Rosie Sinclair Draft

Okay, so here’s the deal, this is a draft of a crime story I’ve been writing this week. This is one of the first fictional stories that I have written in quite a few years and I have all these ideas bubbling away that I want to do something with. I admittedly haven’t got very far yet, but I hope I continue to stay motivated to enjoy writing more.

Time was vastly ticking by and the eventuality of work in the morning dawned on me, I sighed deeply feeling those anxiety gremlins beginning to pinch my stomach. I could not pinpoint the exact cause of my recent sporadic emotional outbursts, perhaps the repetitiveness routine of my day to day life was taking its toll on me. I was desperate to achieve more in my life, however I was undecided on where I wanted my life path to go. It felt so awfully easy to become trapped in an endless routine of work, eat, sleep, work eat sleep. I wanted to wake up one morning and be able to say, ‘I did that,’ or ‘I went there and it was amazing,’ but the reality of my aspirations being achieved were limited when I was struggling to comprehend exactly what would make me feel fulfilled.

My name is Rosie Sinclair, I’m 29 years of age, I have auburn wild as the wind hair and I’m 4ft 11. My co-workers call me Dana’s little pixie, Dana being the owner of the respectfully small, yet extremely popular family run cafe I work in as a waitress. My waitressing skills have vastly improved within the last year, despite my disastrous clumsy nature I have not broken any cutlery in over a month, which we all agreed may be a small miracle! I continue to work any and all hours available to avoid my lack of social life which sadly began to diminish once I left college. I am fortunate to have a couple of extremely close friends but unfortunate that they now live so far away.

My fruitless searches for a new job to change my career path has deepened my pitiful  depression and I struggle to maintain motivation in a job that I do not find interesting in the slightest. The only memorable moment I can recall from last month was when Jenny Milner, a young and timid trainee lost a sentimental earring during desert preparation and we ended up demolishing nearly every fruit pie left in the display case to find the damn thing. I must of ate every crump of that broken apple tart with pure indulgence and delight. It wasn’t until after we’d begun our greedy little affair that an honest and frail old dear came into the store, gleefully returning the earring to our possession, after spotting its gleam outside on the cobbles. As she waved the Van Peterson silver earring with over enthusiastic delight, the cafe doors swung into action and Dana strolled in unbeknown to all and quizzically inspected the scene. It was a comical and mortifying moment with our fruit filled mouths and cherry stained hands that no one was quite sure of the right words to explain the situation that greeted her in the kitchen. After what felt like an eternity to all, she simply clapped her hands together into a prayer like state and exclaimed, ‘So, who’s for cake!’ and humorously dug into a lemon meringue pie.

Working in a small cafe was not the end of the world as some people have correctly pointed out to me, but while I am grateful for having a paid job in a time where jobs are gold dust, I believe I still have the right to feel that I  am underachieving none the less.

As I resigned myself to the fact that I would have to work in the morning regardless of whether I slept now or slept later into the night, I lifted my book from my lap and carefully placed it onto the oak bedside table beside me. The page corner was carefully folded to indicate where I had finished reading, dog-earing, a bad habit I had acquired from my college days, much to the detest of our college librarian.

I live in a pretty nice apartment that over looks Huntley Basin, I have an intellectual and artistic roommate that occupies the bedroom opposite mine, she’s a sweet girl but I haven’t known her for too long. Our apartment comprises of a spacious open plan living, dining and kitchen area. The walls are painted in a light cream colour with a cluster of  small silver flowers decorated along the outer edge, the floors are carpeted with a slightly darker shade of cream, except for the kitchen floor which has wooden panels. We’ve decorated the apartment with our own personal nic naks to help us feel more at home. The living area is filled with family photographs, beautifully coloured paperweights and vintage appearing floral pink curtains with matching pillow cases – these I designed myself with the help of a friend. We do not have a balcony overlooking the basin like some of our neighbours, but it is possible to open the living room doors to peer out over the railings and see the world around us. It is a beautiful picturesque scene in the winter especially on a clear night like tonight. The frost covered ground appears almost illuminated by the moonlight which seems to welcomely brighten the view. There is an identical appearing set of apartments on the other side of the water. They’re set further back from the basin than ours as the apartments over there are surrounded by a grass verge, which is joined onto a cobblestoned sitting area. This is where people set up their rickety deckchairs in the summer to bask in any warmth from the sun. To the right of the last apartment opposite is a where I work, a small and quirky one story building that doesn’t  quite fit in with the rest of the neighbouring scene.

It was by here, just as I was drawing the blinds in my bedroom that I saw it – he or she, a tall dark figure looming over the basin. I was about to pull the cord and turn away uninterested, when I spotted it, inches behind the figure was a large, over bulging black bag with a thick twisted rope pulled tightly around the top. I fumbled for the light switch with my right hand to mask my distant presence, my other arm was lightly resting against the wall as I peered out the window in suspicious curiosity.

Updated 09/03/15