Our teacher, Ms George, read us a book “The Curious Incident of the Dog” this term. It was quite an interesting book, the story tells us about a boy, Christopher who has autism, who plays as detective trying to find who murdered Wellington, a poodle who belonged to his neighbor Mrs Shears. Below, I recreated a piece of the story using highly descriptive language from Christopher’s perspective.
I was having another walk. It was 11:30 PM, nearly midnight, one of my favorite times to have a stroll, it’s so quiet and peaceful then. I expected nothing overwhelming, just a casual walk. Everything was going as expected until I reached Mrs Shears’ backyard. In the distance, a pitchfork somehow stood without anything to lean on. I approached what looked like something big and fluffy. It was a dog, Mrs Shears’ dog, Wellington. It made me upset to see such a thing. I like dogs, they’re loyal and obedient.
The pitchfork stabbed right through the dog and into the dirt he was laying on. I pulled the pitchfork out, the four holes the garden fork made gushed blood. It wasn’t long until the bodily fluid was all over the place. I ran my fingers through the poodle’s black fur. It was soft and warm like a normal dog. I heard a door open, Mrs Shears stood by her door, her jaw dropped and her eyes opened wide. Her neon yellow toenails stood out from her comfortable outfit, made out of a purple bathrobe and a white towel, wrapped around her head into a towel turban.
“What did you do to my dog?”she said in increased volume.
“I didn’t kill the dog.” I replied, I don’t tell lies.
I watched her enter her house and slam the door. You could see her silhouette through a window, she picked up a telephone and put it to her ear.
A few minutes later, while I was holding the poor dog in my arms, I could hear the faint sound of a car driving towards the road I was on. It parked in front of Mrs Shears’ home. Two police officers stepped outside of the car, the man out the from the driver’s side and the women from the door beside. The man approached me with heavy footsteps while the woman escorted Mrs Shears, who was now leaning against her door, back into her house.
“The dog’s dead.” I said to the policeman, holding an A6 size notepad.
“What’s your name?” The Policeman asked.
“Christopher Boone.” I replied.
“Did you kill the dog?”He questioned.
“No, I did not kill the dog.”I responded, I would never lie.
“How old are you, Christopher?”
“I’m 15 and 3 months.”
“Do you know who killed the dog?”
“No,”
“Do you have anything to do with this?”
“No,”
He started asking question after question, faster and faster. I pressed my forehead to the concrete and put my hands at the back of my head while kneeling. The policeman grabbed me by the left arm. Wham! I punched the police on the arm.
“Ow!”
“Don’t you dare try that again, hands behind your back.” he snapped.
I let him handcuff me with no hesitation, this is what I expected the police to do.
“Get in the back,”he growled.
I followed his instructions, they do this in movies afterall.
We took a few turns and by the time we got to the police stations, it was about 1 AM.
“Get out.”
He took me to the Police Station, it looked small from the outside but it was a busy place.
“Empty your pockets.” a lady with a neat bun commanded after removing the handcuffs I was wearing. I emptied them, a Swiss Army Knife, a piece of thin string, rat food pellets for Toby, my brown and white rat and my bright green front door key. I saw her talking to the policeman who brought me here.
“Follow me.” The Policeman said.
I was then brought to a jail cube. I liked it there, 2 meters high, 2 meters wide, a perfect cube.
The Policemen then asked me if I had any family.
“Yes, I have a father, but my mother is dead.”
“Do you know your father’s phone number?”
“He has two, one for home and one for his phone.”
I told him both of them.
It had been quite a long time since I had gotten there. I expected father to come sooner but it wasn’t until then he had come to see me.
Another man in uniform came to my cube, his nostrils looked very hairy, it made it look like he had mice in his nose, one in each nostril.
“Your father said you didn’t mean to hit the policeman, is he right when he says so?”He asked.
“I did.” I told him. I didn’t want to be touched.
“Christopher.” Father, standing beside the man said.
“Did you want to hurt him?”
“No, I just didn’t want to be touched,” I didn’t like the way he pulled me.
“Did you kill the dog?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You do know that it’s very wrong to lie to a policeman, am I correct? It can get you in trouble.”
“I do,”
“So, did you kill the dog?”
“No.” I always tell the truth.
Finally, the Policemen had let me go, I collected my things from the lady at the desk and Dad drove me home in his white car.
