I stared at the diary. It got me frustrated when I looked at it. I was being ridiculous what has this person got to do with me? I asked myself. I threw it to the side of the kitchen and forgot about it. I woke up the next morning refreshed and with a clear mind I set off to work. When i got there there was a mountain of papers and files in my to do tray. My mood was slowly going down a steep hill since then, I persevered though and ignored it. Once I had had my lunch I was a machine, I whizzed around like a buzzing bee and the daunting pile was slowly shrinking. By the time I had got home it
felt like I had gained a stone and it had all gone to my feet. I dragged them to the door and held up just enough until I got to my stunning new black leather sofa and let my let my legs turn to jelly. As I was lying collapsed on my sofa I started to think, I need more to do than just go to work at least when I had the diary it was almost like a little project. I know I shouldn't go back to it because it feels wrong but Ive never been so tempted. After I had eaten my microwave curry ready meal I snuggled up on the couch with a newspaper and looked at some ads for clubs that I could join. There were so many. There were cooking clubs, photography clubs, flower arranging clubs, sports clubs, music clubs and writing clubs but none of them excited me at the slightest. Then I realised what a boring person I was turning into. My only hobbies were being extremely houseproud and eastenders. Reluctantly I signed up to a few of the courses to take my mind off things and lighten things up a bit.
The days went by but I wasn't feeling any better for all of the extra things I had added to my load. The only thing that ever got me going or really interested in was the diary. I know that makes me an incredibly nosey person but I cant resist temptation. I kept up a few of my many new so called interest's just so I had a distraction. I needed to find out more about Caroline Brooks. I just had to. I slid my arm down the back of the cooker fishing for the brown notebook. I had never noticed how grotty it is gets down here, it took me a while but I finally felt the familiar rough leather and rigged string. I squeezed my arm upwards clutching the diary. I dusted off the cobwebs and dirt and sat down for the next installment. I started from where I left off...
After I got to my destination I went straight to work. There was a success criteria for the murder trial piece set out for me on my polished oak desk. I took a quick glance but didn't take it in. After all, it was my story so I can do what I want with it. I powered into the assistants office with a thriving adrenaline. My big strides were clearly intimidating but I just needed to prove my authority. Since then I have had them at my beck and call. Although there seemed to be a certain woman who's character I just couldn't analyse. She would obey me and then make sly comments behind my back. Her contrary actions were making it frustrating for me to work with her and all my other colleges.
When I got home I just wanted to put my feet up and relax with a mug of steaming cocoa. But it seemed that Luke had other plans. I tossed my house keys on the kitchen counter and slipped off to my room to find my cosy, soft cotton slippers. But slippers wasn't what I found in my room. Luke was slouched on my bedroom floor with a creepy grin painted across his sweaty, unshaven face. I jumped up in horror with the sight of what looked like a slightly drunk Luke. I then took a deep breath to get my head round it and importantly asked him why on earth he was lying o my bedroom floor! He simply gave me a smirk and replied saying that it was a special surprise that I was starting to ruin. I cant do this any more. I cant even remember how I got so tied down with an aggressive drunk of a man like Luke. I plucked up some courage that I don't know where in me it came from and did what I have wanted to do for every moment I saw him. I broke up with him. Until then I hadn't realised how dangerous that could be. There was an excruciating silence that lasted long enough for my heart rate to go through the roof. Not knowing how he was going to react was the most frightening part. It was so quiet that when he eventually spoke it almost startled me. His words were slow but you could sense the deep tension. Everything he was said i came back with a stronger argument. The longer it went on the faster and louder his voice became. i started to plead with him to see from my point of view. But there really wasn't any point. i could tell he was getting impatient so I was pushing my luck when I made an attempt to get him to leave. He threw me to the ground i was being imprisoned in my own home. I stood up but then started to think that it may even be safer on the floor. He spat abusive words at me. Shoving them down my throat. I was so hurt I felt like i was choking on my own feelings. This wasn't the person I am, I take control I don't hide away in fear. I stood close to him and tries to worm my way into his good books. I whispered how I didn't mean it. He isn't that stupid. I found myself on the floor again but this time with a burst lip. I looked around and i couldn't see his face that was stricken with anger. I slowly got up and peered around panicking because of the not knowing. I shuffled around gently but I couldn't see him. I saw his mobile lying on the kitchen table within an arms reach and stole the opportunity. Just as was dialling the number to save my life, I heard two slow thundering footsteps stop behind me. I dropped the phone but didn't dare turn around or let a word leave my trembling lips. A short, sharp pain raced up and down my back as one of the thundering feet struck me in the back. I tumbled to the ground like a tower of wooden blocks. I lay there on the helpless and full of pain. He placed one of his muddy boots on my already bruised side pressing me against the cold, hard floor. He finally spoke only to tell me how worthless and pathetic I was. He lifted his foot and sat went over to sit onthe sofa. He stared and stared at me because he knew I was about to crack. It went on for what seemed like forever. His mind was starting to tick over. He suddenly jolted upwards and backed into the kitchen and leaned over the sink, his chest heaving up and down. I slowly gathered the strength to pick myself up from the floor and took a few frightful steps towards the door. Luke surprisingly didn't notice my escape plan starting to take shape. I slowly reached out my shaking hand to the shining doorknob and never
