteriousness because that is the type of character he is. This also heightens the reader’s anticipation and excitement, making them want to read on in order to emphasize with my character. My using of the imperative verb, “leave’’, reflects the evident characteristic of my character. It shows that my character is the one who is dominant, the one with power and the one to obey. Even though my character is looked upon as dangerous and intimidating, when paired with my other character, the woman, his personality alternates and therefore so does his image which is shown here “She was tightly clutching the hem of his shirt. Trembling. Almost immediately, all traces of violence and rage depleted”. From the very beginning, my character is and has been always alone. The need for him to find someone whom he can share his eternity with is so strong that when he’s actually found her he hesitates, hitting the point of cruel endurance, in fear of driving her away as shown from “He wanted her now; against the stone cold terrain, neck bared, hair fanned out like a peacock in its glorified state.“ showing how badly he wants her upon the first time meeting her to “Closing his eyes, he took a series of deep calming breaths. “ having my character calm himself, hesitating and “He closed his eyes suppressing the shiver that raked him; her touch making him meek.“ once within physical contact, he couldn’t control his body’s reaction from her touch. The simple sentence of “Red clouded his vision.” adds immediacy and tension within the occurring events. It reflects anger and danger as “red” is connotated with such stative verbs symbolizing my characters current state of being. With the use of dyanamic verb in the minor sentence “Trembling.” it shows the fear, anticipation and anxiety if the character. My purpose in adding a female character, especially one who is human, is that she is my male characters source of calmness, protectiveness and desire. In other words, she is a great contrast to my male. Personality wise, it is kind of ironic that even though my male is supposedly the one with authority and power, my female has avidly reversed the role because in the end, my male was rendered “meek” and complying to her great wish of being turned.
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Chapter 1 - The Silence Silence. Some crave the peace and tranquillity that allows them to be with their thoughts, alone. Silence however is an enigma, an unknown, a paranoid schizophrenic carrying an un-predictable personality. The silence this Friday is menacing, holding the estate at gunpoint. A burden. A psychopath that preys on ignorance and warns those whose naivety has been found wanting. From an outside perspective the estate seems subdued and quiet, there’s no reason to suspect otherwise. To take things at face value is common. You are not reading enough into this master of disguise, whose dull weight smothers out any passing whimsy leaving only the fear of what may be to come. Many do not hear how loud the silence is. Many cannot comprehend the sinister nature of this disturbed concept. The eerie emptiness possesses an intimidating grip holding stagnant those who fear its absence more than its presence. Oxygen becomes harder to obtain. Stifling. The silence warns the smart ones amongst the estate, but preys on those who are blissfully naïve luring them into a false sense of security. The silence is the Judas of the estate. The stronghold is more fickle in practice than it is in theory. As fast as it occupies it breaks. True to tradition at 9:22 pm it is shattered. As the infamous car door of the silver Ford Focus slams shut followed hastily by the beep of the doors locking. The silence has been invaded by fear. A light breeze tentatively begins to weave its way through King Street eliminating the few degrees that had established itself on this bitterly cold December evening. A tense waiting game ensues as the estate lies dormant. Some begin to second guess what they know is inevitable. House bound by fear, Collin and Emily Sharp sit motionless, pinned stiff by anxiety. The focal point of Collin’s attention is a small muddy print worn into the ageing beige carpet roughly a metre away from where he is sat in his living room. “I’ve been meaning to sort that out for months,” he muttered. “What’s that?” replied Emily despondently. “You know, that bloody mark there, it’s getting on my nerves.” Emily acknowledges it for about five seconds before sighing rather loudly. “I just want to get away from here.” The emotion in Emily’s voice was so apparent and genuine, it fazed Colin slightly. He looked at his wife of twelve years with helpless despair “I wish we could get out of here Emily, I wish I could get you out of here.” Time wares on. Ten strikes of the church bell. This informs the estate that the time bomb is close to detonating. It turns everyone’s fear and anguish into stone-cold reality.
