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Lorraine Thellois.

Gazza_14 · 2006-07-25T17:16:34Z

Hello. Have to write short story, anything as long as it concerns mental illnes for a school competition. So mines's a sort of tale of muder and psychology. Just like to see what people think. If i've got stuff right...or horribly, horribly wrong. :lol: The sun always caught the trees in mid-morning. It would become entangled in the wiry branches, sending twisted bolts of bronze across the garden lawn. Many of the residents of Hawthorne Grove would never have had time to appreciate the beautiful art of nature, they had their hectic lives to worry about. Not her. She seemed to have all the time in the world. The clock reminded her of that. With it’s incessant ticking and alarm in the morning. She wanted to destroy all the clocks in her house, in the street. Time had lost all meaning. Time was a dictator, an overlord. It told the world how to live their lives. She’d had enough of being told what to do. The phone rang. Ring. Ring. Ring. It formed a harmony with the clock, which caused her teeth to ache. She could never answer it. She had to listen to its taunt, every ring reminding her of what had become of Lorraine Thellois. Ring, ring, ring. Lorraine’s shaking hand wiped her brow, as she tried to block out the noise. The phone stood on an oak stand at the far end of the hallway. It was an old cream phone, and shivered slightly every time it rang. “Stop ringing!” It ignored her. “I said stop ringing!” Obeying, it rang for the last time. Normality and silence descended on the house, and Lorraine’s face glowed with relief. Her tense muscled relaxed into a smile. “Better get back to the cleaning then.” Removing a yellow duster from the depth of her apron, she lifted it up to the sun with pride. It was quiet again. And she was happy. ***** He could see her through the window. The glass had contorted the view slightly, and now he couldn’t gaze at her swimming blue eyes. She was dusting the kitchen surface, with an eerie precision. It was exact and proper, not unlike the ticking of the clock. He’d tried ringing her, a distraction, but as the report had confirmed, she would not answer it. The fear that he’d seen in her pretty powdered face had caused the hair on his hands to stand erect. Wipe, wipe, wipe. God, it was hypnotizing. Climbing to his feet, he took a final look at Lorraine Theollis. Her breezy auburn hair, that old-fashioned pale complexion, those haunting eyes. Tonight he put a bullet through her pretty little face.

Snoink

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Wed Jul 26, 2006 7:01 pm

Snoink says... · Wed Jul 26, 2006 7:01 pm

You have to go to your original post, click edit, and then you can change the title.

Ubi caritas est vera, Deus ibi est.

"The mark of your ignorance is the depth of your belief in injustice and tragedy. What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the Master calls the butterfly." ~ Richard Bach

Moth and Myth <- My comic!

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If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them.
— Henry David Thoreau, "Walden"

Lorraine Thellois.

Should annoying story polls be banned?

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