Crime Fiction Piece PDF

Preview

Summary

A piece of creative writing for the 2nd year genre fiction module....

Description

Lauren Forester

Synaesthesia I’ll always remember that her laughter was like audible sunshine. It had gold tendrils that would curl around you and warm your heart. For me, that’s the earliest memory I have of my synesthesia. My dad told me she had it too but I never had the chance to ask her about it. I don’t have many memories of her as it is. I do, however, remember how she would hum when she was cooking or doing the washing up. Her voice created these smooth, earthy green waves that would always find me, no matter where I was in the house. I would go find her and sit on the floor to watch the colours of her voice dance around me. It made dinner time feel so much cosier and I always find myself looking for that deep green wherever I go, even now. My dad used to tell me that when I was a baby, I would always reach up as if I was trying to grab something whenever she put her perfume on. He said I would giggle and stare into space whilst reaching my chubby hands up and wiggling my fingers as if I was touching something. I don’t remember what it smelt like now but I think I was trying to play with the dots of colours the smell would create. I guess it would be similar to how my sister's perfume looks. When she’s getting ready for a date or a night out, her perfume creates these tiny red dots that fizz around her like she’s the epicentre of a whirlwind of bubbles in a champagne glass. The only negative memory I have of my mum is from my seventh birthday, my last with her there. The memory isn’t negative because of her though. It was my birth father that made it a bad memory. The man I call dad now is my stepfather but he’s more of a dad than my so-called ‘real father’ ever was. I remember this ‘real father’ stumbling home after what he said was a small errand to get milk. He’d been gone for two hours and he reeked a sludgy, yellow/brown. I didn’t know what it was when I was younger but now I know it was of alcohol. The same colour

Lauren Forester

I try to avoid now. He was yelling at my mum about something. He was furious at whatever it was he decided she’d done wrong. His anger turned the room red. His voice slashed across my vision, dripping down my sight. I hid in my room when I saw that colour but it didn’t block out my mum’s screams. Each scream That red flooded my nightmares. I’d give anything to see it now. It made life a little more magical and, now that she’s gone you’d think the colours should fade. That the world should be darker and gloomier but no. The world hasn’t stopped turning since she disappeared. My colours haven’t faded simply because she has. It seems unfair to me that life continued without her. But I guess that’s just it. Life continues whether you like it or not. She was my mother and she died. Yet the colourful magic didn’t end....