A group of young males begin gather at the shops. All nearby residents can hear is the boisterous shouting of these juvenile delinquents, every word pre-cursored with an F. Curtains and blinds begin to twitch as unsettled homeowners look to see if their property is in the firing line. The ring leader of this yob congregation is Jamie Smith. His name sends shivers down the spine. From eight years old he was raising menace around the estate. Now ten years on the only thing that’s changed is the scale of his operation. His gang grows and grows. The sound of crying engines bellowing from the exhausts of 50 cc mopeds takes over everything in a three mile radius. Jamie begins to rally the troops. “Now then you dirty set of no-marks! We ready for some trouble?” Jamie’s use of persuasion was second to none “Now there’s a group of very unhappy Wessies making there way down ‘ere and they ‘av not made this journey to talk, not an happy set of lads.” “How many of ‘em Jay?” shouts a voice from amongst the crowd. “’bout twenty-five, thirty heads kid,” Jamie states remarkably un-phased by the army of angry men marching towards him. “We gonna do ‘em?” an expectant voice asks. “Too right! not ‘avin them little bastard pikeys comin’ down our estate and calling shots!” From a mile or two away the Leeds boys are making their presence known; chanting, shouting and winding themselves up for the conflict about to take place. “You hear that Jay?” “Damn right, I reckon they’ve took that stabbing quite badly, what you think lads?” laughing to himself. He is joined by the rest of the group. “Speaking of which are we all kitted up? Knives, blades and or any other Fucking tool sharp or blunt?” In synchronisation the group shouts a resounding yes. “Then I guess we’re ready lads. This is war!” The estate erupts. Jamie and his gang begin their own chanting and shouting. The noise echoes around the estate like a football ground. They rile themselves up, smashing up phone boxes, windows, street lights, head lights, wing mirrors and windscreens. Complete anarchy and bedlam spreads across the main square. Residents of the estate begin to reach for their phones to perform their weekly call to the police. Routine. This is done out of wishful thinking rather than any real hope. The police don’t come here. Not on a Friday. Everybody knows it’s a matter of minutes before the groups collide and all hell breaks loose. There’s no escaping now. Anyone who hasn’t left isn’t leaving. Anyone who isn’t running will be fighting. Anyone who falls down will stay down. All they can do is sit and hope that the violence and destruction is kept between the two groups, once again wishful thinking, this has all happened before.
Commentary “The Traitor” is a first chapter of a novel and is a fictional text in written mode. The purpose of the chapter is to grab the attention of the reader by systematically setting the scene and slowly disclosing information to the reader in order to retain interest and keep them eager to read on. The text is written in a formal register and is based heavily around the description and the atmosphere on the estate. The genre of my story is a modern day thriller. Information has been strategically released in order to intrigue but not give the story away and in withholding information I am keeping the reader interested and provoking questions consequently making the reader want to read on. The first paragraphs were used to set a mysterious scene as opposed to introducing characters. I chose to do this so the reader does not initially build a relationship with specific characters but can empathise with the whole population of the estate and begin to fear for them as I describe the first dynamic of my story which is the connotations of silence. I used an extended personification of the abstract noun silence as it is connotative of mystery, fear and unknown. By describing silence using the metaphor “A paranoid schizophrenic.” I am enhancing the atmosphere of the story as I am personifying silence allowing the reader to imagine the silence has characteristics. I contextualised silence with mysterious lexis such as the abstract nouns “Enigma.” And “An Unknown.” to create an eerie atmosphere and build a heavy tension on the estate which consequently transfers to the reader. Evidence of this is shown by using the adjective “sinister.” contextualised in the phrase “Many cannot comprehend the sinister nature of this disturbed concept.” The use of minor sentences such as “A burden.” creates tension and sets the scene well. This is aimed at a modern day audience primarily as gang-culture is a more modern phenomenon and it will be easier for a younger audience to identify with the plot, however it is written in a sophisticated way which would appeal to a wide range of audiences. The use of metaphors such as “ Silence is the Judas of the estate.” This metaphor connotes silence as a traitor as it comes across as a peaceful concept “luring them into a false sense of security.” When really the silence is the precedent of what everyone fears. “The smart ones.” Know the silence as a warning whereas “The blissfully naïve.” fail to see this warning and therefore remain naïve. I use the fronted conjunction “as” contextualised in the sentence “As fast as it occupies it breaks.” to set up the sentence and allow me to build on the sentence and create an atmosphere. I used parenthetical structure in the phrase “The focal point of Collin’s attention is a small muddy print worn into the ageing beige carpet, roughly a metre away from where he is sat in his living room.” to add depth to the sentence and keep it interesting. I also used complex sentences such as “House bound by fear, Collin and Emily Sharp sit motionless, pinned stiff by anxiety.” in order to maintain the readers interest. I used the singular letter “F” to portray the fact that the young males where swearing often. The connotations of the letter “F” in the sentence “Every word pre-cursored with an F.” are that there will be reoccurring use of swear words beginning with an F. I used colloquialisms of gang slang with the term “wessies” and the rhetorical question “are we all kitted up?” to add a realistic feel to the writing and allow the reader to relate to and understand the characters. This helps to paint a picture in the readers head about what the characters are like. The complex sentence “I reckon they took the stabbing quite badly, what do you think lads?” Jamie exclaims laughing to himself as he is joined
by the rest of the group. “ also helps depict the characters mentality. He is characterized as being ruthless and un-remorseful for his actions as he is laughing at his deeds. I used a triadic parallel structure “Anyone who hasn’t left isn’t leaving. Anyone who isn’t running will be fighting. Anyone who falls down will stay down.” at the end of the chapter in order to leave the reader on a cliff-hanger and wanting to read on.
