A brisk wind blows through the man’s short stubs of hair as he walked through the flourishing forest. He lay down and pulled out a sandwich; he looked around and noticing his surroundings he relaxed. His shoes came off as he lay back onto his elbows. He raised one hand up in the air and as if an extension of his hand he waves his wand around and said ‘for you, my dear, dreams really come true’. As Maxwell waved his wand, the trees swayed to the movement and shattered leafs tumbled to the ground. The dark forest floor, now became a light with golden browns and yellowish leafs, leaving the fresh growth to dance their way through the magical trance that the trees had embroiled in. Bright green smoke came from the wandering wand as it wafted through the air. As the leafs cascaded to the ground, he took a bite out of his sandwich. ‘mmm egg and pickle sandwiches are the best my dear’ he muttered to himself. ‘If you could only have tasted such a delicious treat, you would have been joining me on my escapades through the forest.’ He got back to his feet and with a flick of his wand he had green spirt doves fly around him, and just like that he was gone.
The city’s tall buildings engulfed the skyline as I drive, an honour which didn’t feel like much of one in these trying times. London had fallen, at least as an economic power and the pound would get you half of your journey as the price of a ticket on the underground had risen. The blotches of colour that the sun brought at night were the only comfort and similarity that rose from the churn of the now quiet city. If you had told me that growing up in this creative market and concrete jungle would have been a step to the heights of my everlasting life I would have told you nothing can come of such an overgrown city. However, I was wrong. This beloved global monument to finance and the arts, has never been more in jeopardy because of our ongoing triumph, we can now fall from these heights.
Driving through the South quarter of the city, past all the creative new builds and through the spiderweb of the small streets. Drive into the underground parking lot of Canary Wharf. I swipe my card against the terminal and press the silver ringlet button on the elevator. Stepping in I push my dress into my legs and pulled my leather jacket to my chin as a wind washed over me. The elevator shot to the 44th floor of Canary Wharf. Stepping out in black silhouette ankle boots across the marble floor to my apartment, I flung open the door as my bag crashed to the floor; I walked into the room my kitchen, a cutout of the living room. The to the floor windows of my apartment showing the range of colours that the sky offered, this night it was a yellowish gold. I walked through to my bedroom, I pulled off my outfit and put on a red dress with a black undercoat. A black belt to my waist and a pair of black safety pin Nappa leather sandals went on.
I pushed the back of my hair from left to right as I walked to the door. There he was, my beaut of a boyfriend. ‘Do you want to stay in tonight?’ I blushed and looked down ‘I got all dressed up’ ‘I could always get you underdressed,’ he smirked. He pinned me up against the wall of the hallway, pushing his stubble into my neck and feeling up my leg, pushing his hand down my underwear. As he did so I pulled a gun from my bag I had discard earlier and put it to the side of his head. He reached into my underwear. His face dropped, ‘You're a…’ I pulled the trigger. ‘… excellent hunter, I just got too close on this occasion. Shame I really liked you.’ I said as I pointed the gun at his lifeless corpse.
As I write this, I’ve always wondered whether my story — a story of murder, one of my life’s turning points, would ever be told. I have to give people the credit they’re due, they’re most unpredictable. Fascinates me! Like most wealthy Londoners during Queen Victoria’s reign, I live just outside the city of London. To be more precise, I live in Blackheath Greenwich, facing the common. I have an end-terrace house on Shooters hill road and have the perfect view of the common from dawn till dusk. This story starts like any other, with a grizzly murder that, for the faith of heart should turn away, and not read what I have scribed. For the most part, this is a story that can only be told by the one that solved it and that is why I, Edith Lockheart am the one to pen this extraordinary tale.
For the most part, it was a normal summer's day, when a letter from a friend called Alice came. Sigmund, (my head of house) delivered it to me in the lounge. The elegant, formal paper that it was so carefully pushed into meant that this was an occasion of great importance. I carefully stood up making sure that my hoops didn’t catch on the coffee table that I have taken with me on a few strolls around the house before. I picked up the decorative letter opener that had been creating quite the discussion the last time Alice had been over and shoved the gold tip of the blade into the seal of the envelope. I returned to my seat and read the letter.
Dear Edith, I’m overwhelmed and over joyed to be able to invite you to my son’s wedding on the 4th of August at The Royal Greenwich Park. Please wear what you like. Formal attire is necessary. Kind Regards, Alice Hornet
As I read the letter, I like the majority of the people that was to read this letter was overjoyed for Alice, however, I couldn’t help but wonder why the wedding was at the park, when a more discreet venue would have been much more palatable and why such short notice, only a week to prepare? Could it be, that Alice was trying to cover up a shotgun wedding? And if so, why?