I slowly closed the book and tied it shut. My mind was filled with feelings for this woman. My hands shook gently with shock. This wasn't what I expected to read when my nosiness took over my thoughts until the point I was gagging for gossip. I almost felt guilty reading this woman's private matters and thoughts. I took a deep breath and carried on with my day to day duties. When I got back from work that night I couldn't focus properly. The diary wasn't the problem anymore it was the woman who wrote it. I had to find who she was or least a member of her family. I chased up some of the top people who track down lost ancestors and such-like. I hired two trackers to have double the chance of finding Caroline Brooks. After that I felt I had bit more peace of mind. The professionals asked if there were anything I had that would give them some clues or somewhere to start. I knew that I significantly broaden the chances of finding the identity of this woman but I couldn't just give it away like it didn't mean a thing to me. If I didn't have the diary it would take over all my thoughts knowing that someone else was reading what should be mine. I ignored the question and blanked out the fact that I had what could be the biggest lead a person of that profession could get. But greediness took over and I kept all for my own eyes. They took my number and said they'd keep me posted with all their findings. I felt a buzz knowing that something was happening and I was a step closer to finding who the woman I was reading about as if it was an everyday hard back novel. As soon as I put the phone down I was straight into the leather covered book.
I hurtled down the concrete stairs as fast as I could stomach considering that I had already been battered. The quick pace soon took it out of me so I started to limp to the phone box. I was starting to get looks from people passing in the street. I blanked them out and started to dial the number of my friend Carmen's house. When I spoke her voice sounded panicked I had bearly told her what happened when she exclaimed that she was on her way to get me. Once she hung up I started to fell unsafe. I stepped out of the telephone box and waited anxiously waited for Carmen to come for me. when I was stood there at the street corner I felt exposed. It was like what had just happened was some kind of shameful secret. My chest was heaving and my face was stained with tears of pain. As carmen pulled up at the pavement I felt a small peice of fear leave me. She jumped out of the car as soon as she saw my beaten up body. I shuffled towards the car and stepped in carefully because of the deep cuts and bruises. Once we got to Carmens flat the first thing she did was make me a delicous steaming mug of creamyhot choclate and asked me to explain. I could hardle get the words out ithurt to even think about what had just happened. By the end of the long tale of my fresh ordeal I jut burst into a stream of tears. It wasnt the pain ofmy injuries but the feeling that I was such a patetic person that I deserved this to happen to me. I spent the night on Carmens couch gently sleeping off the horror and refreshing my mind. I woke in the morning with what felt like the worst hangover in the world when i hadnt a drop of alcohol in my system for three days. Carmen made me some breakfast and made a suggestion to go and get checked out at the hospital. As soon as the offer was made I knew it would be a terrible idea. I had vision in my mind of how it would go. The nurse would check me over and then start to ask questions. Questions that I knew I couldnt and wouldnt answer. She would give me suspicous glances and doubt my over used tale of falling down the stairs. I would not be going to the hospital and there was nothing Carmen could do. After failing to convince me to come to the hospital she made the most ridiculos suggestion of reporting the abuse to the police. I could feel myself rolling my eyes after she made such a foolish remark. Going to the police to Luke would be the same as giving him a stinging hand across his rough cheek. I might aswell plead with him to beat the feelings out of me. Carmen got my point but still didnt agree. I stayed in all day before realising that I had know choice but to go back home. I wouldnt expect Luke to be there and its my home and no-one elses. Carmen said she would come with me and brave the open flat first. As soon as I stepped out of the car and onto the chewing-stained pavement I starting to have flashbacks of me stading there helplessly on the side of the road with soft tears running done my brused face. I only took a few steps before i felt Carmen brush past and confidently stride to the door. She turned round just to make sure I was still there. But as she did the emotion drifted away from her face and all there was was pure fear. As she gently presses her fingertips on the half open solid oak door her hands and mine start to tremble.The first steps were the hardest but once we got inside I started to feel like this wasnt my home. It looked like a crime scene for a murder investigation.There were blood splattered on my expensive suede effect wall-paper and my luxury cream carpet that at the time thought was to die for. Now everything seems so stupid when I could of been murdered. What use would wall-paper and carpets be then.
Once the next chapter in the exciting diary had been read i could feel my concience sceaming at me to hand it over to relative seekers. This would be key evidence for them and I could mabey meet her. But now im not so sure if she will still be alive. I felt like the diary was close to my heart now. I came to the conclusion that I would only hand over if I found anything more crucial or they were comepletly stuck in the mud with theirinvestigation only then i would pass them my diary of destiny. For the next few days I gave the diary a rest. The guilt of having this amazing information was starting to get to me so I felt if i didnt read it then maybe it would be ok that I had it. This was until i got a phonecall from the agency to say that they hadnt had any leads since they had begun their investigation. My hear started beating i elt like i was some greedy woman that only cared about herself. But that wasnt true I felt so close to finding something
amazing in the diary that i wasnt ready to give it away just yet. Since then I have been a speed reader through the delicate pages trying to finish as soon as possible so that i could give them the best information possible. I started to read everyday after work, on the bus, at night and any spare moment I had left in the day. Today i woke up and started to read as usual I started where i finished the time before.
