Friday, 17 October 2008
Creative Writing Brief: Write a story, based upon this title, Dick Turpin's Last Ride.
Dick Turpins Last Ride
I can feel my heart hammering in my chest; I’m so scared it will break through my ribcage. I look down at the pale, blank faces below me, strewn with grief.
Can they hear my heart?
They must be able to, its so quiet and echoey in this room, you could hear a pin drop.
I try to swallow down the huge, dry lump in my throat
Surely they can hear it now?
I look up, and all I can see are lights, so bright they blind me, and I hear the sound of rubber against tarmac, it screams at me like a banshee.
We’re flying through the air and I look over, I see his face, distorted with fear and guilt. His eyes glaze over and I see the bright white lights reflected in his pupils.
“You’re going too fast.”
Then I remember my father, helping me up after I’d fallen off my bike for the first time.
I remember the way the kitchen used to smell every Sunday when ma baked her cheese scones.
I remember the breeze flowing through my hair as my big sister pushed me on the swings, and her warming hug when I fell off and grazed my knee.
I remember my first kiss, my first fight, my first love and my first heartbreak.
“Please slow down.”
The words echo in my head.
University, every Friday night out. Tears and laughter. Meeting him and regretting it, but meeting him and never looking back. My graduation, the smiles on ma and pa’s face, the look of pride on my sisters.
“LOOK OUT!”
And then I hear the sirens, see the flashing lights.
“Can you hear me?”
I remember the night under the stars, the summer breeze.
“Will you marry me?”
The ring is beautiful; I can feel its cold metal against my fingers.
“Can you hear me? Are you okay?”
I’ve never been so happy
“Yes, Yes.”
“We have a response”
The lights get closer, a blurred face, a dull ache.
Cold sheets, the smell of disinfectant. I don't know how I got here, my body aches.
“I’m sorry, he’s gone.”
And then I’m numb, empty.
Surely they can hear my heart now?
I swallow that huge, dry lump in my throat.
The tears well up in my eyes, I cant do it.
“I’m sorry.” I weep.
My legs start to move of their own accord, I’m running. Running away from this place, from those blank faces.
I get into my car and turn on the engine, shaking, I put the car into gear and drive away, not even sure where im going.
Trees flash past me, the rain pounds down on the windscreen, I can barely see, break lights are just blurs, and my wipers seem redundant.
The car grinds to a halt, as if on its own, I forget its me that’s in control.
I only realise where I am when I get out the car.
The rain soaks me through almost instantly, I wish it would wash me clean of this pain, I watch it pour down the street like a stream and imagine my heartbreak flowing away with it.
There are flowers everywhere, all over the barely existent pavement, tied to the lamppost – probably the last thing he saw - it looks like an explosion, flowers in ever colour, just hanging there lifeless, just like he did.
I start to look at the notes, written by so many friends, so much heartache. Then one catches my eye; I can’t help but read it.
“Dick,
You were always looking for that rush, the new thrill; you were always so much braver than me. I can’t believe that was your last ride, your last rush. I cant believe your gone, I’ll miss you forever. You’ll always be in my thoughts. I Love You, my darling brother.
X”
I can feel my heart hammering in my chest; I’m so scared it will break through my ribcage. I look down at the pale, blank faces below me, strewn with grief.
Can they hear my heart?
They must be able to, its so quiet and echoey in this room, you could hear a pin drop.
I try to swallow down the huge, dry lump in my throat
Surely they can hear it now?
I look up, and all I can see are lights, so bright they blind me, and I hear the sound of rubber against tarmac, it screams at me like a banshee.
We’re flying through the air and I look over, I see his face, distorted with fear and guilt. His eyes glaze over and I see the bright white lights reflected in his pupils.
“You’re going too fast.”
Then I remember my father, helping me up after I’d fallen off my bike for the first time.
I remember the way the kitchen used to smell every Sunday when ma baked her cheese scones.
I remember the breeze flowing through my hair as my big sister pushed me on the swings, and her warming hug when I fell off and grazed my knee.
I remember my first kiss, my first fight, my first love and my first heartbreak.
“Please slow down.”
The words echo in my head.
University, every Friday night out. Tears and laughter. Meeting him and regretting it, but meeting him and never looking back. My graduation, the smiles on ma and pa’s face, the look of pride on my sisters.
