By Natalie Rouse (an English project)
Chapter One: Telling Her
Jack Wilson looked up at his daughter as she slipped in quietly through the front door. Poppy Wilson was a 15 year old girl with a very beautiful face and long flowing
dirty blonde hair, which she had in a messy bun, with loose hair sticky out. All of this complimented her angelic smile even more.
“Hi darling” He said to her, before looking back down at the crossword that was held in his hands.
“Hey Dad” She replied, pulling a huge grin across her face, which he returned. His good thoughts came crashing down as he remembered what he had to tell her. He hoped
she didn’t take it too badly; after all, it was terrible news.
“Um, honey. I’ve got something I need to tell you, but please, please try and stay calm.” He spoke the words through his teeth.
“Dad” She said, looking innocently curious. “Is there something wrong?” Her eyes became wide with panic, as he looked down at his shoes. This hurt them both to
“Well” He paused trying to of how it would be best say it. “A few nights ago,” he breathed out slowly, “Your grandmother died.” He looked down at his feet, as sadness
“Do you know how she died,” she asked breathing quickly. “Was it old age?” She gazed worriedly into my eyes and I knew that I couldn’t lie to her.
“No love,” he took a very deep breath. “She was murdered.” He regretted what he had said, as soon as the words left his lips. His daughter was now running quickly up
the stairs and he couldn’t find it in himself to stop her.
A little while later, Jack pulled himself up out of his chair, and climbed the stairs.His legs were stiff from sitting for so long and eyes were sore from crying, as
he was sure his daughter was.
When he reached the top of the stairs, he could hear a faint and muffled sobbing, that was coming from Poppy’s room.
He wished that he had never told her. She could be happy and not facing what was to come, but then there would be questions, why weren’t they visiting gran anymore,
why weren’t they receiving her gifts through the post every week and why, was she not calling. It had defiantly been better to say it.
Knocking on the pink wooden door lightly, he waited for her reply.
He waited through another minute of silent sobbing and asked in a pleading voice. “Can I come in Poppy,” he leant towards the door as he said it.
“Mmmm,” groaned the girl inside the room. “Just a minute” She spoke slowly, dragging each word. He waited for a bit, listening intently, but all he could hear was the
ratting and shaking of plastic bags as they were being moved around the room. What was she doing, he wondered, but decided that she was probably just tidying up a bit.
“Are you ready, love” He asked softly, placing his hand on the door handle.
“Sure,” she replied. I heard her sit down on her bed, the springs were very creaky.
He twisted the handle and let the door swing forward. He stared at Poppy and gasped.
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