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Kära läsare, nu kommer det ni alla väntat så spänt på. Trumvirvel... min tre sidor engelska-läxa :D

Varför lägger jag ut den?
1. Jag har ingen skam i kroppen typ.
2. Vem vet kanske något bokförlag får för sig att läsa min blogg och voilá så är jag en författare helt plötsligt.
3. Jag är för en gångs skull ganska nöjd med vad jag åstadkommit.

Just so you know det blir lite fel i texten när man kopierar ett word-dokument ;)

Tracking Helen
Written by: Hanna Carlsson NV3C Autumn 2011 Teacher: Dennis Östryd
It was an early, crispy autumn morning in the middle of October. The streets of London were full of litter from yesterday’s celebration. A pigeon pecked on a cigarette butt while a sleepy traffic warden wrote a ticket for a green Toyota that was parked wrongly. An inconspicuous figure seemed to float across the street in to a glass door to a small shop which had a sign that read “Anwar’s tobacco, pharmacy and liquor store”. The short Pakistan-man behind the desk smiled at his new customer and asked with his cockney voice “Ay mate ‘ow can I ‘elp you?”. The customer slowly curved its lips into a malicious smile which made the tradesman feel ominous. Without hesitation the figure pulled out a gun from its long, dark coat, shot the startled man three times and then calmly left the store with determined steps.

The pigeon left the cigarette butt shrieking after hearing the shots and the traffic warden woke up terrified from his sleepiness. He was ambivalent, what should he do? Go to the place where the shots came from or call the police? But maybe it all just was a fallacy? Maybe he had just dreamed that he heard the shots? It wouldn’t be the first time he thought he heard something uncanny.

Meanwhile the traffic warden was pondering over what he would do, a newly graduated young man working as a supply-teacher was walking two blocks away. The young man was on his way to work but already planning his afternoon. After work he would meet his conceited rich father, take a drink with him and “just talk” as his father phrased it. “Just talk” implicitly meant that his father would explain explicitly how extremely disappointed he was in his son’s choice to become a teacher. His father always started their small chats by sighing and saying “Tony, Tony, Tony what should I do with you?” The young man felt that he could never accomplish his father criterion for being the perfect son.
Tony felt his wrath against his father and started to walk faster with angry steps. Out of nowhere an admirable and tall man came marching unnoticeable from the opposite direction. The collision between them was inevitable. The tall man turned to Tony, his head two inches from Tony’s and said with a curt voice “Watch were you going, dummy”. His breath smelt like fermented herring and felt warm in the chilly autumn breeze.
Tony took a second to really look at the rude tall man. He looked coarse in his long marine-blue coat but it was something extraordinary about him, perhaps the massive impression his height gave him. The tall man looked back with his dark eyes and gave him a confused ambiguous smile then he continued his marching. The young man was filled with an apprehensive feeling but shock it off like it was an annoying bug.

The Jazz club where the two family members would meet was as always filled with jazz music which twirled around Tony and made him feel dizzy. His father stood in a corner with a big glass of smoky scotch in one hand and dressed in a conspicuous green suit. He also wore a smile on his lips which proved that he had been drinking and that tonight he wanted to be sociable. Tony calmed down. It meant that tonight he wouldn’t be questioned and interrogated about his future and choices.

Just as he was on his way to order a drink the air in the room shifted, it got thicker and more intense. He knew exactly who had entered. It was only one person’s present that could make him feel that way, Helen. She wore a short, dark purple cocktail dress with matching lipstick. Her eyes and face shining like a sun but with a gloomy edge that was heartbreaking. She was the former jazz club owner but had sold it right after her father’s sudden death one month ago. Her father had been solicitor colleague with Tony’s father for over 20 years. He had unfortunately died alone in his light and airy apartment due to an overdose which was tragic but in some way ironic though he was very active in campaigns against drugs. Helen hadn’t been her sunny and happy self since then but Tony was glad to see his friend again. On his way to meet her she suddenly turned away abruptly with a terrified face and ran for the heavy oak door. A tall man rose from his high chair and was soon walking after her. It was the same man Tony had bumped into this morning! As the tall man rose, without him noticing it coins and a piece of paper pet out from his pockets and landed on the chess pattern floor.

Tony quickly picked up the tall mans belongings and ran after them. Outside the club the sun had fallen and it was icing cold. The night was a starless one and the moon only let its light lit up one meter in front of Tony. He started to run one direction his feet moving as fast as he could. After 20 minutes his legs felt like they had been on an ascent of Mount Everest. After pushing himself another 10 minutes he finally gave up and took a look at the things he had been holding in his hand since the jazz club. To his surprise it was coins from all over the world, some he noticed Russian rubles, some Euros, some Mexican pesos and some he didn’t recognize. At first glance the small piece of paper looked like a receipt but then he noticed that something was written with blue ink. It was a foreign language perhaps Spanish? While he tried to interpret the unfamiliar words something in one corner caught his attention. There written softly with the same blue ink was numbers. It was a phone-number.

