I wrote this piece, but have had quite a lot of problems with showing, not telling. I am wondering how I can add More SHOW and less TELL in this piece of writing.
The morning was warm. Just like Williams’s feelings. He got up out of bed and put on his tattered, familiar dressing gown. Breakfast was next, and only a short walk down the claustrophobic corridor. William sat down on one of the carved, wooden chairs and took a spoonful of cereal to his mouth. He sat silently, thinking about his upcoming speech. He was very nervous, but very happy, at the same. After all, this was his inaugural speech at a press conference following his election as Prime Minister.
Cameras and microphones were shoved in his face as William pushed forward through the humungous crowd, desperately trying to make an escape. "Is the Economy not important to you, Mr. William?" one reporter asked him. "Do you not care about people struggling to make ends meet?” He didn’t answer. Just kept pushing on.
Outside, the public was angry. They held up large signs protesting against some of the items proposed in his speech. They chanted a rehearsed song and wore tee-shirts promoting their cause. William’s shoulders slumped as the scene met his eyes.
After what seemed like forever, William made it through the crowd and retreated to the safety and comfort of his jet-black limousine. He sat deep into the soft, white leather seats and sighed, his shoulders and ego slumping. “So I take it the speech didn’t go so well?” Monique, his personal assistant, took a short break from scribbling down notes and looked up. William rested his head in his hands. “Yeah.” His reply came out woeful and muffled.
A loud buzzing noise filled the car. It was the phone. “Hi, you’re speaking with the office of Mr. William. How may I help you?” Monique answered. There was a short pause. “Mmm. . .” And then another. Click. “William, I have some bad news. It’s about Natalie.”
William nervously hammered the elevator button, despite knowing that doing so wouldn’t help the situation at all. He hoped that none of this was real. That it had all been a dream. That Natalie was safe. And his press conference had gone well. But as the elevators opened, he knew this certainly wasn’t a dream.
The first bed in front of William was Natalie’s. He rushed over and slowly lowered onto one knee beside the dull, white hospital bed. Gently, he reached out and ran his hands through Natalie’s soft, silky hair. Her eyelids gradually opened and the forced a painful smile. William took hold of her head and brought it to his. Their lips touched. He waited for a moment before resting Natalie’s head back down.
“Who did this to you?” William was filled with fury. “Five foot six.” Natalie whispered as she described her murderer. “Thin build. Dark glasses. Black hair.” A single, sorrowful tear crept down his face as he watched Natalie’s life slip away. Each of her breaths came out dry and rasped. Her pale face was lighter than the white sheet she clutched tightly in her hand, but this was almost unnoticeable under the crimson-red blood from the stab wound on her chest. If you were silent, you might have heard her quiet groans of pain as she clung intensely to what was left of her life.
Then the dreaded moment arrived. Natalie took her last breath. All was silent. It took a few moments for the reality to set in: she was dead. William took a deep breath, waiting for the tears to come, but none came. Just a deep feeling of emptiness from deep within his heart. Natalie was now gone. William slowly rose to his feet and made his way back over to the elevator doors.
William shivered as he waited for the limousine to arrive. The black sky above him was now darker than ever. The wind argued with the shrubs and trees behind him. They swayed this way and that, narrowly avoiding each punch the howling gust threw at them. Thunder rolled menacingly and lightning slapped its hands hard into the ground, leaving a blinding white streak of light in its path. The once quiet pitter-pattering of rain hitting the streets had increased to a deafening roar. The rain fell like an ocean thrown from the sky. It crashed down to Earth, splattered off the sidewalks, and formed instant rivers that raced along the gutters and overwhelmed the drains.
However, despite the violent weather and loud cacophony, William did not move out of his place on the side of the road. He stood still and lonely: the way he was going to be for the rest of his life.
A sound of snapping twigs and crunching leaves caught William’s attention. He turned around, expecting to find the press. No-one was there. He went back to thinking.
But a moment later, William felt an icy hand grip onto is shoulder, and then the round, hard barrel of a gun press into the side of his head. “You’re coming with me.” a familiar voice whispered in a threatening tone. William turned around. He a woman, about five foot six, standing behind him. She was of a thin build, wore dark glasses and had black hair. But the face: William would be able to recognize that anywhere. His stomach churned as one word echoed through his head: Monique.