One Way Out – Creative Writing University

Creative Writing Stories

Mascara, lipstick, lip gloss. Black dress, shining shoes, painted toes. Hair curled, hair tie out, no tacky hair clips or polka dot bows to be placed in her hair. That is what he asked of her, that is how he wanted Rosie to be presented…he was very particular… he wanted class and sophistication with a hint of danger. He knew he was in control and that she would do what he wanted. He held the key to manipulation… Money.

The cab that had been ordered for her pulled up outside Rosie’s home. Her legs felt as if they had been dismembered as she crept down her staircase, making sure she didn’t wake any of her house mates up. They couldn’t know where she was going or who she was going to be with. Looking in the mirror one last time and finishing the pure spirit that she had been drinking out of her mug in one, she made her way out of the door.

“Where you off to tonight then love?” The friendly cab driver asked her. 

“Oh, no where special, just out for a few drinks with a friend.” Rosie responded meekly, more concentrated on the now painful feeling of butterflies subsiding in her stomach. 

“Coor dressed like that! You look amazing!” he responded. 

“Aha thank you”, said Rosie.

The journey to the restaurant in central London felt like it took no time at all. Rosie wished it had lasted longer. She was panicked at the unknown world she was about to enter. But she needed cash and she needed it quickly. Her rent was due as well as the never-ending course fees, study books and her need to eat. 

Stepping out of the cab she thanked the driver politely and paced her way into the entrance of the restaurant. She saw him immediately … apparent as day light. He was sat up straight, pinstripe suit tailored to fit with a crimson tie, matching the glass of red wine that was placed on the table where his hands were resting, waiting for her. He – who went by the name “rockyedge72” on the seeking arrangement dating app – looked directly at Rosie. A smile appeared and a menacing mischievous look in his eye. He knew how the dinner was going to turn out. 

Rosie strode over, heart in her throat and pain in her chest. The only thing helping her cope with the thriving feeling of angst was the money, eight hundred pounds. This was going to help her…

“Listen to my instructions, walk upstairs and get in the shower. I will follow you.” 

It all happened so quickly after her granting ‘rocky edges’ wishes and moving the dinner upstairs to the hotel. The deed was done and the cash was in her hand. She wasn’t in debt any more, she could pay her rent and buy her food. But the sinking feeling in her gut felt like she had made the wrong decision. She felt as if she had degraded herself, ruined the happiness that intimacy was meant to bring to the parties involved. Maybe it was the twenty- five -year age gap, or the fact he was married and this was his filthy fantasy? Oh no! No. It was the exchange of sex for money… 

She threw up in the cab that had come to collect her and burst into tears…

“Why did I do that?”

Solitude – Creative Writing Stories University

Creative Writing Stories

My solitude had grown wary but today, yes today was the day where I would change that, finally. Today is the day where I tell you my story, the story that has brought me to this place and time to tell you all from a different world…

I had every-thing people would dream and describe happiness is. The diamonds, the cars, the watches, the latest technology and lets not forget the mansion. I had everything that society says can bring peace and happiness, I had money and security. But I didn’t have him. 

I was alone with everything we had built together. I would wake up with the pain of what had happened and an empty space next to me as I turned over. This was, every…single…day. I stopped smiling, laughing, dancing and cooking in the kitchen amongst all of the quirky hanging signs we had picked out together. I was a demoralising presence to be around. Yet I couldn’t change. They say heartache is meant to get better, eventually one day, but it wasn’t going to for me.

I watched them kill him. Watched them propel the knife back and forth, immediately penetrating through his skin and into his body. They had a hold of me. I kicked and shoved and bit with all of my might trying to get them off me, trying to get to him, my love, my life, before it was too late. My wail was piercing, I wanted them to do something, anything, stop it. They could of taken everything off of me; the diamonds, the cars, the watches and the mansion. I wouldn’t of cared…but they took him. The piece of my life that matched my heart and soul. The piece that took me as far away from the solitude that wore thin in my eyes and my heart from gut wrenching loneliness. I saw him struggling, saw him helpless, I saw him losing his breath, I saw him look at me as he was dying before my eyes. I saw his lips mouth “I love you” before he collapsed to the floor with nothing left to save him. I saw him die. 

They did that to him. They did that to us. Those four men whom had been hired as hit men to solve a drug insolvency. Those four men that were idiotic enough to be involved in a murder, let alone the murder of an honest innocent man. My man. Destroyed his life and mine. They slaughtered him as if he was nothing, they didn’t listen to my scream. They weren’t going to hear us out, there mission was to kill.

I waited approximately five hundred and two days in solitude before it grew wary. I was in unbelievable pain, silence and loneliness every day. Nothing I did was good enough, absolutely nothing took the pain away. Only he could. I needed to be with him, I couldn’t go on without him. I wanted the security and happiness that oozed off of his character back. I needed him. 

Which is why on that dark dreary day in Wolverhampton I decided my solitude was over, it had worn thin… 

I was found hanging from the balcony in my mansion, surrounded by the riches and lavish things in a home we had built together. I had so much going for me, we had so much planned for our future, yet it was all destroyed. Only to be found by that mail man the next morning. It was over. That’s it, that’s my story. That is how I died, wanting to be with him.