Author Topic: Total re-hash Part 2 (short story, diff title) Born to Die  (Read 5317 times)

Offline 510bhan

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Re: Total re-hash (opening to short story, diff title) Born to Die
« Reply #30 on: January 12, 2011, 09:25:25 PM »
I'm going to have to! In parts so that people can help me fine tune it please.

More to come. Here is the next bit.
So -sorry for the strike through on this bit - but advice about the internal thoughts has led to a further revision, which is below. At least you can see the process.
;) Thanks for you patience with this. [I didn't want to bump it up the board until someone had posted a comment, hence the modification.]

    I tugged open the front door, astonished to find two police officers standing there. Oh-oh, what’s happened across the road now?
     “Are you Mrs Sarah Clayden?” the male constable asked, checking his notepad.
    “Uh . . .um, yes.”
    “Do you know a Mrs Mary Wilson?”
     Mary Wilson? Mary Wilson? It rang a dull-sounding, bell but it wasn’t a name I was expecting to hear. Their presence hadn’t alarmed me, I thought they were making tedious enquiries about my neighbours who have frequent trouble with local oiks.
     “Do you know a Mrs Mary Wilson?”  he repeated.
     I ruffled my hair back and knitted my brow as I tried to make sense of his words. Mary Wilson was my Auntie May. Why would the police be asking me about her? Oh my god, something’s wrong. “Yes, yes, she’s my Aunt, Mrs Wilson. Has something happened to her?” I blurted out.
     “May we come in?” the WPC asked, though she didn’t make eye contact.
     “Yes, yes of course. Please. I’ll just keep the dogs out of the way.” I made sure the constables had safe passage through the hallway and tried my best to prevent my pets savaging them. The little blighters weren’t cooperating so I directed the yappy so and sos out to the back yard while the officers remained by the stairs.

     “Er, sorry about the state of the place . . . renovations,” I mumbled as I led them into the living room, devoid of any furniture at the rear end but filled with an artistic arrangement of piled chairs, sofas, dining table and various workmen’s tools on the bare concrete floor. Barking continued in the background. The three of us stood for a moment waiting for a lull in the incessant canine din.

     The PC began, “Your name is listed as the emergency contact for Mrs Mary Wilson and I’m afraid I have to tell you her body was found this morning -”
     Her ‘body’ was found? Where could Auntie May have been? She can barely manage shuffling around her bungalow on her Zimmer frame. What do they mean, ‘found’? Where? Why were police here to tell me? By the time I had put together my string of thoughts I realised that their reference to ‘body’ implied she was dead but the enormity of it hadn’t quite hit home. “Er, sorry, I don’t understand. What do you mean?”
     “Her body was found this morning by one of her carers when she didn’t answer the door this morning,” he explained.
    
     My hands leapt up to my face to cup my gaping mouth. Wide-eyed, I glanced over their shoulders and looked at the clock, 9.23am. Her carers called between seven and eight-thirty, what had taken them so long to get in touch with me? I was silent. “The carer looked through the letterbox and saw her lying on the floor and informed the warden who opened the house with her key. She rang for an ambulance and the doctor has been and confirmed death but we can’t move the body until the coroner has been and we don’t know the name of her undertaker. It’s standard procedure in these circumstances. Do you want to call her daughter?”



     I tugged open the front door, astonished to find two police officers standing there.
    “Are you Mrs Sarah Clayden?” the male constable asked, checking his notepad.
     It seemed an unusual question. Whenever they called on other occasions their normal comment was along the lines, ‘ We are investigating, blah, blah blah.’ I ruffled my hair back and furrowed my brow, peered at him then remembered the policeman was expecting an answer. “Uh . . .um, yes.”
     “Do you know a Mrs Mary Wilson?”

     The name rang a dull-sounding, bell but it wasn’t one I was expecting to hear. Their presence hadn’t alarmed me, I thought they were making tedious enquiries about my neighbours who have frequent trouble with local oiks.
     “Do you know a Mrs Mary Wilson?”  he repeated.
     My stomach knotted and dread quickened my pulse. “Yes, yes, she’s my Auntie May, Mrs Wilson. Has something happened to her?” I blurted out. Transfixed, time seemed to lengthen the pause before anyone replied.
     “May we come in?” the WPC asked, though she didn’t make eye contact.

     My face flushed at the words and I smoothed my nightdress. With a toss of my bedraggled hair and a deep breath to regain my composure, I invited them in. “Yes, yes of course. Please. I’ll just keep the dogs out of the way.” The diversion gave me time to think but it was incoherent. Wasted words with exaggerated brevity rushed through my mind. Shaky hands, somehow not mine, shooed at the dogs. I tried to ensure safe passage through the hallway for the constables. The little blighters weren’t cooperating so I directed the yappy so and sos out to the back yard while the officers remained by the stairs.

     “Er, sorry about the state of the place . . . renovations,” I mumbled as I led them into the disorder of the living room. Barking continued in the background. There was nowhere to sit. Awkward, unease permeated the room, the officers grave faces didn’t help. By now, my knees had joined the hand tremors. Whether stationary or mobile I was unable to control them. Despite immense effort I couldn’t camouflage my tremulous breathing so I grabbed my cigarettes from the telephone shelf in the hall and lit up, even the lighter flame spluttered and fluttered. I didn’t ask them if they minded. The three of us stood waiting for a lull in the incessant canine din. The PC, who had been staring at me all the while, nipped a glance at his notebook and began, “Your name is listed as the emergency contact for Mrs Mary Wilson and I’m afraid I have to tell you her body was found this morning -”

     By the time I had put together my string of thoughts I realised that their reference to ‘body’ implied she was dead but the enormity of it hadn’t quite hit home. It was a bizarre notion, Auntie May could barely shuffle around her bungalow on her Zimmer frame. I couldn’t comprehend what on earth they meant by her being ‘found’.  “Er, sorry, I don’t understand. What do you mean?”
     “Her body was found this morning by one of her carers when she didn’t answer the door this morning,” he explained.
     
     My hands leapt up to my face to cup my gaping mouth. Wide-eyed, I glanced over their shoulders and looked at the clock, 9.23am. Her carers called between seven and eight-thirty, what had taken them so long to get in touch with me? I was silent.
    “The carer looked through the letterbox and saw her lying on the floor and informed the warden who opened the house with her key. She rang for an ambulance and the doctor has been and confirmed death but we can’t move the body until the coroner has been and we don’t know the name of her undertaker. It’s standard procedure in these circumstances. Do you want to call her daughter?”



more to follow
« Last Edit: January 13, 2011, 02:24:21 PM by 510bhan »