Skins ‘There’s another skin heading our way Josh, the water ain’t even stopped this one!’ Josh was tore from his reverie whilst gazing out across the lake by Ed’s stage whisper. It was hard to conceive that even in such an idyllic place as Windermere, the infection had spread. Josh had heard hundred’s of stories about how it had started: the government developed it, global warming, aliens and everyone’s favourite; judgement day. All he knew was it started in the cities and had shown no signs of stopping so far. ‘Oh for God’s sake, who knew there were so many skins out here?’ It was easier to call them that, skins. It stopped the guilt, the niggling questions: was she someone’s mother? Was he a husband? Skins made them seem a little less real. Less human. They weren’t zombies, zombies made sounds; groans and moans, or so the films and books said. Skins were different, silent, minacious and even to an extent smart. The skin edged further into the icy waters and the duo held their breath, the fleeting question entering their minds, Skins can’t swim. Can they? They exhaled shakily as the figure in the distance lowered to the lake’s muddy, murky depths and didn’t resurface. Josh paced over to the far side of Lady Holme, their camp for the past week, and began throwing his few belongings into his backpack. ‘We should head back to the mainland, we need more supplies.’ Josh suggested, running a hand through his dirty blonde hair. ‘Are you mental? Or have you just blanked out the thousands of skins surrounding this stupid place?’ They had reached the small island by canoe, but getting back would be harder. Skins had begun to crowd the edges of the lake and finding a clear path of escape would be near impossible. *** ‘I can’t believe we’re doing this. At least if we’d stayed on the island we of been safe. This is just mad, you’re mad!’ ‘Will you shut up Ed? They’re going to notice us if you keep whingeing about it. We had two choices stay on the island and die or leave and have a chance at living.’ ‘You didn’t give me a choice; you just shoved me back in this death-trap and told me to row!' Without warning the small canoe ran aground, seemingly meters away from any rocks close to the water’s edge. Josh leaned over and peered into the depths, staring back into his dark brown eyes were a pair of soulless, jet black, beady orbs, set in a paper white, blistered face. Unmistakable. It was a skin. 'Ed I don’t want you to panic, but we need to keep going and quick, you were right the water isn't stopping them.'
