Assignment 2

Jill

As I leapt backwards away from him, I was faintly aware of something rushing to meet me, then the world spun sideways in an explosion of pain and my memory is blurred from there, I see flashes, snapshots, of people standing over me and asking questions, when all I really saw is him, I looked at him and could only think you, you did this to me. See what your joke has done.  I loved him. Once. That was a long time ago now.
Jack had been unemployed for a month before the accident, and so had been left alone at home most days while I was a French teacher at a primary school. I would always come home to a surprise, good or bad. Buckets of water would fall from the door as I opened it, or the apartments hallway would be full of roses. I enjoyed them, the reason I was with Jack was because he brought out my fun side, and forced me to not take myself too seriously. But as time went on, they got worse. On the morning of the accident, he rang me at work to tell me my mother had died, and through my sobs then told me it he was just kidding. It was then that I realised that the relationship needed to end, I wondered if he loved me at all to do such a thing.
When we were driving home from the supermarket, I was determined to be furious with him all the way home, but then I thought it may be less painful to pretend to forgive him and then let him down gently. But no. He always had to take it one step further. Now this wheelchair is my prison, because of his twisted sense of humour.

Jack

Jill always came round in the end. If I did something stupid, it wouldn't take long for her to forget about it. That's why she was so good to play tricks on, flowers and chocolates could fix it whenever I screwed up.  But flowers don't fix bones. Being alone all day, I guess I missed her. But for some reason the only way I could show her was pranks. They were what I was good at, maybe the only thing I was good at, but I thought she liked them. But I always thought she would stay moody for way too long, I couldn't understand why she sometimes didn't find them as funny as I did. I remember her telling me she hated spiders, and thought it would be funny to hide one in the car, but I hadn't meant for her to see it when we were driving.
Now I sit here, alone, empty bottles surrounding me, hearing the kids in the apartments below yelling and playing with plastic toys. They call me one eyed Jack, the angry man who doesn't talk to anyone. They are right, I go down as little as possible. I can't bear to see kids, with their plastic toys and animals, everything reminds me of her, and the spider. I thought she was the one, the only one who understood me and liked my jokes, but I always had to go another step, another laugh, trying to make her smile. I wish we had more time. I loved her.
But the bottles help me forget, but the pain always comes back. I can't shake her off, the sickening thud as the car flung her body to the floor, and her ragged breathing as she lay there.
I've never laughed again since the spider.

Assignment 1

After much scrutiny of her reflection in the mirror, Zoe decided it was time for a haircut.Bending over the sink, she gingerly picked up the scissors and wondered what to rid her head of first. Carefully holding a handful of hair, she lined them up, squinting as she did so. Did that make a straight line? Evidently she would just have to find out. Fortune was not smiling on Zoe today, as these particular scissors were especially blunt, and their most recent use had been to cut her fathers toenails. George, the father in question, was a well meaning man, but had peculiar habits that disgusted his family and friends to the point that he had been given the attic to live and do his habits in. Having snipped a jagged line across the first handful, Zoe proceeded to work her way round her head, guessing lengths here and there, and flinging the offending strands onto the floor around her. In just three minutes, her head resembled a mop that had been flung into a blender and quickly retrieved before it was completely destroyed. Just as the last strand joined the melancholy heap on the tiled floor, Zoe heard the key in the lock and knew her mother had come home early. Katrina, the proud mother of this budding hairdresser, worked at the newsagents. Leaping over the pile of hair on the tiled floor, Zoe hid the scissors in the cupboard. Moving swiftly, she swept her hair under the rug and hurried to her room to find a hat. Not that she didn't like her hair, but she knew her mother might disown her if she saw it. Obviously she'd see it eventually, but Zoe thought perhaps it would be best to wait until it was dark and the light wasn't so good. Pulling her hat over her ears, she ventured downstairs. Quickly her mother realised something was up, as Zoe never wore hats if she could help it, so she eyed her daughter with suspicion. Ready with an explanation, Zoe said she was very cold  all of a sudden. Still sceptical, Katrina began to make the dinner. That moment, George entered on one of his errands from the attic, and seeing his daughter with a hat on, laughed uproariously.
 "Under attack are we?? Very lovely helmet dear, but come on take it off, its August for heavens sake!"  Whisking the hat from her head, George unwittingly sealed Zoe's fate. Xenophobic as her mother was, nothing had ever frightened her as much as the sheer unknown and unexpected terror that was now her daughters scalp.
"You cut your own hair?!!!??!"
Zoe said nothing.