My Made Project
'Mad Girl's Love Box'- an unhinged girl's diary and her murderous keepsake box
The module ‘The Made Project’ is part of my MLitt Creative Writing degree; it is different to the standard essay writing module. Instead of simply reading, writing and analysing we create something physical - something ‘made.’
In the past, people submitted blogs, paintings, letters, diaries, scrapbooks and short films for the made element. The written element can be any genre or form as well. With the rubric being so vague, making a decision on what to create was the biggest challenge of all. I changed my mind about what I was going to make many times. Eventually, deciding I wanted to create something dark, girly, disturbing and unhinged.
This brings us to my box.
CONTEXT
The writing: My work is laid out like the crime report of a girl who has murdered her flatmate. My writing is split into sections that act as evidence against the defendant - her guilt beyond reasonable doubt is shown by her TikTok reposts, texts, written diary and THE box. The fictional Ellen Jones murdered Thomas Alexander Stonegate, yet many young woman are actually on Ellen’s side about the whole thing. Why? Read her diary and find out. The longest section of prose is the diary, this has also been written out and illustrated by hand for the project. The diary entry uses a lack of capitalisation and punctuation for the writing to feel raw and unpolished.
The box: DISCLAIMER THIS IS FAKE AND NONE OF THE ITEMS ARE REAL. I’M NOT MAD MY CHARACTER IS. The box is Ellen’s collection, that ironically will see her in jail. The box is filled with the fictional Thomas Alexander Stonegate’s bodily fluids, among some other things: sperm (it’s hand soap), hair, blood (it’s leftover from Halloween), a used condom (not used), a smudge stick, etc.
Ok. Since you want to keep reading, enjoy !
MAD GIRL’S LOVE BOX
ONLINE CASE FILE 1907
Despite the #FreeEllenJones trending on social media, the evidence against the accused Ellen Jones show she is guilty beyond reasonable doubt. There is clear motive for the violent act against her flatmate and fellow student Thomas Alexander Stonegate. The defendant has made several posts online referring to using witchcraft on men (See Figure 1), threatened the victim over text (See Figure 2), confessed the violent act in her diary (See Figure 3), and collected the victims’ bodily fluids (See Figure 4).
Figure 1. TikTok reposts on Ellen Jones’ personal account @babyyy_lovewitch
1.1
me @ him bc tomorrow is the new moon & im going to make a love spell jar with triple the power
*TRANSCRIPT: The background video shows a young teenage girl dancing gleefully to Lana Del Rey music.
1.2
Love obsession spell: extremely strong love spell to make a person extremely obsessed with you or in love with you girlies <3
*TRANSCRIPT: The background video shows a string tied around two red pillar candles as the wax burns.
1.3
Several edits of film The Love Witch were reposted by the account
*TRANSCRIPT: Edits portray a glamourised, romanticised and sensual representation of witch Elaine. Many clips from the movie have been reposted by the defendant that depict rituals, crystal altars and spell making.
1.4
INTENSE LOVE SPELL! WARNING: MAY BACK FIRE AND CONTAINS HUMAN BLOOD!!
*TRANSCRIPT: The background video shows what appears to be a glass jar filled with a note, rose petals and some form of liquid. The camera pans to a vial of blood around the spell makers neck.
Figure 2. iMessages sent between Thomas Alexander Stonegate and Ellen Jones the week leading up to the crime.
Tom❤️
Thursday, 22 February 2024
17:04
Ellen: it was soooo good to meet you! always risky finding a flatmate on a dodgy website online but it seems to have worked out for us lol
17:06
Ellen: i found ur insta on the uni website hope u don’t think that’s weird
17:07
Ellen: i realise it does make me seem like a stalker…
17:07
Ellen: i'm not
17:10
Ellen: ordering takeaway for dinner from the thai place down the street. lmk if you want anything?
19:00
Ellen: still time to let me know ive not ordered just in case!
21:24
i guess you must’ve ate.
22:23
Tom: 👍
Friday, 23 February 2024
08.02
Ellen: good morning. do you have classes today?
08.44
Ellen: oh well. thought we could walk together if you do have uni today??? since we are in the same department lol
12:43
Tom: Shit slept in, enjoy👍
01.00
Tom: Can you tone down the Lana Del Rey music please?
Saturday, 24 February 2024
15.01
Tom: Drinks tonight at union tonight?
15:02
Ellen: omgggg sounds so good, looking forward to it!!!