'Wh...What do you mean?' The shorter of the two stuttered in response. 'I mean there is a skin right below us and if we don't move it's going to get in the boat.' The blonde replied as calmly as possible. Whilst Josh began to row, Ed panicked, turning red and flustered at the thought of having yet another run in with a skin. He liked the island; it was safe, unlike this dilapidated boat, with its creaky oars and timeworn seats. In his fit of hysteria Ed failed to notice the wrinkled, veined hand reaching out of the polluted waters and right for his arm. Josh tore his head round towards the scream that ripped through the silence of the surrounding hills. His eyes bulged at the sight of the skin, frenzied yet deathly silent, latched onto Ed's right arm, blood already seeping through his coat and dripping onto the floor of the canoe. 'It's got me! Help Josh it won't stop!' Was all Josh could decipher from the screeches falling out of Ed's mouth, as he raised his oar and began to beat to skin away. He'd already lost so many people, he couldn't lose Ed too. *** The blood trail began at the washed up canoe and continued all the way far up to an upturned tree on the rolling fell on the northern side of the lake. The amount of blood Ed had lost astonished Josh, but by some miracle he was still alive. Or was it a curse? Despite the cold, beads of sweat had begun to form on his friend's brow and he was turning a sickening white. Ed could've been mistaken for dying, but the pair both knew the situation was far graver. He was turning. 'You should go, J.' Ed croaked, as he was swaddled with bandages and gauze's to stem the bleeding in his arm. 'Don't be daft, I'm not leaving you, we'll just strap you up and get going, I bet you the other side of this fell we'll find some people and a camp. Just hang on. Don't give up on me.' 'We both know there's no one out here Josh, we was on that isle for well over a week and we didn't hear so much as a whimper from anything remotely human. You need to go, I'll only slow you down, or hurt you.' His last three words came out in a hushed voice. Josh stopped his fumbling through the medical packs from his crouched position in front of Ed, before throwing his head in hands and letting out a dry sob, letting down his guard for the first time in weeks. Quickly gaining his composure he looked his best friend dead in the eye. 'No. No you are not changing my mind.' Ed tipped his head to the side, looking beyond Josh and squinted. 'Don't try to change my mind Ed, I'm not leaving you and that's final.' 'No, look.' Josh turned in the direction of his friends raised left arm, standing up and gazing into the distance his weathered and blood splattered face softened. It was discrete, but visible all the same. There in the cabins, on the southern side of Windemere which were secure and unoccupied before, was a flickering light.
Commentary 'Skins' is a post-apocalyptic fiction novel's first chapter in written mode. It is aimed at a teen/young adult audience, due to the darker nature of some of the material, with an interest in this genre and has the purpose of entertaining. In keeping with the genre the register fluctuates from neutral to high. An example of this higher register lexis is the use of the abstract noun "reverie" and the adjective "minacious". However in Ed's speech the use of contractions such as "ain't" and the interrogative, simple sentence, "Are you mental?" are examples of more neutral register lexis. The title of the novel 'Skins' is an example of a concrete, plural noun. The use of this lexis creates an active reader more than the generic concrete noun 'zombies' would, as the reader is already familiar with this lexis and would therefore be less engaged by the title. The lexis 'zombies' also creates almost cartoon image that is associated with films and books. Using the noun 'Skins' means that the audience are able to create a new idea of the character based on the description in the narrative, and makes the characters more sinister, as opposed to relying on the schema surrounding 'zombies' already created from previous narratives. The use of third person throughout the narrative allows the focus of the chapter to remain on the action taking place rather than giving an in depth look into the characters emotions. This is common in the post-apocalyptic genre which describes the scenery and setting more than the characters emotions. The complex declarative sentence “They exhaled shakily as the figure in the distance lowered to the lake’s muddy, murky depths and didn't resurface.” Gives the reader a lot of descriptive information about the water surrounding the duo and also adds to the idea that the Skins are no longer human as they don’t react to the water they step into, this description which contains the adjectives “muddy” and “murky”, therefore, fits with the genre. The narrative opens with speech and in the middle of action rather than building to a dramatic scene. “There’s another skin heading our way Josh, the water ain’t even stopped this one!” immediately immerses the reader in the narratives action which creates an active reader by making them ask questions straight away such as: What’s a skin? Why are the characters near water? And who is Josh? The use of speech also gives the characters depth as they use contractions and sentences that are not always grammatically correct which make them more relatable to the audience. The asyndetic list, “...a pair of soulless, jet black, beady orbs, set in a paper white, blistered face” is used to describe a Skin. This listing has a negative semantic field which is common in this genre, and the list creates a cold emotionless description of the creature. The metaphor “paper white” also allows the audience to create an idea of how the creature’s skin looks because it allows for a comparison that can been seen in real life. Similarly the metaphor, “his fit of hysteria” emphasises the characters emotions by over exaggerating the situation; the character Ed isn’t actually having a fit but the use of this metaphor creates a hyperbole. The minor sentence, “Less human.” builds tension by giving the reader a small burst of information and leaving them with more questions which creates an active reader. This declarative sentence also creates tension by seemingly rushing the action also and increasing the pace of the narrative. In contrast the complex, declarative sentence, “Skins were different, silent, minacious and even to an extent smart.” conveys a slower and more sinister tone which, when used alongside minor and simple sentences creates a feeling of unease in the narrative, this again creates an active reader as the audience have no idea what is going to happen next.