The first thing I did when I moved in back home was change the locks and make sure i was the only one that had a key. I hired a cleaner to try and get the stains out of the carpets and off the walls but there was no such luck. I tipped the cleaner for the loyal understanding that there would be no questions asked about how my home got in such a state. Instead of a better cleaner I took on a interior designer and a decorator. i wanted every memory of luke out of the house and never to be seen again. this was what i had pictured...a nice makeover that i could just move straight into. but that
was far from reality. The designer was not designing at a speed worth living which meant the decorator was moving painfully slow as well. I was getting lonely and to top that i was feeling vile. The whole week had been hellish to deal with. The designer moaning in my ear about style and me throwing up almost every morning without fail. this was when i decided i needed Carmen to live with me. I called her nervously the ringing and ringing I desperate for an answer. i had never felt so lonely as I am now. She picked up cheerily and we soon got in to a polite conversation. until she asked me
if I was doing ok. I hesitated for a second but then I just had to let my emotions out. The stress was piling so high i was like a pressure cooker ready to explode. I was tears of anger. i was angry at myself for being so pathetic. I had always thought that if anything tough or difficult happened to me i would just get through it by myself. Like the strong in-dependant woman i thought I was. When I asked her to live with me all I felt was ashamed Carmen had her own interesting life but despite this she almost burst with excitement at the chance to live it up with her best friend. it didn't take long to get it organised. Once Carmen sets her mind on something she wont let it go until its finished and positively perfect in every way. It was moving day and I was shaky with excitement. Carmen worked at a fashion magazine as a stylist so she the most amazing collection of clothes and the most stunning accessories and showstopping shoes. There was hat box after hat box and suitcases filled to seam splitting proportion. It was time for pizza and a glass of red wine by the time we were finished stacking box after box. We were lying on the sofa head to feet when I started to mention that I hadn't been feeling my best at the moment. Carmen turned to face me with concerned look on her face. She questioned me for symptoms and ever obscure detail possible. And after the interrogation was over her face turned milky pale so my heart started beating so fast that i thought that it was going to grow legs and burs out of my chest at a speed that would Usain Bolt a run for his money. I was so panicked that i bearly heard her say 'I think your pregnant'. The words haunted me finally it all the pieces fitted I was going to have a baby and Luke was the father. I immediately spilled out tears from my already sore and red eyes. This was the worst possible outcome of me ever being with such a brute. Carmen immediately promised to get a pregnancy test as soon as she could. just make sure it was the real deal. As I heard her speed away down the street it felt like she was about to return with my destiny. I gazed out of the window deep in thought I heard small children laughing and playing in the sweet rays of glorious July. How could I stop a child from getting a chance of life. Who am I to decide who can live and who cant? I could never take away a life when I have experienced the feeling of knowing I could lose it. I'd been daydreaming for so long that i didnt notice Carmen pulling up to the edge of the pavement and leaping out of the car and up the stone steps.
Feedback for Poptart
Poptart writes an ambitious and well-structured story that keeps the reader on the edge of their seat. Poptart’s clever plot contains a story within her story.
Her narrator has a boring life: she goes to work and returns home. She has few interests beyond the diary she has found. This diary is written by Caroline Brooks who is missing. Caroline’s dramatic life contrasts sharply with that of the narrator who quickly becomes obsessed by the diary.
Although she hires private detectives to try to find the missing woman, Poptart’s narrator cannot give up the diary or its secrets to the investigators. The narrator fools herself that she needs to keep reading in order to provide full information for the investigation, ignoring her occasional pricks of conscience about the torment of the missing woman’s family. Poptart’s narrator is so desperate about her empty life that she places her own escape from boredom above the safety of the missing woman.
Tips for next time:
But this is a riveting read. Poptart has met the success criteria you all decided upon exceptionally well. She engages her readers and keeps us hooked. Her use of language is interesting: she varies her sentences; she uses imagery (similes and metaphors) and her vocabulary is sophisticated. Her characters are well developed through their thoughts and feelings; her plot is ingenious. Poptart builds tension by alternating diary entries with the life of her narrator. We too become fixated on the life of the missing woman. The dramatic events in her life suggest she may be in great danger and this danger is emphasised by Poptart’s alternating storyline. As we become more involved with dramatic events in the life of Caroline Brooks, we become furious at the narrator’s reluctance to give up the diary.
I imagine Poptart would at some point have joined the two plotlines together; that the narrator would meet Caroline Brooks at some point. But which point? Would Caroline be alive or dead? I loved this story and am sorry there was not time for Poptart to finish it.