This is the other creative writing piece I did for my GCSE controlled assessment.
We watched the film "Run, Lola, Run", and had to pick a scene from that and write our own version of it.
Again, if not for mistakes in punctuation, I would have got full marks.
And again, I got my teacher to photocopy it, and now I'm sharing it with you.
I stared at my father and this woman he was with. They were so engaged in their conversation that they hadn't even noticed when I entered the room. The tension between them was so thick, I don't think even a chainsaw could have cut through it.
I leant against the wall, panting.
I had temporarily forgotten why I had come here, confused as to what was going on.
For ten minutes I had run in my desperation but now all thought of my original intention had diminished from my mind.
I suddenly became aware that Laura and I were no longer the only people in the room.
"Lola," I breathed. My daughter slouched against the wall, out of breath. I had never really thought about the way she looked, but compared to everyone else in the building, this was disgraceful.
Her hair was a mess, thrown about her head like a wildfire. The bright redness of it was simply shocking. Her clothes were shabby, as though she had not even changed from her pyjamas before she left her house.
Lola clashed sharply with the grey dullness of my office, and I could tell from the look on Laura's face that she was not particularly impressed with the sight of my offspring.
"Papa," I said. "What's going on?"
The woman was looking at me with an expression of disgust, but I didn't give her a second glance. She was simple, and to be honest, I didn't care in the slightest what she thought of me. I pushed myself from the wall.
Papa had't provided me with an answer, so I tried again with a different question.
"Uh, Laura's a colleague," he replied hesitantly. "She was just leaving."
Laura took a step, obviously intending to leave the room, but then she paused awkwardly, making me realise that I was now blocking the doorway.
I did't move.
"Lola," lightly, I took my daughter's arm in an attempt to move her out of the way.
She remained where she was standing, her eyes darting from me to Laura and back again as she recalled the part of our conversation that she had heard.
"What's going on?" She repeated, narrowing her eyes.
"Who are you?" Laura asked. It sounded more a question of Lola's right to speak to me rather than a question of her identity.
"Laura," I put in. "This is Lola, my daughter."
"Your daughter?" he responded suspiciously. "I didn't know you had a daughter."
"Lola," I insisted. "Please move so that Laura can go."
Lola stepped out of the way and Laura left the room quite quickly.
I looked my daughter squarely in the eye. "Why did you come here?"
Papa's question caused the memory of my intention to flow back into my mind.
"Papa, I need your help."
"What with?" He quizzed.
"Please," I begged, looking up and meeting his gaze. "Papa, please."
Papa frowned, and then sighed. "What do you need?"
I considered a way of telling him without being blunt - maybe he would understand if he had a little reasoning. But then I remembered that he didn't even know about Manny, and he wasn't likely to believe me.
"Money," I told him. "I need money."