As part of my brief for the module 'Narrative', I was asked to write a story in which I recall a feeling of guilt. I wrote a piece that told of a time my best friend, Molly, stole a bottle of milk off a neighbour's doorstep and how guilty I felt because of it.
The brief then required me to produce a book whose composition and craft reflected the narrative within my story.
"I feel guilty for not stopping my friend from stealing the milk off someone's doorstep, so in this book I would like to present the reader with a choice to put things right: something which I was unable to do."
The viewer is able to pull out a piece of card from the milk bottle, bearing a visual resemblance to the bottle literally emptying with milk.
The viewer can then place the piece of card in a selection of objects that would require one pint of milk to be produced, but at the end, after reading my story, the reader may choose to put the milk back into the milk bottle, essentially 'giving the milk back' - something I never did, but wish I was able to do.
The story itself:
"I’ll never forget the feeling of shame when my best friend stole a bottle of milk off a neighbour’s doorstep. It had been another relatively normal evening out in Stourbridge Town: we had a drink in Chequers’ Inn, clubbed in Lloyd’s and somehow ended up at a friend’s house who told us to be quiet because his housemates were asleep. It was around 3.30am that Molly and I looked at each other and decided it would be wise to call a taxi, which would take us back to my house – it would be too expensive and insensible for us to go back to our homes alone.
Upon arrival at my street, we both stumbled out of the vehicle and began to tread down the road towards my house. As we strolled, I noticed the milkman drive his float in the opposite direction, stop at a house and place two bottles of milk on the unsuspecting victim’s doorstep. Obviously thinking nothing of it, other than the fact it had hit 4.30am and was already starting to get light, I continued towards my house when out of the blue, an inebriated Molly stopped in her tracks, did a double take at the milk cart turning out of my road and announced ‘Oh my god, Joe, I want milk! Let’s go get the milk!’
I was stunned – I had no idea what to say. Was Molly referring to a trip to the blatantly closed corner shop or the heartless theft of a neighbour’s precious milk?
‘Look, no one will see, it’ll be hi-laaaaarious! We have to do this!’ she begged. I had no idea what to say – would it really be terribly immoral to steal just one bottle of milk from a neighbour’s doorstep? ‘I have change – I’ll just leave this in its place, it will be fine, 80p’s enough, right?’
‘I’m not so sure this is a good idea, Molly – think of the horror and disillusionment they’ll feel in the morning when they wake up to just one bottle of milk and a pile of loose change. Surely they’ll feel cheated.’ I slurred. Molly told me to ‘man up’ and once again remarked ‘it would be fine’ and there would be no way we’d be caught, but after pleading her to simply go home and forget about it, in her stubbornness, Molly swiped a bottle from the doorstep and scattered an array of pennies in its place. A relenting feeling of guilt and remorse swept over my body as I scurried to my house a few doors down, followed by a chuffed-faced Molly.
Upon entering the house, it almost seemed as if we had both forgotten about the incident and were both as normal. It seemed as though it wasn’t such a big deal anymore, and after all, we were both drunk. Waking up, however, proved to be a different story. I awoke feeling as though I had definitely seen better days and noticed the bottle of milk sat on my desk.
My heart sank. I could just picture the poor victims’ faces as they cheerfully approached their front door, only to be met by a single milk bottle and a pitiful pile of pennies. I envisioned their dejected faces at the sight as they knew just one bottle would not suffice their daily needs. And worst of all, the unrefrigerated bottle was perched uselessly on my table. Not even Molly, who was so passionate about the thought of fresh milk, had the decency to place it in the fridge. It seemed that not a single person benefited from the unplanned theft that night. The guilt still haunts me to this day, and I am now unable to walk past the victims’ house without receiving a sinking feeling of guilt: it was me that took your milk that innocent morning, and I am so dreadfully sorry."