15:04
Ellen: what time will i meet you???
15:05
should will we grab a drink together before?
17:00
Tom: 7.30 @ Union.
07:00
Ellen: where are you? knocked your door but no answer…
07:02
Ellen: hellooooooo
07:10
Ellen: where are u? are you okay?
07:20
Ellen: I'll just head over to the union now.
07:32
Ellen: ignore these texts lol i see u
07:33
Ellen: idk why i text u all this when ill speak to u in a min
Sunday, 25 February 2024
10:23
Ellen: last night was amazing. i didn’t realise you headed out. do you have work?
12:11
Ellen: do you wanto grab lunch?
12:12
Ellen: or dinner later if youve already ate
12:15
Ellen: seriously? tom?
15:00
Ellen: …
17:42
Ellen: maybe you’re busy at work.
23:20
Ellen: your definitely not still at work
Monday, 26 February 2024
03:20
Ellen: are you avoiding me?
10:23
Ellen: tom?
14:46
Tom: What?
14:47
Ellen: are you SERIOUSLY going to pretend saturday night never fucking happened?
16:14
Tom: 👍
16:22
Ellen: you’ll fucking regret this
17:01
Ellen: fuck you.
Figure 3. A padlocked pink diary recovered in a box belonging to the accused. The confessional diary outlines Jones’ affiliation to witchcraft and shows the descent of her sanity through strange language. She details what led her to commit the despicable crime against Thomas Alexander Stonegate. The handwriting has been transcribed below:
he will be mine.
he will be mine. he will be mine.
he will be mine. he will be mine. he will be mine.
he will be he will be he will be he will be he will be he will
mine mine mine mine mine mine
Thursday, 22 February 2024
ive only just met him but i know he is special. tussled golden hair, razor sharp jawline, blue eyes like the ocean behind his thin-rimmed glasses. the elegance of his sun kissed skin and linen shirt. Thomas Alexander Stonegate – or Tom. the type of boy you meet on a gap year in Europe and never forget. i imagine his soft hands peeling apart blood oranges. i can almost taste the sweet juice that
drips from his chin.
he is the type of boy ive only ever read about in dark academia novels. the tortured soul archetype. the type to take you to art galleries and stand pensively before a portrait of an open pomegranate. he will then shudder and say, he feels the fruit is strongly connected to his own flesh. i’ll agree and secretly wonder what his flesh has to do with the red seeds of fruit.
he knows about the ancient world of art, poetry, and architecture. and i know nothing. he smells sweeeeeet like the honey bathed corpse of alexander the great. every pore full of intelligence. he doesn’t mansplain either because he studied gender theory. a module that informed what it was to be a woman.
he sees us,
he hears us,
he understands us.
he is completely and utterly perfect. im awe struck. it is absolutely obvious to me how little i am in comparison to his being. all his knowledge and his substance. he is writing a novel on the ancient world while he studies and i am a part-time clerical assistant. i barely find time to study between my working hours and there he is setting the worlds to rights. all without a bead of sweat.
i am nothing like Thomas. his life idyllic and beautiful. he even finds time to work one day a week at the queer literary bookstore. we are from two different worlds, a stroke of fate or divine intervention has meant that by miracle, we have crossed paths. forever.
Thomas Alexander Stonegate or my new flatmate, i want to enter your world of Homer, carved marble and blood oranges.
Friday, 23 February 2024
despite all our differences, we have a strong connection anyway. perhaps, i balance out his pensiveness. the watcher and the dancer. today, in the kitchen i find him gazing at me with wonder, fascinated that i know how the washing machine works – he has never used one before. he offers to assist me with domestic chores, an obvious ploy to get closer to me. he stands behind me at the kitchen sink, i feel his presence near me as the soap suds land gracefully on the floor. he offers to help me cook by telling me better ways of making things. he is always looking out for me.
i knew we were more than flatmates from the start.
tonight, the feeling of want is so intense i HAVE to do something. i need to find a way to put this throbbing energy into physicality. i am exhibiting the normal signs of a crush: sharp and quick thoughts ranging from wedding dresses to biting skin. he sleeps in the room next to mine. im developing a habit of listening to him through the wall that separates us. sometimes, i hear him softly snore or groan and it is comforting to know that he is so close. separated only by cement. this little habit is romantic to me as i imagine us touching ourselves in our beds at the same time. thinking only of each other. he left his door unlocked and i took this as my sign to do as anyone would. i collect his used tissues, strands of hair from the shower drain, sperm, spit from his sink bowl…normal things. i am storing my collections in a box, so i can visit him whenever i wish.