The use of the adjective “dilapidated”, to premodify the concrete noun “boat”, gives the reader an extra piece of descriptive information about the boat the characters use to attempt their escape. This also gives the audience an idea of the desperation the characters are facing that their only hope of escape is in a broken down boat. The character Ed’s speech contains some grammatically incorrect structures and contractions such as“Are you mental?” and he also refers to Josh as “J”. The interrogative, simple sentence “Are you mental?” makes the characters seem more believable and more realistic than if they spoke in a higher register lexis. The latter tells the reader that the characters are close as they call each other by nicknames, this gives the audience extra information at a quicker pace.
The Armchair The chair had always been there, changing only with age – every scuff and scrape gifting it more prestige and quality, making it more and more desirable and more intimidating. The men who sat in the chair were all of the same ilk, upper-middle class businessmen all concerned with money. Until one day. One day when one upper-middle class businessman had a change of heart. Refurbishment. The walls were repainted, the glass refitted, the floors redone and the armchair replaced. Only to be found again by a businessman of a lower class. Mark had a few hours to wait so he decided he’d inspect the scarred green leather armchair, which leaned against an overturned dumpster down the alleyway opposite his car. At any rate, a brick would be more comfortable than his car seat, so he decided to take his chances on the old armchair. The road was empty and he didn’t even bother himself by looking both ways as he opened the door. He didn’t even bother closing it. The road was long and empty, further up it was a burned out Ford Escort from the nineties and down the road was nothing but empty bottles and cans with a carpet of glittering glass scattered across the road’s surface. The only thing that seemed to occupy this place, except for him, was the wind. He zipped up his jacket and jogged across the road into the cover of the alley. The wind wasn’t cold but it wasn’t pleasant either. It carried with it the scent of abandon and desolation that seemed to make itself at home in this place. He’d heard from an elderly gas station attendant on the way here, that this place had once been a close-knit small community of the families of the men who worked up at the old iron mines, to the north, of course when the iron dried up so did the community. The alley was only five foot wide and was hemmed in by an old boarded up hardware store and a deserted office complex, with the words Fe. Inc & Associates in large rusted letters. Most of the windows were smashed and the door had been kicked in long ago. For all Mark knew there could be squatters eyeing his car with envy – they could have it for all he cared; it was a piece of shit anyway, older than him and working as well as his dead Aunt. He tilted the chair the proper way up, brushing away pieces of a broken bottle and an empty syringe before turning around and sitting down. Letting out a sigh, he paused for a while and looked through the narrow window that the entrance to the alley allowed. He saw a tableau of his life; a decrepit car, a collection of empty bottles and broken syringes. He leant his head back on the headrest and looked upwards at the thin wisps of cloud swimming in the endless pool of sky. As he did so he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and withdrew a cigarette from his pack and from his other pocket he found his lighter. He decided he’d add another, greyer, cloud to the sky. At that moment he heard the distant cry of wheels doing their best to hold onto the road. Hearing the squealing, Mark threw his cigarette into the dumpster and ran out of the alley. His gun felt heavy in his pocket; small though it was. He put his hand in his jacket pocket and grasped his revolver. The squealing of the car was louder now – it’d be around the corner any second. Mark edged back into the alley and took cover behind the wall of the old mining offices. A loud bang, like a gunshot, echoed around the deserted street. He poked his head around the corner just in time to see a rusted blue Buick sports car skid around the corner. He recognised it. That fucking idiot, Mark thought to himself. He let go of his gun and ran out to the pavement and waved down the car. As it neared him, Mark could see that the passenger’s window was shattered, with three ominous holes scattered across the car’s doors. Instinctively, Mark grabbed his revolver. He knocked away the remains of the shattered glass and leant into the car. “What the fuck have you done you shithead?” He growled. The tracksuit wearing driver seemed to shrink away from Mark; he clutched his side and leant over to his door, managing to open it with a grunt before he fell to the floor. On closer inspection, Mark saw the duffel bag on the back seat – as well as a lashing of crimson across the driver’s seat
and door handle. Cursing, Mark opened the back door and extracted the duffel bag. Before seeing to the driver he ran back to the alley and threw the bag onto the chair – it’d be out of the way there, at least. When he re-emerged from the alley, he saw that the driver had managed to stand and was leaning heavily on the front bonnet. “Stand up you lazy shit. Look what a fucking mess you’ve got us in.” Mark chastised, he drew his pistol and walked around to the man giving him a hand at standing. The driver protested “I couldn’t help it man! I couldn’t help it!” “Alright, alright, just shut the fuck up would you?” Mark said as he dropped the man off by the side of the armchair. “I need time to think.” “You ain’t got it man. They’re comin’!” “I know, I know.” Mark said as he scratched his head. Suddenly Mark grabbed the man by his arm and hauled him up saying “Get in the bin.” “What? What the Hell you on about man?” the Driver said. “Shut the fuck up and do what I say. You got a phone right?” the Driver nodded “Right, use it. Wait as long as you can and then get a ride out of here.” Without waiting for a reply Mark grabbed the duffel bag and ran to the Buick. He threw it through the destroyed passenger window and ran around to the driver’s side. Pulling his sleeve over his hand he opened the door and sat in, these were his good clothes but he had no time to worry about them – blood washes out, doesn’t it? Slamming the door shut he ignited the engine and sped off down the street and around the corner.