The following week I set out for the park. I had Sigmond call a hansom cab, and I was there at the wedding within minutes. They set the wedding in the flower part of the park and with all the benches facing the oval spree of flowers. In the middle of the oval, was an arch and there stood the fortunate husband to be, being entertained (as is custom) by the best man as he awaited the bride. I took my seat at the back as I already was late and knew the wedding would start soon.
The function was filled with a few family members and friends, but all in all the wedding was a small one. I turned to the lady next to me in the purple hat with gold trim around it. “why the small affair?” I asked in a manner suiting the answer of a questionable heir on the way. “I believe the occasion was sprung on them fast, you see the husband to be is going on a trip to The Americas in the coming weeks and decided if anything should happen, it will be as husband and wife” she whispered back. I nodded “I see, was wondering, all seemed a bit fast” “Maggy, by the way, I know Alice from the country club” “Edith, I know Alice as an old friend” We turned our heads back to the wedding that was about to proceed. As the bride walked in between the two rows of chairs and headed for the arch.
Suddenly, a belching scream was let out, and one bridesmaid ran down the aisle fast-paced, with her hands high in the air. After having gotten to my feet I walked over to the screaming bridesmaid and grabbed her hands. “whatever has you troubled?” I asked in the calmest manner I could muster. She looked startled but then proceeded. “There’s a dead body by the bandstand!”. I picked up my hoops and ran with Maggy and Alice at my tail to the bandstand. There, laying on the steps was the most beautiful woman that I had ever seen. With long black hair hanging off the steps and skin as white as snow, the woman lay there with no movement of her own, just a gentle breeze that passed over her soot coloured hair. Her red dress with roses neatly sown in hiding whatever foul play had become of her. Alice having caught up with the brigade of onlookers that proceeded me clapped her hands over her mouth and yelled “Mary Seaborne!” I turned to Alice, “is that her name?” “yes,” she whimpered and then drew another breath “She must have wandered off and hurt herself,”. “This is no accident Alice, this is pure murder,” I proclaimed adamantly. I walked over to the nearest tree and plucked from it the red hat that accompanied the dress. “And I wager that someone outside the wedding congress has not committed this murder.” and placed the hat careful at the foot of Mary Seaborne’s lifeless body. “And it is known to me who committed the murder.” I paced back and forth.
“The wedding of sorts is fast, quick-paced. This wouldn’t have given our murderer time to kill Mary themselves, that is why he used the poison arsenic.”
The crowd chocked and Alice questioned “he?” “Yes, this is a murder committed by a man. Usually, men use brute force and strength to commit their crimes, but this one didn’t have the time for that. They planned this, premeditated murder.” “how do you know it was arsenic?” A man that I didn’t recognise asked. “Don’t you smell it? That almond smell? it’s in all our makeup nowadays. Yes, a clear sign of poison and a heavy dose at that meaning this person didn’t know what they were doing.” I paused for a moment and then carried on “Alice, you weren’t just planning a wedding, you were planning a murder.” “I thought you said a man committed it?” Alice’s daughter asked. “Yes, but it all had to be planned, didn’t it Alice.” Alice’s daughter turned to her in disbelief, “Mother say it’s not so?” “I am sorry, Tiffany. You weren’t the only one.” Alice muttered to her daughter. The young bridesmaid that had found the unspeakable scene said: “I am of another mind here, Edith please do tell us what happened?”
“Very well. See this was, in fact, a shotgun wedding…” I turned to the woman that I had spoken to earlier, “…You believed a lie Maggy, there was no trip to the Americas. The groom had an affair with Mary here and she fell pregnant.” I turned back to the crowd who was now shocked by my reveal. “That Unfortunately was Mary Seaborne’s mistake, to have a child. Both Alice’s daughter and Mary were pregnant with the same father.” I continued “The groom is the one that slipped Mary the poison.” Tiffany, Astounded by her own mother “But why? Lots of men have children with other women?” “Because I can’t afford both you and her,” The groom replied pushing his way to the front to be with his bride. “Tiffany, I’m in a small fortune of debt.” “Meaning the park was the only place that you could get married anyway.” I reinforced.
Before anyone knew it, the police were leading a way both the groom and the weeping mother of the bride.