ive found some girls online who are like me: intense and passionate. some of the girls also like to collect bodily fluids but they make love spells with them. ive collected crystals, manifested in journals, kept track of moon cycles and dabbled in spell making before. but now i khow to make men fall in love with me. love magic. I watch The Love Witch and begin my craft: mixing honey and dried petals, writing his name repeatedly and burning my red candlesticks. red wax drips on my creamy flesh. this is normal and only innocent. i begin to combine some of the collected. FUCK. my craft and connection are growing stronger. i feel something has changed forevermore.
Saturday, 24 February 2024
i am satisfied of the progression of our relationship. but i am exhausted after an intense night of love spells and manifestation. ive slept in for work and called in sick to the office. i am glad of more time to bathe in this energy ive created. a pocket of pure lust, divinity and love.
IM FREAKINNNNNGGGGG OUTTTT!!!!
this is my strongest spell yet and the result has been unimaginable. Thomas asked ME to go for drinks with HIM tonight. i’m not entirely sure if this is actually a date or not. he didn’t specify. regardless of others presence, it would not take away from our connection. he asks to meet at 7.30pm, it’s 2pm so i have a few hours to get ready. im performing any last-minute spells i have saved on tiktok.
i am afraid the energy i have created is actually growing TOO powerful. i sense this because when i shut my eyes i see a kaleidoscope of pink and red. my head is sooooo numb and throbbing; sometimes i have to touch something flat to reconnect my body to the earth. i dont know where all this is taking me. im slightly worried about some of the physical symptoms i have developed over the past 24 hours. there are clearly capitalised warnings on some of the spells; ‘BE CAREFUL. MAY BACKFIRE.’ i assumed this to be clickbaiting, now i worry there may actually be darker consequences for my practices. but my apprehensions dissolve when i consider the positives: Thomas devoted to me forever. with this in mind, i can put up with some bad luck, hallucinations and minor headaches. i twirl the hair ive collected from his shower plug in my fingers.
i start to get ready for tonight: applying my face cream, eye cream, curling my lashes, shaving every inch of my body, spraying my rose perfume and selecting my green velvet dress. this is a lengthy process, but no detail can be overlooked if i want this to work. this will be the final product of all my hard work. i make some final touches to my appearance before i leave.
i walk into the union, alarmed to see a sea of jeans and graphic tees. a sudden pang of self-consciousness waves over me. i am overdressed for an establishment filled with flyers offering £2 jägerbombs on weekdays. but i am calmed completely when i see him. Thomas. he is something special among this sea of ordinary. we catch eyes, energy oozes out and into the atmosphere.
Thomas drinks his pints quickly and asks me if i want a real cigarette. he is from a lost generation. i watch him smoke and form perfectly rounded white circles from his beautifully carved cupid’s bow. however, his friends are insufferable. they are nothing like my Thomas. they drink too much and talk about idiotic things like rugby scores and betting. they lack his infinite knowledge. it’s a shame, they must envy him and feel small in his presence too.
anyone would.
after listening to their drivel conversation for hours on end, it is finally time to leave the union. a twenty-minute walk from our flat. one of his inadequate and boring friends accompanies us on the walk home. i listen to their conversation, sometimes i try to chime in but the boring friend talks over me. as soon as the imbecile leaves i feel the energy change. i have been fantasying about this walk home since we arrived. what he would say, how he would look at me and if we would touch. there is a tender silence between us for a moment before Thomas looks at me. he stares at me, as if he is deciding something. i smile a little, flustered by his gaze. he is talking about his gap year again. i turn to reply and mid conversation he grabs me and KISSES me. it is a rush and totally unexpected. he CLEARLY couldn’t resist me any longer. he tells me he likes the way i’ve done my eye makeup tonight and brushes a lock of my hair from my face. this is like a romantic comedy, but more intense and real and PERFECTTTT. the air on the street is cold. he leans closer to me again and kisses me. his saliva tastes of honey. i want to capture the way this feels with words, but they fail me. the beauty of our saliva combines to create something totally supernatural.
we get back to the flat, he opens a bottled beer and offers me one. we sit on the sofa and he says this isn’t a good idea. ‘haven’t you heard of flatcest?’ he asks. i shake my head and he replies, ‘flat mates should never sleep together, it’s like rule number one.’ how does he not see we are more than flat mates? we are so so so sooooo much more than that. i sip my beer and feel the release of tension. he plays old rock music, looking at me again and this time with a look of decisiveness.