Commentary
The fictional narrative, The Armchair, is in written mode with the purpose to entertain, it is a member of the crime drama genre aimed at an adult audience. The register fluctuates from neutral to low depending on the situation generally being low for the character’s speech, “fuck”, and neutral for the description and narrative, “always”. The narrative exists in the form of a first chapter for a novel. The title, The Armchair, uses the determiner “The” and the noun “Armchair” to create significance out of an inanimate object; this creates an active reader as they will want to discover what is so special about this “armchair”. The opening sentence explains to the reader what is so unique about “The Armchair” and goes a way to cement its importance within the world that has been created. The narrative manages to hold the attention of the reader by immediately introducing the types of people who use the chair, “Uppermiddle class businessmen”; this noun phrase is deliberately used to dehumanise and uniform the businessmen and create a character of the armchair through its seeming permanence at having always been there. The armchair is the stitching that knits together the two worlds of legal and illegal business; this is achieved by introducing “a businessman of a lower class” making use of the “armchair” after the previous types of businessmen had used it. This technique created an active
reader by engaging the reader in the two different worlds of business that simultaneously exist; and seek the same end. The armchair also progresses the general pragmatic theme that the rest of the novel will carry on from this first chapter. The armchair is a metaphor for how people can be thrust from one world to another without any say in the matter – through the “refurbishment”. This links to the protagonist, Mark, as Mark is drawn to the armchair symbolising the connection between the silent forced consent of the armchair during “refurbishment” and Mark’s consent to do the job he does. “Refurbishment” is a verb minor sentence and is as it is to represent the end of the legal business related to the “armchair” and the beginning of its relation with illegal business. The language used by the protagonist, Mark, especially the repetition “Alright, alright” and “I know, I know” demonstrate to the reader that his personality is that of impatience and calculation, shown through his ignoring of the wounded man’s advice and the fact that he simply leaves to go once he has explained to the man what to do. The low register lexis used for the dialogue of the characters is done so to keep the narrative streamlined, in that it will conform to how people normally speak – this is exemplified through the frequent informality and abbreviations used to create a casual colloquial sense to the speech: “You ain’t got it man”. The use of Americanisms within the narrative also helps to set the chapter within its allocated setting of modern day America; “hardware store” is an example of a typical American noun - “store” compared to the British version of ‘shop’. This technique is also employed for the dialogue of the characters; “ain’t” is an American-English colloquial abbreviation helping to establish the characters as working class criminals through their dialect. The class of which they are associated with is reinforced by the clothes of which the “driver” is wearing; he wears a “tracksuit” due to the cultural connotations associated with people wearing tracksuits casually.
In addition, the use of the adjective “heavy” to describe Mark’s “small” gun, is used to create a character who despite his career choice still has a sense of morals, connoting that the supposed weight of the weapon is because of Mark’s inner moral conflict with using the weapon, this is used to help mould Mark as a relatable character for the audience. Due to this commentary only being of a first chapter, as the novel progressed this factor would be exploited to create drama adding to the narrative of the work.
