This activity wanted you to write a passage where the character voice was calm/relaxed, then re-write it so it was the opposite.
I also realised I write a lot of dark stuff. I need to find something more cheerful!
This morning I discovered that my grandfather was a serial killer. The man who would always make me sugar sandwiches when grandma wasn’t looking, or let me sneak sips of his beer and watch horror films late at night. The man who would check my room for monsters before kissing me goodnight was a monster. He used to drive a truck across Highway 16, from Prince George to Prince Rupert in British Columbia. The ‘Highway of Tears’. Lonely nights on a long road going from A to B. He used to tell me and grandma stories about the hitchhikers he would pick up before dropping them off some place further down the road but he never told us what he did to them before dropping them off. We always laughed at his stories. I understood now why he’d never let me come with him, no matter how much I begged and how hard I cried he’d never let me come with him.
They came for him this morning. It wasn’t like what you saw on TV, they didn’t come charging through the front door with a battering ram and a SWAT team. They knocked politely on the door, asked to come in then arrested him. He didn’t protest, just looked at them and said very calmly in that rough voice of his “you finally caught me.”. There were TV cameras on the front lawn and that’s where I saw my grandfather grinning on national news being led away in handcuffs, ticker tape at the bottom of the screen reading “SERIAL KILLER APPREHENDED”.
My grandfather murdered fifteen women. I’ve only murdered seven.
“SERIAL KILLER APPREHENDED”
I hit the live pause button the remote control and starred at the frozen image of my grandfather being led away in handcuffs. Heart pounding, stomach churning all I could do was stare at that image. In the background my grandmother stood on the perch, crying and being held back by a young police officer. I counted nine cameras on the tiny front lawn. With clammy hands, I fumbled with the remote and unpaused the action. The news anchor was back, telling the world how police had finally apprehended the man they believe is responsible for fifteen murders along the Highway of Tears. The blood rushing in my ears muffled the words but it was all there on the ticker. Fifteen murders.
I let the news continue as I paced around my apartment thinking about my grandfather listening to the news men and woman discussing him, discussing his victims. This made me angry, my fists balled at my side as I turned to the TV furious that they were talking about him without even knowing him. I stood glaring at the TV, my nostrils flaring with each breath until something inside me broke and I began to cry.
My grandfather murdered fifteen women, I’ve only murdered seven.