“LOOK OUT!”
And then I hear the sirens, see the flashing lights.
“Can you hear me?”
I remember the night under the stars, the summer breeze.
“Will you marry me?”
The ring is beautiful; I can feel its cold metal against my fingers.
“Can you hear me? Are you okay?”
I’ve never been so happy
“Yes, Yes.”
“We have a response”
The lights get closer, a blurred face, a dull ache.
Cold sheets, the smell of disinfectant. I don't know how I got here, my body aches.
“I’m sorry, he’s gone.”
And then I’m numb, empty.
Surely they can hear my heart now?
I swallow that huge, dry lump in my throat.
The tears well up in my eyes, I cant do it.
“I’m sorry.” I weep.
My legs start to move of their own accord, I’m running. Running away from this place, from those blank faces.
I get into my car and turn on the engine, shaking, I put the car into gear and drive away, not even sure where im going.
Trees flash past me, the rain pounds down on the windscreen, I can barely see, break lights are just blurs, and my wipers seem redundant.
The car grinds to a halt, as if on its own, I forget its me that’s in control.
I only realise where I am when I get out the car.
The rain soaks me through almost instantly, I wish it would wash me clean of this pain, I watch it pour down the street like a stream and imagine my heartbreak flowing away with it.
There are flowers everywhere, all over the barely existent pavement, tied to the lamppost – probably the last thing he saw - it looks like an explosion, flowers in ever colour, just hanging there lifeless, just like he did.
I start to look at the notes, written by so many friends, so much heartache. Then one catches my eye; I can’t help but read it.
“Dick,
You were always looking for that rush, the new thrill; you were always so much braver than me. I can’t believe that was your last ride, your last rush. I cant believe your gone, I’ll miss you forever. You’ll always be in my thoughts. I Love You, my darling brother.
X”
Creative Writing Brief: Write a story, based upon the image of a torn sign in a wooden shack, overlooking the sea.
So I saw another one of them, another one of those fucking posters.
The same poster, same picture that I see over and over and over again, on shacks, trees and lamppost, that same poster that brings back the gut wrenching memory of what I last said to her. Shouting at her to get out of my make-up box, Christ she was just a kid, why couldn't I let her play? If I had known then what I no now, I would have let her play, for hours, then maybe she would have stayed safe, instead of running off in hysterics.
I cant stop staring at those big blue eyes, blonde hair and cheeky grin, remembering the date when the picture was taken, on her eighth birthday, god she looked so happy.
I can feel tears prickling at the back of my eyes as I touch the picture, just trying to get some connection to her, just one little strand, but all I feel is paper and emptiness.
Its now been 11 months since my little sister went missing, and these posters still litter the place, a reminder that she still hasn't come home, a reminder of that empty place at the dinner table, a constant reminder of what you’ve lost and just when you manage to forget it, forget everything for one blissful minute, you walk past one of these fucking posters, and it brings back the awful memory, it comes back and hits you so hard you think you might throw up.
God, I miss her so much.
I remember the times when we used to come to the beach, this same exact spot, the same stop where all these posters now infest.
As I stare at the beach, the sea, the sand, I remember how we used to build sandcastles, eat ice cream and play in the sea. The time I let her bury me and the time we went hunting for crabs, she was so fascinated by them.
I remember when I realised she’d gone missing, this shack was the first place I checked, I remember how we used to play hide and seek here, I remember how much I wished and hoped it was that same game again, that I’d run into the shack and find her hidden behind the same wooden boxes she always hid behind, but this time it wasn’t a game, and all I found was her cardigan, her little red one with the yellow flowers.
I can’t help but collapse onto the boxes crying, and I find myself wondering why? Why would someone kidnap my little sister? What screwed up, fucked up, shit kind of person would do this?
I’ve played her return over and over in my head, how I’d come home, and she’d just be sat there, on my bed, playing with my toys like she always did, but no matter how much I wished or how hard I prayed, she’d never be there.
And as I stare into those eyes, those big blue eyes just staring at me so innocent, so happy, I feel a surge of hatred and I can’t stand it any more. I tear the poster down and throw it to the floor, but I don't hate her, not by any means, I love her so much, and I cant bear that she is gone, every second hurts.
I hate myself, because if I hadn’t shouted at her, she’d still be here.
Hannah I’m so sorry.
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