. At the bottom there were comments like-Excellent interpretation of the theme, very outside the box
-Use of beautiful animal metaphors... unexpected and refreshing...
-I'm most impressed with the quality of the writing... development of plot... character 10/10 a++
I'm pretty proud of it. Between us (shh) everything after "With a grudge and a knife" was completely improvised... made up 10 minutes before I had to hand it up. Id love to see how insane my Cre. teacher is by finding out what you guys think.
I didn't want to come. But the guilt took control and walked me to the cemetery. I hate cemeteries, there are too many memories brought with the names on the graves. Zeke Wilson over there to my right, the boy burned in the fires. To my left is Old Alex Whitman, killed by a snake bite fifty kilometres out of town. And now, as I saw right in front of me, the grave of my husband Andrew Cirilla who was killed by a psychotic murderer with a grudge and a knife.
People were walking to the open grave like cattle herds. Their heads down and grim looks on their faces. I could hear the words of grief they chattered amongst each other. Words like "Shouldn't have been him." and "Taken too young." They all crowded around me, taking the chairs like lions taking zebra's organs. What seemed like hundreds of people were forced to their feet. They looked so uncomfortable but I'm sure I looked worse. I was looking up at everyone with wide alert eyes, like a meerkat on sentry. My hair was a mess from my nervous habit of twisting it. I hadn't washed it this morning and it felt like hay, all dry and prickly. My sister found her way over to me, and crouched at my feet. I looked at her and noticed that at least she managed to groom herself for the funeral. She smelt like bubblegum shampoo. That smell cheered me up a little.
"Are you ok?" She asked me.
I didn't answer for quite a while. the "door knob in your throat" feeling made conversation seem impossible. But eventually I swallowed some saliva, pushed my chewing gum to the side of my mouth, and I spoke.
"Yes. I'm fine."
"No you're not." My sister insisted. "You're at your husband's funeral."
The taste of spearmint from my gum was soon replaced by a bitter taste, one I couldn't describe or identify. But it was foul and it put me in a foul mood.
"Of course I'm ok." I snapped. "Today is my first day as a widow!"
My sister rolled her eyes and walked away. Then I began to cry.
I think the "This morning," is fine. I use that kind of thing quite often. Sometimes it's the only way to get the point across. But perhaps for the voice you were going for, "That morning," would be more appropriate. It's your call. Either way it was really good. Keep writing!!