In Cold Blood: Creative Writing Essay

My coursework is a short story which includes a diary entry. The diary entry revolves around Lowell Lee Andrews whereas the short story which is in terce person deals with Gordon Dale Chappell, the County Sheriff at the time when Andrews kil guide his family. I have based my coursework on the char exerciseer of Lowell Lee Andrews who is one of the minor characters in In ratty Blood. Lowell Lee Andrews was on death row with Perry and Dick for murdering his family.I have decided to imagine Andrews fantasies of being a crime-lord with the realities of the murders which he commits to his family. Lowell Lee Andrews was zoology major and in the eyes of society, he was a harmless, well mannered, studious and exceptional young boy. He was also cited as being the nicest boy in Wolcott. It can be argued that his life seemed to be complete and content and the murders was a wastage of the lives of himself and his family whereas it can also be argued that he had wasted his entire life in the chains of conformity and delusion. I have tried to explore his psychological state which was believed to have led him to the murders. I also included a third person character that would provide a different perspective to Andrews other than the ones in the novel. intro 73I dreamt again Jet-black starry night, the Chevy bucket along through the everlasting Chicago skyline, adrenaline escalating through proscribed my veins as I feel the cold six-gun concealed in my pocket. I am seated at the back seat in a profane suit, my hat tilted, my eyes staring dead into the merciless rain. The city belongs to me, as I belong to her. I look into the lights that give life to her, the lights that precipitate for her, that shine for who we are. People for constrict who they really should be but they everlastingly remember who they are.The Chevy suddenly screeches and slides vigorously on the wet and weedy road till it comes to an abrupt halt in front of the menage where I catch a glimpse of th em watching a local broadcast in the darkness of the unlit room. I signal the lubber to get me the .22 caliber with a nod, and he immediately gets me the plunder as I walk towards them, my hands reaching show up to the revolver. The entirety of my tree trunk is rigid, my blood rises, I feel exasperated by the heat and I loosen my tie from the choking grip it has on my neck. As I take the rifle from the hands of my thug, I understand this is my way out, my besides way out.I am approaching them, my steps slow and constant, and the voices of the black and white television travel around the room. My neck pulsates, it hinders my breath, my mind corroded with voices, ones which I cannot comprehend but seem to understand. In what feels like a lifetime, the revolver is enfolded in my hands.The room is straightaway lit by fluorescents and I am standing above them waiting, waiting so impatiently to do the deed. As I catch a glimpse of her looking into me, I load her point blank and fa lls ever so gracefully to the floor, lifeless. As time stands still, they rise in horror I gradually objurgate my aim towards them as they reach out to me, her weak hands trembling, her fingers pointing out to me. I fire towards her, watching her as the bullets pierce through her inconstant body.She mumbles shattered words to me, I tell her to handgrip quiet and go forward shooting till she cant mumble anymore. He is now crawling on the floor, heading towards the kitchen. As I rearm, cocking and loading the rifle he tries to hold onto the door, I take my aim and I keep on shooting. I can see the bullets fragments being collected on the wooden floor like drops of rain, smoke coming out of them rebellion to the cold air disappearing with it. There is no life leave field in him, but I cannot let myself stop till I am out of ammunition and breath.I head towards the door, stepping over the bodies that rate on the floor and the red stream of the blood that runs throughout the room. I then find myself bound in cold steel duress looking over the Kansas river as the sky cries for me and the crimson tears mend what I have done and yet I am left undone. As Gordon Dale Chappell closed the diary, he remembered Lowell Lee Andrews, the heavy young pincer whose appearance suggested that he wouldnt even imagine stealing from a drugstore let alone slaughter his own family. It saddened him that Andrew had decided to get rid of his own family and life for something that felt so unreal and out of reach. Andrews solemn and exaggerated character made him a number of constant debate, That Andrews kid lost his melons reading all them books. You cant blame him, a nice boy like him could never do this, wasting his life and the ones whose lives depended on him It was never really clear on why he did it, and it never would be.After all these years in the department, Gordon Dale Chappell had never been so lost in translation in the complexity and perplexity of human emotion and intention through an inmate. Unlike Andrews who was ever so polite and reading his books, Hickock and Smith would sit in the motor hotel and joke and look out the window at the pretty girls and act like they didnt have a care in the world.Gordon make it hard to believe that such(prenominal) a soul could commit such a crime. He could not stop thinking near Andrews and his family, he wondered why, what seemed as such good grace and intentions turn out to be so dangerous that it lead to the wastage of his familys own lives. When Gordon heard about the execution, he could not stay in the premises as it was withal unreal for him to believe that Andrews was to be executed.There stood Andrews, before the hangmans side drum as the falling rain echoed throughout the deafening silence of the hall. He was unmoved and unbothered to what was inevitable. However, just before his final moments of life, he managed to gather a smile.Chappell was told that Lowell Lee Andrews had no last words.