Writing group writing task

So, our lovely school based creative writing class were workshopping in our lunchtime session. We spidergrammed/mind mapped at murder novel, complete with characters, locations, motives, plot twists and all and than set ourselves the task of each writing our own first chapter.

Here goes………………

It takes every ounce of will power that Jamal posseses to stop him simply turning tail and fleeing and even then, will power is not enough and he grabs on to the edge of a desk while he tries desperately to make sense of what is in front of him.

This is not how this is meant to go, this is meant to be easy, easy money, easy crime.

Hide until the building is empty, quick sneak round the ofices, changing rooms, grab what he can and out.

And it was all going well, his jacket pocket is stuffed with loose change, a I-Pod, 2 phone chargers, 3 bags of Haribo and a kit-kat and he knows, knows for sure that Mr Grainger leaves his I-pad in his classroom at night.

Which is why he is now standing, knees starting to buckle, he can feel the fizzy cola sweets in his throat, gulps hard to stop himself throwing up, looking at the whiteboard, looking at the teacher.

Mr Grainger leans against the white background, head back, hands outstetched, the nails in each palm are the only thing holding up his sagging body . The wounds have bled, a trail of red, shocking against the board, heading down towards his smart casual suede loafers.

Jamal knows what he should do, knows he should call the police, get help, at the very least get near enough to the English teacher to see if he is still alive, but he does none of this.

He cannot control himself any further and leaps towards the door, down the corridor – NO RUNNING – KEEP LEFT – and heads for the canteen doors, the loosely bolted back entrance. The only sound are his Air NIkes slapping on the polished floor.

He leans his head against the school signage “Working together to achieve your potential “, gulps in deep breaths of cold February air and is suddenly horribly, violently sick, half digested jelly sweets, Red Bull, lunchtime chips.
Afterwards he feels better, calmer.
He starts thinking,it’s Friday, nothing will happen until Monday, it’s cool, for a second he wonders if he should have grabbed the I-pad, but then he shrugs and heads off the the park to try and sell the I-pod.

As he walks, he pops a jelly bear into his mouth and chews, the sweetness is good against his tongue.

About cathi rae

50ish teacher & aspiring writer and parent of a stroppy teenager and carer for a confused bedlington terrier and a small selection of horses who fail to shar emy dressage ambitions. Interested in contemporary fiction but find myself returning to PG Wodehouse when the chips are down View all posts by cathi rae

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