‘oh fuck it,’ he breathes slowly.
he undresses me, we kiss and go to his bedroom. ive entered his room before but now it feels bare and hollow. there is a singular book and a Pulp Fiction poster on the wall. why does it look so different? why can’t i remember it being like this? i ignore the mess of cups and plates, he lies me down on his unmade bed. the crumbs brush against my porcelain skin. i ignore this and focus on him. his warmth rushing over me. it doesn’t last long but for those two and a half minutes i feel overcome. both alive and dead. i want to capture this feeling in a glass jar and store it in my box. but i cant i cant i cant i cant. I CANTTTTT. i claw my nails on his back. Ughhhh. i want to collect his flesh, i want to dig my nails and savour him in my nail-beds.
Thomas falls asleep shortly after. he is exhausted by the power of such a love. and i understand, im exhausted too. and i fall asleep exactly where i belong: in his arms.
Sunday, 25 February 2024
i wake without the comfort of his arms or body heat. he is no longer beside me, his honeyed breath no longer in my ear. i rationalise the situation. maybe he went to get us breakfast? maybe he felt inspired to write? maybe he didn’t want to wake me? there is no way he could have left me lying here soft, naked and alone. i wait for hours and he does not return. i dress in the morning light, it makes me feel not only hungover but totally bare. i look for my lost pants in his unmade sheets and i cant find them. i find the condom (collected) and i begin to cry. im sure this is a misunderstanding for he held me so tight. how could he possibly not feel the same? i come to the realisation: my love spell has backfired.
he does not love me. in fact, im not sure he even likes me.
he has used me like the dirty kleenex cum tissues littered by his bed (some collected in box). i think about how ive been used like this tissue and i go for a hot shower until my skin turns red. my mind is spiralling now: i feel anger and hurt and shame and guilt and loneliness and brokenness. i think of how vulnerable i was with him, completely open and naked. how can he not see we are perfect for each other? he STILL does, i remember. this is a blip, hiccup and bump on our journey together. he STILL loves me ofc he does. maybe he needs space because he likes me SO MUCH. im conflicted because a part of me believes this and the other part believes i am a kleenex tissue stuffed behind his headboard. the image angers me, it angers me so much i can’t focus on anything else. i text him in the hope there is some silly misunderstanding about this whole thing. but no response. nothing. the silence is deafening and i scream just to break the sound barrier. my mouth is dry and my throat is sore. i sobbbbb. until i am angry and seething and no longer sad. no sadness. just anger.
Monday, 26 February 2024
ive been unable to sleep, it is early morning and Thomas is still out the flat. wtaf. so i let myself into his room and look at the singular book on his nightstand. a philosophy book with large text that reads: ‘FOR BEGINNERS.’ what a phony. i laugh and laugh and laugh. im hysterical now and without thinking i begin to rip the book with my bare hands. my hands are bruised, papercut and bleeding by the end of it. i sit in the middle of the shreds of beginner philosophy pages and begin to laugh again. how did i ever fall for any of his pretentious shit? what an utter fucking loser. my shoulders relax and my mind seems so perfectly clear. i smash his mirror letting the little shards of glass fall around me like little jagged stars.
starssss.
staaarss.
staaarsss.
i hear his key twist in the front doors rusty lock. i know exactly what i need to do. when i see him hes not Thomas but something else. my hatred transforms him, he is no longer beautiful. he’s just a man, as grotesque as the rest. before i can stop myself, my hands are gripped around the largest shard of glass. im pointing it towards his neck and screaming something. hes afraid and he screams and wails. this only makes me feel sick with the ick. im totally fucking repulsed. blood begins to trickle from his throat. the redness and creaminess blend before me in a hauntingly beautiful scene.
Thomas , i understand the connection between the pomegranate and the flesh. you would have loved this, it is all so visceral and real.
Figure 4. The box. The contents of the box are mostly glass vials Thomas Alexander Stonegate’s bodily fluids such as his sperm, saliva and blood. The box also has a used condom, believed to be retrieved by Jones after the pair had intercourse. The box also contains locks of hair, a smudge stick for spells, crystals and the diary.
4.1
4.2
4.3
BOY 2….