25 June 2012
I have written a bit more of my story, so here it is!
Phillip Sherratt sits at the bar, his dark hair ruffled; his chestnut eyes cast downwards in sorrow. I approach in caution, wary of him. I have not had the best experience with witnesses in the past. He glances up; he looks pained, his features contorted into the very image of despair. He was close to her, loved her, held her tight. Thought that she would never leave him. For some reason, I recognise him, and feel a deep sympathy. He beckons and I smile weakly, joining him at the bar. “Are you Eliza?” He says, voice deep, holding back tears. I nod, and resist the urge to pat hug him, to tell him that everything will work out, that everything will be okay. I clear my throat and begin, “Hello Phillip. Can you tell me anything about the murder on Thursday night?” A single tear slides down his cheek, forming a path through the coal dust pasted onto his face. The sorrow etched into his features shows as he bursts into tears, letting go of any dignity he had. I lean forward and hug him, my eyes glassy and my throat dry. We sit there for what seems like an age, until Phillip breaks away and composes himself. “The victim, she was… Raven. Or Isadora. She never liked her real name, said it reminded her of her family, the people who threw her out. When she joined the gang, nobody would talk to her. Except me. Badger was furious, she told me not to talk to upper class idiots like her, that she would poison our minds. And, yet she let her join the gang. One time, Raven and I went to get our picture taken together, and she bought a red leather frame to put it in. It was a beautiful photo, and she looked stunning in it. That was when I realised that I loved her. When Badger found out she was going to burn it, but Raven managed to get away and hide it at Smiths and Sons, the factory. You see, Badger and I were meant to be together, but I never liked her. She is cruel, heartless and spiteful, a harsh leader who threatens those who oppose her. Like… R-r-Raven…” At the end of this sentence, he begins to cry again, sobbing hysterically. I have never seen anyone cry this much, apart from my mother when she lost her second child. He continues to cry as he whispers; “B-badger threatened to hurt Raven, if she didn’t leave the gang before the 12th. And she didn’t.” I rub him on the back and put on my most reassuring voice, “Can you tell me Badger’s real name?” Phillip shuffles uncomfortably in his seat, and then speaks again, “I don’t know. No one does. I’m sorry…” “Oh, no, don’t worry. Thank you Phillip, for all of the information you’ve given me. I’ll let you know when we find the murderer, okay? You can leave now.” I watch him traipse through the inn; head held down, eyes locked on the floor. His heart lays on the floor, broken and bleeding.
Detective Story Thing • Opuss № I