In class, we recently finished writing mysteries. I will publish the prologue of my final draft here:


     Penney gazed wistfully out the sunshine filled window. The dim classroom had a palpable weariness that could not be filled up. Detention could be so boring. True, even for a popular girl, Penney wasn’t half bad; she was almost nice, really. But Penney just couldn’t feel charitable around history. She still believed that her teacher, well, had other favorites in the social studies class. Speaking of teachers, Mrs. Mitchell was speaking to her. “. . .Margaret? Margaret Hart, do you hear me?”

     Penney’s head snapped up. She hated it when teachers called her by her real name. Still, she replied obediently, “Yes, Mrs. Mitchell, I hear you. What is it?”

     “I was just saying that I was going to the copy machine room. Please do think about getting out of here, because your detention is almost over,” she ordered. She sounds suspicious of me or something, Penney thought, inwardly sighing. But then again, she’s always like that. She waved off Mrs. Mitchell nonchalantly as the teacher walked to the minute copying room, her heels clicking on the floor and her curly auburn locks bouncing. As soon as her teacher left the room, Penney silently took out her MP3 player, plugged in the ear buds, and closed her eyes.

     Approximately half an hour later, Penney woke up with a start. Why am I in a classroom? Am I dreaming? Still groggy from sleep, she stashed her MP3 player back in her book bag, and looked around the room. Where’s Mrs. Mitchell? Oh, right. In the copy machine room. The small room made for copying adjoined to Mrs. Mitchell’s classroom was so tiny it couldn’t even fit a large window in the side of the wall. Penney crept over to the attached room, strangely aware of an ominous silence. Penney cracked open the door—and gasped.

     On the floor was a woman with auburn hair, lying prostrate with her eyes open and unblinking. There was something red on her fingers. Grease covered the floor and an there was an indentation on the copying machine. It’s Mrs. Mitchell! Penney screamed in her mind, gagging. Horrible scenes filled her mind, clouding her vision. Mrs. Mitchell. . . she can’t be dead. . . no one would do this. . .this is just a dream. . . She backed up, then realized she was up against a wall. Or a person. Suddenly, there was a thump at the back of her head, and the world went black.


Please note that Penney Hart does not die at this point. She was simply kidnapped for ransom, that’s all.

2 thoughts on “Mystery

  1. HA!HA! I liked the last sentence. Its like, its not a big deal she got kidnapped! That was really good writing! You are great at writing short stories… That wasn’t that short… But I liked it… A LOT!

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