She It must have been the afternoon, a Saturday in late September. That’s when we met. I occupied my usual seat next to the bar at the coffee shop down the street. The slow jazzy beats invaded my ear drums and the pungent stench of stale smoke filled my nostrils. It’s what I was used to, spending my Saturdays in this same bar, drinking the same bland Mocha and listening to the same boring Jazz. But, it was these simple pleasures that kept me going. Yeah, I was alone, yeah, I didn’t have much faith in finding someone, but, you’re not born with someone holding your hand are you? You have your parents to rely on until you’re 16, yet some people don’t even have that. I had the necessities, I had what I needed to survive, and in the end that’s what life is all about. I had part time job with enough money to get by, hardly any friends, a passion for music. Simple pleasures, for a simple person. Then she came along. The moment I saw her in that dank, smoky coffee shop, it was like my heart had leaped out of my chest. She was beautiful, utterly perfect. I’ve never really understood love, it comes and goes, and the only thing that lasts forever is you. From the start of your existence to the end of it, the only thing you can be sure of staying constant is yourself. That’s why I never got it, because I assumed that the only person you can trust is yourself so I didn’t allow anyone else in. Apparently I was correct, you can only trust yourself. I dragged myself from my bed this morning, snatched my dressing gown off the back of my door and flung it over my shoulder. I swung open my door and began to make my way downstairs, my feet thudding against the cold wooden floor, carefully trying to avoid the tack strips. I should probably put the carpets down soon, I thought. ”Put them down?” I laughed at the implication that I even owned carpets. The usual routine: stumbled in to the kitchen, threw open the cupboard, grabbed a bowl and some Cornflakes, no sugar, obviously, and slouched into the one chair at my breakfast bar. A quick glance at the clock, 7:36. That gives me 54 minutes to get a shower and get to work. So, I scoffed down the rest of my cereal, dropped the spoon into the bowl, quickly placed it on the side, and ran upstairs. It takes me 5 minutes to walk to work so in reality, with it then being 7:40, I had 45 minutes to get a shower, get dried and get changed. For her this would have been a mean feat to complete. As I emerged from my bedroom and rushed down the stairs, I took a second glance at the clock, which read 8:03. That was good timing that was, 23 minutes, new record. Especially taking into account the fact I’d had a shave, that was quick!
But, now the day had begun, I left my apartment, locked the door, walked out into the streets wearing my work clothes, black trousers and a white shirt embroidered with the Abercrombie & Fitch logo. Luckily work was only round the corner, I live on Park Ave and the Abercrombie & Fitch flagship store is on 5th Avenue near the junction of 5th and East 57th, so it’s convenient. I never expected to live here, the Big Apple, I’m more of a country kid, brought up in Tennessee in a rural town, where everyone knew everyone and everyone knew every ones business. No one knew my family’s business though, we didn’t speak to the neighbours, regardless of how few there was, we didn’t associate with the rest of the town. Country folk seemed nice on the outside but you just knew that deep down, they all had the same aims and motives. They all wanted to get somewhere, be someone, be renown, if only in a quiet country town. Fuck, I didn’t even see the point. Why be known as a force to be reckoned with in a place when there’s no one to prove anything too? Wretched. These people defined the word pitiful. I was stood behind the till at work, doing what I do day in, day out, when a young girl walked in. Her hair had changed, yet she still had those same lagoon blue eyes. I let out a sigh. As she grabbed a polo shirt and came up to the cash register she noticed me, came over to my register and beamed at me. “Hey Mark! How’ve you been? I haven’t seen you since... Well, since. You know?” “Yeah, I know.” I responded, “I’ve been okay, just gone back to the old me, how about you?” I was putting on a brave face in an attempt to not blemish my integrity. Keeping my feelings and thoughts enclosed from the outside world had basically become second nature to me by now. “Well I’ve been pretty good!” she said. “Good! Glad to hear it.” I replied, smiling. ”Anyway Mark, I have to get going, places to go, people to see! It was nice to see you again.” I mumbled some form of goodbye as she walked off in her usual upbeat stride. With that, she walked away. My heart was beating faster than a double-bass drum; she still somehow had that effect on me. As she walked out of the door and disappeared into the crowded New York streets, the second time I’d seen the back of her disappearing in to the distance. She turned the corner, and my heart fell from my chest. Walking away without a care in the world, a big city girl with big city dreams, looks like I’m sleeping alone again tonight. I know it sounds cliché but, as long as she’s happy, I’m content... For the most part, I suppose.
