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Original Writing

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Original Writing Coursework. Second Draft By Hannah Hurley A gale chilled the bones of an intrepid Miss Rose Taylor as she wrapped her thin ragged shawl ever more tightly round her shoulders. Rain had battered the city, leaving the cloyingly sweet scent of freshly soaked pavements and dilapidated buildings. Still the weather suited Rose perfectly; she had no patience for sunlight, why should the weather be so content when she was not? The grey dimness hid the worst of the dirt and the grime along the streets of Whitechapel as well as her tear-stained cheeks. Whispering a silent prayer, she sullenly slipped through a rickety gate into a darkened alley. Mud and crumbled leaves caught at Roses skirt soaking the black wool and making it drag through the slush unbearably. A mother drunk on gin, lolled against the crumbling wall of a ramshackle house- derelict and haggard with wear. The whole street spoke of neglect and Rose listened. She heard the ghost of every abandoned baby, left outside in the bitter air to die; the echo of the forlorn traveller, stolen from their native soil and stripped of everyone they ever loved. Though, poor as Rose was, it was unthinkable that she should ever be taken from her familiar (if harsh) ...read more.


Certainly not this impertinent young man sat so arrogantly on his plush, dining room chair. Rose knew she was just a pawn in his cut-throat game of chess and she resented how expendable she was. "Rose, calm yourself, it is not ladylike for you to be so..." he paused, searching for an appropriate word which would not anger her more "...flustered. You must compose yourself immediately or I shall be forced to have you removed from the table. It is hardly like I am asking for the moon, I merely wish for you to repay my kindness, all I want is for you is to sit on a throne and be Queen. After all doesn't every little girl wish to be a princess?" A piece of chestnut hair fell over his piercing green eyes, melting Rose's heart like the truffles sitting in the ostentatious box before her. "And pray tell me this:" Rose stuttered, trying and failing to emulate the confident tone of her mystifying captor. "Tell me why I should trust a man I know so little about, I do not even recall you even telling me your name!" He coughed, regretting deeply that he had found a girl so headstrong, he was not prepared to bring himself into whole situation. ...read more.


James had predicted the guards move ahead of time and through the thick walls only murmurs (which could be attributed to the party downstairs) were heard and as James held a glimmering knife to her throat it was obvious she would not scream. As soon as Sally was safely through the door James dropped the knife, awed at the power of life and death that had burned his hand and his soul, kneeling he looked up to see he was staring down the barrel of a gun. "My dear," the queen spoke, a voice so sure of itself, so steeped in an ancient history, still even she could not warrant killing an unarmed man, "Do you really believe that after four attempts on my life I am unprepared?" And with that a voracious bullet sped at James' heart. Immediately after, the queen returned to the party, dismayed to find that no guard was waiting outside the door, she was arrested as an impostor- though there was a rumour that she was eventually given a royal pardon. No-one involved could be quite sure who ruled England after that date, though it is said that the queen developed haemophilia, a rare blood disorder. Dubbed the royal disease by the media at the time neither her mother nor father suffered it and no one is quite sure how she contracted it. Still, only as the reporter of this woeful tale I will leave you to make your own conclusions. ...read more.

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