The Reaper (Chapter One)

Chapter One

 

Coldness is what I fell on my exposed flesh. I heard the sound of heavy snoring to my right, loud and husky against my already sensitive eardrums. Opening my eyes, I see myself reflected on to the mirror on the ceiling of my parent’s bedroom. Michael had always thought it was tasteful, when it was really tasteless.

 

My hair was flowing over the pillow; some of my brown curls were spilling over the side of the bed. My red eyes staring back at me like garnets. They flickered over to Michael, my father. His gray hair was thinning, with a few brown strands. His dull brown eyes were cold and strict, like always, but were hidden by his eyelids. He was thin, very thin, more like sickly and frail. He was nude, as was I.

 

One of the infamous “father-daughter” occasions we had often. My eyes adverted back to my reflection. They drifted down from my face, to my shoulders, then to the blankets that covered me, a thin light red sheet and a bulky, thick burgundy quilt that covered the blush red sheet. The covers were plain, just like the burgundy colored walls, and the white dressers and nightstands, bare, empty, nothing on them but the essentials.

 

My eyes went back to my shoulders. My scarlet eyes studied the claw marks on my shoulders, going down to my chest, and then back up to my neck. I bet if I was to turn around, they would be on my back and hips. Michael was rough, that’s why Sandra, my mother, would never have anything to do with the man.

 

They have been together for years, maybe even decades, and have hated each other every minute of the marriage. She married him for the money; he married her for the publicity. He was a huge entrepreneur, sold estate. She was the daughter of the duke of Britain. They married for what they could get out of each other, not for love. Well, my mother hit the bottle weeks after her trust fund ran out, and quit acknowledging my father all at once. My father grew tiresome of the absent of intercourse in their relationship, and turn to the next best thing; me.

 

But that was seven years ago, I eventually got use to the routine. I heard him groan, so he was either awake, or in the process of it. I tensed, I couldn’t leave the bed, or he will surely wake up. And I didn’t want to stay he, because he seems to enjoy it too much when he wakes up to me unclothed. 

 

I reached for the ground and snatched up a shirt. I pushed the blankets off of me and carefully put one foot on the ground. My eyes shot over to Michael, he was still on his side, with his back facing me. With my eyes still on him, I slid my other leg onto the ground.

 

I drew a breath as I slid my lower body, then my upper body on the ground. I crawl away from the bed, and out the door. I heard him groan, so I quickly shut the door. I let my breath out, and put the shirt on. I stood up and started buttoning the dress shirt up.

 

The shirt came past my hips by about two or three inches. I turned on my heel and walked softly on my parent’s hallway. I turned the corner, then up the stairs and knew that I could breathe easy now. I was going up the stairs, to the second guest floor. The main level was the kitchen, parlor and the storage closets were.

 

 One floor up is the guest rooms, then my parent’s floor after that. More guests rooms after my mother and father’s level, and finally my floor.  After that is just an attic that no one usually goes in to, well I do occasionally. I came upon the flight of stairs to go to the second guest’s floor. That’s how my parents wanted their house.

 

They get their own floor, I get my own floor. We entertain numerous times a year. That’s why we have two guest levels. I walked onto my hallway. I went in the direction of my room. Once I got there, I opened the door and I dragged myself to my bed. As soon as my body felt the softness of my bed, my eyes shut and my mind wandered off to the land of dream.

      

(Unfinished)

Author's Note

I'm aware that it is not finish, but I do have a life and can't write like I use too.

Reviews

[Brianna Van Zandt]

Very good! I would definitely read more of this. I do have to say, however, that a thorough proofreading would do this some good. "Coldness is what I feel" or "felt" instead of "fell" is one error I noticed could be caught. Just a little constructive criticism. :) Still a wonderful read. I can't wait to read more.

[Harley (arbiter)]

It sounds like it'll be an interesting story. I'm curious how you will incorporate the title "the reaper" into this. I'm kinda fond of Grim.

[Owlgirl]

Amazing, it's a great use of imagery and is very well written. I cannot wait to read the rest! :)

[Pikachu]

Neither can I! lolol.

[Raven Starhawk]

Beautiful opening. I can feel the cold as you describe it. Purely great writing here.

[Dr Ayaz chandio]

nicely written...good job..liked it.

[Patrick B]

If I had things like this to read during "NFA Reads"(Some thing my school does), I would be a very happy person.
It was very compelling to read, stirring intrigue.
I will look at it again once you finished, but it's a great start!

[Pikachu]

Thanks. (:

[Gretchen Clarke]

Nice! I will look forward to more!

[Alex Vidmar]

This is amazing. your ability to form a clear, colorful image of the scene you are describing is amazing! well done!

[Pikachu]

I try my best!

Thanks. C:

[Southern Cross]

A haunting piece. Beautiful read though a raw topic. You can write ..Keep it up

[Pikachu]

Why, thank you!

[by S.D.]

(Teeny thing: This is listed as a poem not a story/book.)
Couldn't stop reading. Candid, but also poignant.

[Pikachu]

Thanks!