Creative Writing: Continue the Story of “The Other Time” by Peter Appleton

Creative Writing : The Journalist’s visit Continue the story (The other time, by Peter Appleton) †¦ â€Å"Yes. † she answered blankly. At first sight, the man standing in front of her wasn’t impressive, nor a surprise. â€Å"Hum, yes uhm, my name is Scoop, Scoop Appleton. And, uhm, I am here as a journalist from the Sunday Blare. You see, we find your†¦ story†¦ very intriguing, interesting. I am sure you have had other people come and ask you for details, but we are extremely serious in this relevant loss and we know that for you†¦Ã¢â‚¬  â€Å"What. That it’s horrible for me? That I should want to kill the judges? That I should want fight my sadness by shouting injustice?! Look. Talking drama will not change a thing. Your offer does not interest me†¦Ã¢â‚¬  She said this staying calm and not caring but still with an incredible force in her voice. Scoop was still under shock of her beauty and character. He only managed to get a few words working their way out of his mind. â€Å"Yes I understand, but I am sure our offer will cover the emotional difficulty this would imply†¦Ã¢â‚¬  â€Å"Paul is dead. That’s basically it. Your money will not get him back, and I don’t see how your article will be beneficial for me or change other’s point of view. † â€Å"It must be hard to be like this on your own now. We can help you to have an easier time. We know that it is during mourning that people need some help, support. And we can give you that. We think people need to know the truth, the injustice here. This might change everything! All we want is your story† â€Å"We surely have never been rich, and now I need money more than ever. But I am not interested in your money. † She said firmly. Surely she has her principles, Scoop thought, but her loss must be raging inside her. â€Å"We understand. We know it must be hard for you. But we are not looking for problems. We think you are an intelligent woman who has the right to be heard. I’m sure your husband was a good man, and your life must have been lovely in your lovely home†¦Ã¢â‚¬  He could see from where he was standing that the furniture inside was neat and classical. No particular style elements, just a random English house like any, maybe even neater than the rest. â€Å"Let’s not stay standing here if you’re planning to talk a lot. She suddenly added, interrupting him in his maybe-too-obvious peaking. Scoop, shaken up by the surprising invitation calmly followed her. He could hear that behind the hard side she was showing, there was maybe a desperate need to talk, to have a human contact. He tried to grasp as many details as he could, walking towards the lounge area. â€Å"Sit here, Ià ¢â‚¬â„¢ll make some tea† She said calmly, walking to the little kitchen bloc. There was nearly a friendly tone in her voice. But Scoop tried to stay in his professional attitude, even if he seemed more clumsy than at ease. Sitting down, he noticed how this sitting chair had used fabric. This must be someone’s chair. Maybe it was her husband’s. He could picture the man sitting here, resting after a hard day of work, while she would be making dinner for her love. The few words she had said about her husband had made it clear to Scoop that she loves him, that he had been a good husband. There seemed to be a special light coming in the house. A warm, orangy light, giving a cozy home feeling. But also a feeling like the one you get when you’re in your grandparent’s old home, after they have left the world. A feeling of silent memories, of peace but also of emptiness. â€Å"Mrs. Rhiannon. It’s important that you understand that we do not seek for drama. We don’t want do abuse your story or your name in any way. We just consider your loss as a relevant tragedy and want to understand at best what kind of man your husband was. † â€Å"Yes. Surely I understand Mr. Appleton† she said, sitting down with two cups of tea in the opposite chair. Scoop was surprised she had remembered his name. â€Å"But you see, I don’t want any more fuss. Some things will just remain as they are. My man was a good man. I have learnt a lot from him. And one thing his personality has taught me is that there’s no need to do something un-useful. And I think causing another stir will only make me and you loose credibility and respect. I am sad, but I don’t want anger words to be shown as my story. He was a good man, we had plans, we had a future. But things happened and now it’s all changed. And I’ll just have to adapt. † â€Å"But telling your story will make people reconsider the trial. Maybe this could change the country’s legal system and stop injustice from happening! â€Å"I don’t think there is a problem in our legal system. I don’t think we will make anything better by showing a picture of me looking at his picture and tell how devastated I am now. One of the only things I still have is my pride. And as a principle, drama would not make me or my husband proud of myself. † â€Å"Ok, I understand Mrs. Evans. â⠂¬  He noticed the way she looked at her husband’s picture hanging on top of the chimney. It was like he was still there to watch her. Everything in the room was tidy and clean. She must have made time pass by cleaning up everything. He could see though that there was an