written a VERY long time ago... in my opinion, its not very good but i thought i'd upload it to get some advice for improving my writing since im looking into writing for this genre soon...
The car crashed down the road at a speed obviously over the limit. The vehicle turned the corner into the school grounds, creating a skid mark on the road as it travelled. The driver clambered out and waltzed up to the entrance, but returned to wait for her passenger and to lock her Lamborghini Gallardo. Dazed, he followed her, staring at the ground. DCI Grace Maddison glided across the tarmac towards to large crowd. As she shoved her way through, she received upset and crying faces from the children who were about half her height. The body, which had been found in the middle of the field, was lying half covered with a plastic sheet covering it and a familiar face hovering over it. Dr Roxanne McHammelton, after inspecting the corpse's pupils, stood up and greeted her colleague.
Meanwhile, DI Benjamin Stephenson, who suffered heavily from car-sickness, had spent the last few minutes vomiting over the pavement. He reluctantly got up and entered the entrance in the hope of finding a glass of water. Unfortunately for him, he found the family of the deceased with a lake of tears surrounding them. The secretary and cleaner, who both wielded mops and boxes of tissues, attempted to comfort them.
‘If only I had a cup;' he thought, staring at the large puddle, ‘it would be a little salty, but surely that is better than the taste of sick. I wonder where Grace has gone; probably to see the body.' He answered his own question - this was something he was used to doing.
"So, dead boy. Age - thirteen. Name - Chris Hairweed. Violent way to go." She grimaced and pointed with her face at the Chris' head. "Apart from the enormous gap in his head, he looks pretty good." Roxanne commented in her usual sarcastic tone. Her grimace instantly turned into a cheeky smile. "I've taken samples so I'm going to send them of when I get to the lab. I assume your lot are taking care of the stiff?"
"Yes we are. Oh, and in the future please refrain from calling the deceased ‘stiffs'." For a person who usually didn't care what people said or thought, she was particularly offended. She stared at the children and she realised why. Grace stifled a smile. She passed a boy who seemed more angry than upset. But not angry that his friend was dead; more like he was angry at himself. She returned to her car slowly, passing the police officers who were going to pick up the body.