Confession. Creative writing essay.

Confession

This was my creative creative writing essay for English G.C.S.E.

Confession


It was almost seven years ago when he had made a decision, it was something that would change his life forever.

His prison cell was always damp, poorly lit and always cold this time of year. The black walls had a silver shimmer to them as the water collected on the brick. Tonight he had a visitor, he was from a local newspaper. The journalist was always well dressed when he came to see the prisoner, black suit, shirt and tie. He had explained the nights events countless times before. The prisoner raised his vioce "How many times do I have to explain to you?"

He thrust his pointing finger at the journalist "You know what happened that night!"

The prisoner settled down once more. "OK" another short pause. "It must have been midnight, if I'm going to be late home from work I stay in a hotel, but this night I decided to drive home. I approached my house with the key ready to unlock the door, I knew it would be locked at this time of night. As I entered the hallway I could see that the living room light was on. I walked down the corridor, past the stairs and into the living area. No one was there. I turned out of the living room and headed back down the hall. On the right was the kitchen door. I opened the door and walked in; the light was off, no one was there".

The prisoner stopped talking and started to shuffle his feet. "Stop pestering me, I will tell you in my own time!"

The prisoner bowed his head. "It was then when I heard laughing upstairs. I didn't understand this. there was only my wife and I who lived there, we rarely had visitors. I started up the staircase slowly, trying to keep my footsteps quite. As I reached the top of the stairs. I could see that our bedroom door was ajar. I could see my wife rolling around on top of the bed covers, still laughing. I stopped walking. I could feel my gut tighten as I stared through the gap. I knew something was wrong. A male's head appeared in the unsightly picture frame that was being presented to me."

"I have to go now." The male said to my wife.

"Do you have to go? He won't be back tonight." His wife assured the male.

The prisoner heard the man stand, then a rustle of clothing.

"Yes I have my own wife to go home to!" The stranger said as he slipped on his jumper.

"I couldn't listen any longer, I descended the stairs, ran out of the front door and carefully closed it behind myself. I could not face the prospect of my wife cheating on me. I saw the male appear in the frosted glass in the door. I hid behind a tree at the front of the garden, on the floor next to me was a rockery. It then occurred to me that the stranger didn't have a car, he must be on foot. The adulterer approached. The man was three feet away, it was the rage that took over. I crouched down and grabbed one of the rocks, it was sharp, the size of a tennis ball. The man had now passed me as I stepped from behind the shadows. He must have heard me, as he instantly shot his head round towards me. As he did this I swung the rock that was clenched in my right hand as hard as I could. His head made a thud as the rock connected with his left temple. The man went to the ground. Black liquid seeped from his wound. I froze. I knew he was dead. I turned towards the house, my wife was screaming as she looked into the moonlit garden. I didn't run, I just made my way to the house. I had been removed from my body, I no longer heard her screams."

The prisoner began to weep.

Two men dressed in white began to make their way down the block. "What's the problem with this guy?" The new orderly asked his supervisor.

The supervisor smiled. "This guy? He's in here for murdering his wife and lover."

The pair had stopped walking now as they stared at the prisoner. The prisoner was not aware of their presence. The supervisor went on. "He thinks he's in prison."

"White walls, white bars and not to mention the drugs." The new orderly replied.

The supervisor smiled once again. "He is convinced a journalist comes to visit him each night, he goes through his story over and over."

"So what is his story?" The inquisitive orderly asked.

"He found his wife cheating in him one night. He waited for her lover to leave the house then proceeded to beat him him with a rock. Once he was dead he made his way to his house and began to beat his wife with the same rock."

"Jesus Christ! So why is he in here and not prison?" The new orderly pressed.

The supervisor gave a chuckle "He's a paranoid schizophrenic, he never killed anyone, he never actually had a wife either".

"What?" The bemused orderly said.

"To top it all off, he's a volunteer, he can leave at any time he wants. Watch this "Hey Hudson, tell the new boy why your in here!" The supervisor yelled.

I could feel my body fill with rage. "Can you see that I am busy here?" I am having a conversation with the journalist."

I motioned with my arm and followed it with my gaze across at the journalist. "Where has he gone? What have you done with him you filthy screws?"

I rose to my feet and began to punch the wall opposite me. The prison guards laughed as blood poured from my knuckles. "Come on I'll show you the rest of the ward." The supervisor said as he walked away from the cell.

Ian Hudson.


Comments 6 comments

No_Clue profile image

No_Clue 5 years ago

Chilling story line, well written. Im curious about your grade...? Good job!


Ian Hudson profile image

Ian Hudson 5 years ago from Sheffield, England Author

I have received a provisional 'A' from my lecturer. However it has to be officially graded yet. Fingers crossed. Thank you for your comment :)


Minnetonka Twin profile image

Minnetonka Twin 5 years ago from Minnesota

Woe, this has a great twist. I was totally captivated.I love any kind of psycholigical thriller. You are so talented. I will hit many buttons.


Ian Hudson profile image

Ian Hudson 5 years ago from Sheffield, England Author

Thanks Minnetonka for the button bashing :) I love twists too! I had to write this with a maximum of 1000 words, that's why its short.


Ebower profile image

Ebower 5 years ago from Georgia

Wow. You have a true gift of writing. I'm good at writing poetry, but can never seem to master stories. I feel like this could be a movie; I'd pay to see it.


Ian Hudson profile image

Ian Hudson 5 years ago from Sheffield, England Author

Thanks Ebower for the great comments. If I ever get time away from my art work, I may write another short story.

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