Chapter 1 - Rage

Chapter 1

Rage

All I could see was blood. All I could taste was blood.  Touching the back of my throbbing head to feel the dampness in my hair, I spat out the metallic taste, and tried to ignore the ringing in my ears. “Get up! I’m not done with you yet, girl!” he shouted.

Escape was my only thought. I rubbed my eyes to clear my vision and peered up at him. The kitchen light illuminated through the basement door behind him, his angry face becoming nothing more than a demented shadow as he stood on the top step, getting ready to burden the second with his left foot. “I said get up!” he yelled, and threw his empty rum bottle in my direction.

I used my left arm to defend myself, hearing the shatter of broken glass beside my right knee as the bottle hit the stone wall. Frantically, I directed my attention to the basement door across the room, down to the pieces of broken rum bottle, and then back to him hoping he didn’t notice. “GET UP!” he roared.

Slowly picking myself off the cold, damp gravel - noticing smears of blood all over it �" I balanced on my knees, and peered around the unfinished basement. Wobbling around, I caught myself on the grey stone wall with my right hand. “It’s time I teach you a lesson. You live in my house, so you follow my rules! I’m tired of you not following my rules!” he slurred.

I shook my head knowing this escape would - and could- be done; releasing my hand from the wall, I subtly grabbed the head of the broken rum bottle, hiding it behind my right thigh, getting ready to throw it at him for a chance to escape.

He was on the second step; only six more to go, I thought. “You never listen to me! You’ve taken everything from me! My life! You ungrateful b***h! I’ll show you what happens to ungrateful people!” The dried wooden oak creaked beneath his feet.

Third step, “I hate you!”

Fourth step, “You killed her!”

Fifth step, “GET UP!” he snarled.

I sprung to my feet and stabbed the jagged half of the rum bottle into his left thigh. He howled from the pain, and backhanded my face. I stumbled away from the steps, holding my cheek, then scurried toward the basement door. “You piece of s**t! You’re going to regret that!” he yelped, punching the air attempting to hit me again.

Ignoring his threats, I heaved up the plank holding me prisoner from the world. I ran up the cellar steps and pushed open the storm doors, grateful they were unlocked, then ran toward my bedroom window located at the very end of the small shabby white bungalow.

Trying not to make much noise, I opened the window and snuck into ‘my’ bedroom. The eight-by-eight room was a disaster because of Abe’s violent episode. The remains of my wooden desk chair lay in the middle of the room, along with books and papers that had been pushed off the desk. I fought back the tears burning my eyes as I remembered the chair breaking over my legs and back; the violence that ensued. Get yourself together, Taylor, I scolded, this happens. It always happens.

I quickly grabbed my knapsack and started stuffing it with any type of clothing I could get my hands on, a hair brush, and toiletries bag which I kept stored in my bottom desk drawer. I quietly dropped my bag out the window, and did a second over of the room looking to see if I missed anything I might need. Rage and fear flowed throughout my body as the room resembled the past and present. The baby blue walls were decorated with holes and cracked plaster resulting from my body, which Abe threw around like a ragdoll. The white trim with a nonexistent door had been removed many years ago, consequence of the door was being locked when Abe was trying to get in while drunk and full of wrath. I looked into the hallway through the empty door frame, and peered down the hallway. It was littered with an explosion of beer cans, shards of glass belonging to a picture frame bent on the floor, and pieces of a calendar.

I shook my head, willing myself to forget about the atrocious memories burned into my mind, before climbing out the window. I heard Abe limping up the cellar steps, and knew I didn’t have much time to make my getaway. I grabbed the knapsack and bolted toward the chain linked fence encasing the backyard, threw my bag over the five foot barrier and climbed as I heard Abe’s irate voice scream, “Get back here you little b***h! You won’t get away from me this time!”

I unsteadily swung over the fence, barely landing on my feet. Knowing he wouldn’t get that far, I grabbed my belongings and ran into the dense green forest bordering the shoreline. I heard Abe’s faint screams as I raced away from the home that was supposed to be safe, from the Father who was supposed to have loved and cared for me. 