Dear Diary, I am so upset in my life. It’s only been a year since I made this deal and yet everything I’ve dreamt of has made me so upset. I dreamed of beauty, and they stowed it upon me; I dreamed of love and to be cherished, again this was given to me. I wished for a fantastic career, and yet again they found my job to be as exciting as a baby discovering the unknown world that they’ve been born into.
I do not want to seem ungrateful Diary but please take back these gifts you’ve given me. The beauty that I appeared so to desire, people no longer see my personality; they are just taken with my looks. The loved one that you bestowed upon me is scaring me. He loves me Solely for my looks; he does whatever I say; however; I wanted someone to talk to, keep me company, explain things to me and understand me; he doesn’t. Instead, he bends the knee and agrees with all that I say, even the most stupid of things. I wanted an intellectual conversation to stimulate my mind. Instead, I got nothing but a back-end of a donkey. I wanted a fantastic career, and it is just that… to others. To me, I have to deal with the difficulties of things I could never imagine. I can only think of the mundane Monday that people experience. The new field that I work is incredible, and the findings of my research are just inspiring.
Let’s deal with something for me. Something to challenge me. Something to change me. My dreams have never been more fulfilled, and yet I have nothing to reach for. I want the world around me to just implode, For the simple fact that I do not want to live anymore in this reality. Sometimes I go for drives in the never pleasurable anymore. The phone call to interrupt me is always something to do with work. And work is… is well it’s exciting, but it’s not what I’ve been looking for. it Is exciting for others, diary. It’s exciting to watch, and It’s creating a ster. I’m not the coffee cup though, I’m the stick, and the research that I find pushes me to want to quit. The psychology of people, the psychopathology of daily life. The media which we interact with. We have so much in common, yet we are so far apart. The cogs of the wheel of personality and facets that create that cog, making us so complicated. Maybe I enjoy my job… no, no, I do not. I am seen for my looks, and not my achievement, I am recognised for the trials of my career, not for my research. My husband is forever doting, but never truly there.
I shouldn’t have made the wishes I did. I should have wished for something less permanent, like ice cream on a hot summers day. Even then, I would have been given a problem. They say you can’t wish your questions away. There isn’t just a problem with wishing them away; there is a problem with having the wish. The cake always looks better than it tastes and in this case diary, the cake tasted horrid. The friends that once embraced me, now won’t talk to me, because they believe that I’m living in the fast lane. In truth, I’m barely living.
A steel door closes behind the young man as he whimpers to himself. ‘I was never meant to be here,’ As he looks around the cold freezer, he realises that his capturers own a cake shop. He looks for more cues, that will, hopefully, tell him more about the reason he has they have taken him. The cakes are all freshly made, apart from one. On a shimmering metal stand, with mesh to support the cakes adored it, he found a cue. The cake was in a box, a box that had a name on it. “The velvet dome”. He knew where he was; He was in Piccadilly Circus. He had been into this cake shop before. A kind Japanese lady worked behind the counter, and he always remembered the smell of freshly made icing. He didn’t know how long he would be there, fear that it could take days for him to see sunlight again. His thoughts turned to who his capturers could be. Was the lovely Japanese lady actually not so lovely. Was she the one that had put him here, and if so, why? His thoughts quickly turned to something else, however. The call of nature. He walked to the back wall and sat down. He didn’t know how long he would be there. The urge would have to come at some point. He answered the call against the stone wall opposite to the door. Standing there with his right hand pinned against the icy wall he said to himself, “Casper, you need to pull yourself together if you want to get out of here.” He finished up and ripped off a small part of the box he had found earlier. He crumpled the card and wiped his hands with it. A sudden urge of hunger took over him. Cakes surrounded him, why wouldn’t he be able to eat them. Surely the people or persons that put him in here, realised that he would, at some point have to eat. He looked around, the cakes all looked so delicious. “which one do I pick, where do I start?”. He was expecting to be there for a while, so why didn’t he try all of them he thought. With that, he ran his hand across the now unboxed pink cake. “hmm strawberry” he gleamed. Next a brown one. “chocolate”. He then began to rip the sides out of all the cakes, ramming the frosting and cake into his open mouth. Suddenly the steel door opens. The lovely Japanese lady, standing with a face of pure anger. “What are you doing in my walk-in fridge Casper,”. Casper stuttered and then said, “You put me in here?!” “To clean!” “…” “What the hell have you done with my cakes!” she peered around Casper “did you pee in my fridge?!” she looked down “oh my god, do up your fly!” Casper, now mouth gaping “I can explain, I was trapped in here.” The Japanese lady lost all emotion in her face. Casper thought, this is it, she’ll believe me. “Did you even try the door handle!”