Commentary “She” is a coming of age story about a young man living and working in New York City who is struggling with both his working life and his love life due to the collapse of his first and only serious relationship a few months before the text is set. It is titled “She” so that the reader is aware that the short story is about a woman, obviously of some level of significance to the protagonist, but not presently of enough significance to be labelled with their name, just their gender. It is aimed at a mature, young adult audience. Its purpose is to entertain and to enhance the reader’s knowledge of true love. “She” is a fairly informal short story using colloquialisms from the New York dialect such as the “Big Apple” and also using informal greetings in speech such as “Hey”. The register of the text is
in between high and low as the narrator is evidently educated yet doesn’t seem to use the full extent of his vocabulary. He narrates in high register but seems to speak in a lower register, for example when he is describing his angst about seeing his ex girlfriend and uses the phrase “blemish my integrity” which is quite an educated phrase to use, however in speech he uses low register such as when he is talking to her and says things such as “Yeah I know,” and “how about you?” My short story is preoccupied with the themes of love, growing apart, and loss. I use the dynamic verb ‘invaded’ to symbolise the main characters inability to stop things happening. This verb gives the impression that the sound is unwanted, and this indicates that the writer is bored of his daily routine and is looking for change. I used alliteration in the pre-modified noun phrase “pungent stench of stale smoke” to enhance the level of negativity in his dialogue and in his thoughts, due to him being sick of the same old routine and the same old life. His usage of repetition also shows the routine monotony. I used the abstract noun ‘existence’ to show that an existence is all the protagonist thinks he has. He believes he is just another person, this gives the idea that he believes that we live alone and we die alone, there’s no other alternative. I wanted the reader to get this idea so he can be in the same position of the protagonist and understand the workings of his mind. This idea also reinforces the semantic field of alienation as he wouldn’t view his life as a mere ‘existence’ if he had friends and a social life as he would enjoy it a lot more. There is a clear semantic field of alienation in the text, as shown by the adjectives ‘bland’, ‘wretched’ and ‘alone’, and the past participle crowded. The adjective alone shows that he is alienated in a world where he feels he has no real purpose, with no real help from anyone else. He feels as though he has to fend for himself as he is the only person he can bring himself to have faith in due to trust issues throughout his life. There is also a definite semantic field of routine. When he is explaining getting ready for work, he keeps pointing out the exact time and the time he has to be at work, this gives an underlying impression that the man may have some form of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, and that everything has to be done at the right time and in a short time frame. I also used the metaphor “my heart fell from my chest” when “She” left the store, showing that his feelings for her had never gone and that she had always been at the back of his mind. In the first paragraph I used the parallel pattern “Simple pleasures, for a simple person.” I used this pattern to show that the main character believes he is simple, and has no real purpose, when in reality his life is what he makes of it, as he realises at the end of the story. Using this minor sentence shows that the protagonist is unaware of the majority of the troubles in the world around him, and that he just focuses on his own life, without allowing anyone else in to his life. In the second paragraph I used the simple sentence “Then she came along.” I used this to show that it was as though the whole world had stopped when he first saw her, like she was a goddess. In this simple sentence I used the pronoun she to show that the protagonist was trying to detach himself from his emotional connection with the girl by not referring to her by the impersonal pronoun “She,” which shows a sense of longing to get out of this situation, as in his mind he is stuck in a rut. The title of the story is also “She”, which shows that the female must have defined him as a person in some way for him to care this much about her and for this event to have had such an impact on him even though she’s been out of his life for a long time anyway. I use the phrase “Big Apple” to imply that the protagonist is in New York City, but referring to it in a way the locals would. I make many cultural references with the usage of the Abercrombie & Fitch
store. Sarcasm is used heavily as the protagonist is a negative person and has an introvert personality therefore he isn’t likely to be upbeat, for example when he says, “no sugar, obviously,” is highly sarcastic, also pointing towards his negative attitude and general lack of care for anything other than routine. This enhances the idea of him being stuck in a rut as he doesn’t change; he just stays the same sarcastic and depressive character, however at the end when She leaves the store, he realises that he hasn’t coped with anything and has just been doing the same old things, which could cause him to attempt to turn over a new leaf and finally move on with his life.