Reviews

[Sasha Leigh]

I think that this is a very descriptive start to your story. It captures your audience perfectly with the first couple of lines and keeps them hooked right to the end. I would suggest, just for more clarity and overall impact, removing the father's dialogue from the paragraphs narrating the mc's inner monologues and descriptions. By doing this the reader won't need to backtrack what they've already read to figure out who's speaking. Even though it's clear in your mind, your reader is oblivious. Another point I'd mention is the part where you have him saying another expletive with each step. Perhaps try something like:
Third step: "I hate you!"
Fourth step: "You killed her!"
Fifth step: "Get up!"
On the sixth I pushed up and....
Can you see the difference? It's a bit more concise and adds much more oomph without losing any of the tension you are building. Very good premise, though. And with a serious edit for structure I think it will be a hit. :)

[Alleyway Rover]

Hello there. Just kicking around the forum looking for something to read and I randomly came upon this and struck me as interesting enough for a looksee.

Overview:
Nice start to this book. I like the fact that we are tossed right into the middle of this conflict. No real backstory, although hints are scattered here and there. There’s not even any indication of what instigated this brawl (other then, perhaps, a skin-full of booze) and there’s something kinda cool about that as well. It makes me feel like, whatever started this, it doesn’t matter. It adds a feeling of senselessness to it as well as a feeling of desperation.

Some of your descriptions are right on and really add to the richness of this piece.
‘All I could see was blood. All I could taste was blood. ”

The hallway was littered with an explosion of beer cans, shards of glass belonging to a picture frame bent on the floor, and pieces of a calendar.

There are also a few that either don’t add as much to the piece or don’t put the image in the reader’s head that I feel like you’re going for:

“Touching the back of my throbbing head to feel the silky liquid in my hair”
Not sure if ‘silky’ is the right word to describe blood. This might be subjective, but it just stuck out in my mind and the more I turned it over in my head, the more it just didn’t sound right.

“I heaved up the plank locking the basement door from the outside world”
Strikes me as unnecessary. Doors by definition separate the inside from the outside.

Here’s a few additional spots I found as I went through this chapters:

“The dried wooden oak creaked beneath his feet.”
earlier you mention the floor is stone. Then a little later you talk about the girl picking herself up off the gravel. Not sure if this setting is clear in your mind, yet.

“I sprung to my feet and stabbed the jagged half of the rum bottle into his left thigh.”
Here again, you made it sound like she had picked herself off the floor earlier and was already standing by this point.

“The baby blue walls were decorated with holes and cracked plaster resulting from my body, which Abe threw around like a ragdoll, and the white trim with a nonexistent door, removed many years ago which was consequence of the door being locked when Abe was trying to get in, drunk and full of wrath.”

Bit of a run-on sentence here. Lots of good description but I feel like you’re trying to rush it. Give the moment the time in needs.

“I heard Abe’s attempts to open the cellar door, and knew it wouldn’t be long before his hunt for me began.”

I’m not sure why he’s having trouble. I don’t recall her locking the door or anything else to keep him down there.

Like I said, nice start. It’s engaging enough that I will be reading more to see where this conflict is going.

Cheers!

[OrvisEd]

“The dried wooden oak creaked beneath his feet.”
-He's walking down the steps, which are wood. She is at the bottom of the stairs, where the floor is unfinished. I did mention he was walking down the steps...
“I heard Abe’s attempts to open the cellar door, and knew it wouldn’t be long before his hunt for me began.”
-He's drunk and has a leg wound, which would be why he is having problems.

Thank you for the review and suggestions, I really appreciate it! This will help me further improve my story.

I look forward to hearing more from you!

OrvisEd

[Alleyway Rover]

Okay upon rereading that part, yeah I don't know why the creaking oak threw me. Brain malfunction, I guess. The gravel vs the stone floor is still a little weird to me, but that might just be me.

I got that he was drunk and wounded, but unless his leg was hurt so bad he couldn't walk (and chapter 2 seems to suggest that is not the case) I don't think that would stop him from charging up the stairs after her. In fact the booze might help negate the injury since it would numb the pain considerably.
Or maybe not. Just a thought.

[OrvisEd]

When the bottle hit the stone 'floor' I actually meant to write wall. So there would be a stone foundation and the gravel floor (unfinished basement). I re-read what you were referring to and found the error. Thanks! I never would have noticed otherwise!!

[OrvisEd]

I've made some changes based on your suggestions, and I find what I've come up with is better than before. If you're interested, please take a look and let me know what you think. =]

[Sue Hart]

Captured every moment of a horrific experience. You had my heart beating fast to see if she would escape. More...give me more.