With this piece of information in his hand he ran to the nearest telephone booth. The young tired man searched through the telephone directory thoroughly looking for the number that was now stuck in his head. The running had made him weak and the pounding in his head felt disorienting but his anxiety for Helen made him concentrate even harder on his task. Finally his effort gave result and he found what he had searched so intensely for, beside the number written in small letters stood “Anwar’s tobacco, pharmacy and liquor store”. Tony called the number seven times but no one picked up. With frustration he kicked the booth and threw the phone away. Then the young man took a breath, jotted down the address on the back of the paper and headed for a taxi.
The street was filled with laughter, scream and people celebrating. Today it had been a poll in London if the red double-deckers should be painted blue instead. To Tony it didn’t matter but to many Londoners this was an insult. Luckily the “red side” won with 98 % so it was not a shocking victory but still people like to party and celebrate. The traffic was horrible and some youngsters thought it would be fun to egg the taxi. Finally the taxi, it’s now furious driver and Tony arrived to the address. The street lay empty and the shop was cordoned with barrier tape. The young man felt his heart beat faster. What had happened here? Where was Helen? He ordered the taxi-driver to drive fast to the police station.

After lots of honking, angry curses and some illegal driving they reached the police station. Tony paid the driver and gave him lot of tip which cheered him up a little before he drove away. At the police-station he walked directly do the reception desk and said to the old police woman with red horn rimmed glasses “I need your help. My friend Helen Pearson is missing and I’m worried she is in grave danger”. The woman took off her glasses looked at him and said with a surprised voice “Did you say Helen Pearson?” He answered “Yes please help me!”
Someone laid a heavy hand on Tony’s exhausted shoulder. Slowly he turned around and there he was, the tall man. The body of Tony froze with fear then the tall man put out a police badge and said “Agent Miles from CIA, I have some questions for you” The young man ignored his demand and requested “Where is Helen? Is she safe? Can I see her?”
“She is here, at the police station but you can only see her with my assent so first you have to answer my questions”
The agent took Tony to a small room lighted up with rectangular lamps. The light from the lamps stuck in his eyes. The tall man showed with one hand that Tony should place himself in one of the two chairs. Tony chose the one nearest the door and the agent sat down in the one behind a desk filled with paper, documents and photos. Agent Miles put up his feet on the desk put his hands behind his head and then said:
“As you know Helen’s father died for about one month ago”

“Yes an overdose”

“Yes but what you might not know is that he was betrayed. He was a diabetic but his insulin was exchanged to heroin. He was murdered.”

“No, no, who would do such a thing?” Tony rose from the chair and looked sceptically at the agent.

The agent continued; “As you know he was a very commendable man, very famous and liked of the society for his “say no to drugs-campaign”. Well long story short the Russian and Mexican drug mafia was not very fond that he made their customers get clean. So they”, here the agent draw a finger across his throat. He continued “I have searched for the mafia leaders for a month all over the world from Mexico City to Moscow”. Then he took out a donut from a cartoon on the desk and started chewing.

“I can’t believe it, but what about Helen?”

The policeman swallowed his donut and continued “It seems like your friend tried to take the law in her own hands and get revenge on her father. This morning she went to the shop where her father always bought his insulin syringes and she shot Anwar, the owner three times in his chest. Anwar was paid by the mafia to exchange the insulin to heroin. She is now charged for murder.”

“No she would never do such a thing! I known her a long time, no it can’t be true!”

“I’m afraid so, we caught her an hour ago and she has confessed”

“No I need to see her; I need to hear this from her!”

“You can see her but your meeting need to be short.”

Tony was showed in to a room with three white walls and one with glass. On the other side she was sitting on a wooden chair with a smile playing on her lips. She looked at him and nailed him with her eyes. He asked her with a terse voice ”Is it true?”
Helen raised one eyebrow as if she was reflecting his question than she laughed a cold laugh and said sharply “I needed revenge. He deserved to die. They shall all die.”
He looked at her confused and terrified, she was so beautiful but still so ruthless. Her eyes showed no mercy and she seemed to no longer have a conscience. She was no longer Helen Pearson. She was a coldblooded murderer.




(To my readers: I named the story “Tracking Helen” because Helen is slang for heroin which the CIA-agent is tracking and it is also the name of the murderer and the friend of Tony which he is searching for. Well I thought that was fun  )


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