unusually big pile of papers on the corner of the desk behind her seat. Maybe she had been busy organizing some things, a job or maybe a closer investigation on the case†¦ â€Å"I was wondering Mrs. Evans, if you don’t mind telling. How has it been for you since, uhm, since Mr. Evans’ uhm, departure. Do you know what really happened? Why there was a fight? † â€Å"I have to say, I have mostly stayed here since. I don’t like the way people look at me now. They think my husband was a violent psychopath. But I don’t blame them, they didn’t know him and they don’t know what happened, but nor do I really. I think it’s all in the past and that I should start moving forward now. When I’ll start my new job things will get going again. † Scoop could feel this was coming to an end. He wasn’t going to hear much more. But he still had so many questions. And his boss would hate him to not get a story back. â€Å"So, thank you for the offer, but no matter what amount of money, I just don’t want a story about me. Thank you for coming by. † â€Å"It was a pleasure Mrs. † He said standing up. He had been so attentive for every little detail that he hadn’t even touched his cup of tea. When she took the cups back to the kitchen, he saw that there was a distinctive ring mark on her annular but no ring to be seen. â€Å"I don’t mean to be intrusive Mrs. Evans, but what have you decided to do with your wedding ring? I can see you took it off†¦Ã¢â‚¬  â€Å"Uhm, that was when I was washing the dishes. Yes. Uhm. And then you rang at my door. So uhm, yes. † He could see how uncomfortable she suddenly was. Maybe she had had to sell it to get some living money. It must be a sensitive subject anyway. â€Å"Oh yes of course. Thank you again for letting me in. But you know that if any time you change your mind, we are the first you can trust! † â€Å"Right, right. † She said with the same not blank but not curious tone she had when she opened the door. Clearly talking in the entrance made her somewhat emotion-less. She still had some suspicions about the press, Scoop thought. Suddenly his eyes caught something on his way out. Above the mantel, hanging on the wall in the hall, there was a tiny gold box with blue velvet inside and a gold, shiny medal. He turned around to ask her while pointing at the shiny thing. â€Å"What is this beautiful metal? Did you win it? Was it your husband’s? What did he get it for? † He asked, maybe with a little too much enthusiasm. â€Å"Oh that. They pinned that on him the other time he killed a man. † Scoop was speechless. She walked him to the door, said another goodbye and closed it. For her he had been quite a revelation. He wasn’t so talky and intrusive as the others. And he left her space to be human, not just a drama storyteller. Now she wasn’t going to tell anything, but she could see he had an eye for detail, unlike some others. She’d have to keep the story well hidden to not get any more fuss. And she’d start by taking of the medal. The one reminder for how things had started to go bad for Paul. He was too nice to kill when he left. And war had made him go very far away from who he used to be. If only he was still sitting on his chair, as he used to. He was still walking at the same speed to his car, and just couldn’t stop wondering, how much there is behind this whole story. He was now very intrigued. The intelligent irony, the pride, the strength of the beautiful queen had fully fascinated him. He felt a sudden need to find more about her. She looked strict but still so naturally smashing. He could see she was trying to hide she was having a hard time accepting the death. By keeping the photos, the seats, the medal exactly as it was before, she has to face it each day, alone. As if she was waiting for him to come back. But she knew. Her eyes, as beautiful as they were had been crying and her ring had been taken off. And there was her intelligence, her rationality that had stroked him too. She knew what was best to do. That’s why she hadn’t accepted their offer. He was now sitting in his car, looking at the house. He would have to go soon, he knew she’d watch him leave. But something was just making him stay, he felt the need to wait a bit, as if waking up fro a dream. The house was simple but very tidy, she took good care of it. But she must be feeling lonely, vulnerable, with no family, no surroundings and no people to be there for her, even though she seemed so loving. The love with her husband must have been strong, from her reaction in court. But Scoop was thinking there must have been something he or she was hiding. A good man wouldn’t suddenly have killed another because of alcohol, he had fought for our country! But maybe that was the problem. Maybe killing men there had changed his way of living, being, seeing things and people†¦ But this will be something for which he’ll have to dig deep to find the answer. Will she one day change, get on with her life, tell her story? How is she going to live? She seems so out of this world. Her beauty, her strength, her voice,†¦ so surnatural and oh so enchanting! He could see the lace curtains move up, it was time for him to leave. He didn’t want to scare her forever. She might always cal back. One thing for sure is that there was a lot more to find out about Mr. Evans. M. P.