Monster.

Tired of her life with an oppressive stepfather and inattentive mother, she kills herself. But she wakes up. And she's different.

Monster

Her body was at the bottom of the lake drifting to and fro among the weeds; one with the weeds. The red marks on her ankle came from the tough nylon rope connecting her to the anchor that helped her sink to the floor. She was not breathing now. Above her on the placid surface of the water, a noble fishing boat stood guard with one oar drifting away. She used to be so different. She used to be insecure; a somewhat average girl who’s weight was always fighting against her. A girl who only had two separate eyebrows because she kept close watch over the sapling hairs between them. A girl who applied face wash, anti-acne gel, and oil-free moisturizers nightly yet still woke up with red spots on her face. She was not completely offensive in her looks. She was plain. Average. Then everything changed after the death of her father. She had always hated everything about him: the way he talked, the jokes he made, his criticisms, the way he made her feel like she wasn’t good enough. When he died, she didn’t shed a tear. She didn’t actually hate him. She just hated the idea of him. Her father, as a person, was an excellent man who loved her. It was the way that he always bragged about his memory, but was also seeing a neurologist because he couldn’t remember everyday words that bothered her. When he died, she was sad that he had gone but she couldn’t bring herself to tears even though she tried. After he died, her mother lost control. The girl would fight with her brother for her mother’s attention. She always lost this battle because her brother was so much more fragile than her. He did badly in school and in life so he needed more attention. This is when she started to go south. First, her eating habits began to slowly dissipate. If she couldn’t get attention from her family members, she was going to have to get it somewhere else. Soon she was a size 2 and the empty feeling was not just in her stomach. To fill this gap, she started getting to know some boys much better than she used to. This did nothing to ease her pain, and instead prompted her friends to talk about her behind her back and call her names like “attention w***e” and “s**t”. Her mother, stretched by the death of her husband began to see another gentleman. The girl supposed that she liked the man because he made her mother happy, though she had rarely ever seen the man, much less talked to him. One day he got on one knee and the wedding came six months later. Even though he was by no means poor, the ring he had purchased for the girl’s mother had a low-quality silver setting with one miniscule rock. She thought that maybe he was under the impression that her mother was a simple person who would appreciate the simplicity of this ring. Later she found out that this was not the case. He was a widower, and it was obvious that when her mother sat holding hands with him in front of the TV, both were imagining someone else sitting beside them. With him, something else was introduced into the house: alcohol. He would drink almost constantly when he got home from work. When her mother wasn’t home yet, he would yell at her and her brother. He would call her a fat w***e and her brother a stupid f*g. Once she saw him actually hit her brother. Her meals decreased in frequency. Her attendance at parties that were later crashed by the police increased in frequency. Her overnight stays at boys’ houses increased in frequency. Her futile struggles proved to her that she was not, could never be, enough.

A month later she went out in her step-father’s fishing boat, added a bit of saltwater to the lake by her house, tied an anchor to her leg, and jumped into the lake with no intention of coming back up.

She did come back up though. After she stopped breathing, her problems were not over. There she sat at the bottom of the lake, lungs filled with water. Weeds surrounded her. She was a part of the weeds; a decoration to their home. They welcomed her in like she belonged. They wrapped themselves around her and started to become part of her. Her skin took on a paler complexion. The weeds melted into her skin. Her eyes opened. One thought: revenge.

Something came alive in her. Her appearance changed slightly but drastically at the same time. Slowly she went through a metamorphosis in her weedy chrysalis. Her figure filled out a little until she was perfectly skinny and curvy all over. Her bleach-blonde hair became darker until it was a dark auburn. Her legs extended slightly and so did her neck. Her cheek bones became more prominent. Her lips became fuller. Her eyes turned a soft grey-blue. And though so little change had happened, she was unrecognizable. She looked perfect and beautiful but less real somehow. She reached down for the rope on her ankle and with a flick of her wrist, it broke off. She didn’t need to breathe anymore. Her lungs felt nothing whether they were empty or filled. Her heart kept beating but it changed just like her appearance. It wasn’t warm like it used to be. It was metallic and stiff.

With two kicks, she was back up to the surface of the lake, and it took her little time to get to the shore once she started. She tentatively settled her bare foot on the muddy lakeside remembering how to walk and becoming accustomed to her new, perfectly muscled, long legs. Her ivory skin shown off by her short shorts and tank-top seemed to glow very softly in the moonlight, making her a beautiful mystery. She was both stunning and unnatural as she walked down the slim stretch of gravel road that connected her house with the rest of the world toward the lights in the distance.

It wasn’t long before a handsome teenage boy with too much testosterone for his own good started approaching in a pick-up truck that was somewhere between red and orange with a rusted fender. She put up her thumb and threw on a careless smile. Naturally, the boy stopped to pick up a pretty girl. “Going into town?” he asked. She giggled and said yes. “Hop in,” he said with an overconfident smile. She climbed into the cab, and crossing her legs delicately, buckled her seatbelt. The boy noticed her bare feet, but didn’t care enough to mention it. She realized, looking at his face, that she knew this boy. He went to her school, and was, in fact, one of her first boyfriends after her dad died. She flashed back to another setting on the hills, under the trees. The same cab and the same worn, red bench seat.

They sat there on the hill overlooking the town with his hand on hers. She was looking out at the lights and he was looking at her. She hadn’t eaten that day but her stomach had stopped growling. After a while, she turned to him. “What are you looking at?” she asked.

“You, Hailey,” he replied and put his fingers through hers. He made her feel so good whenever she was around him. Like she was important. He leaned in until his face was inches from hers. “I think I love you,” he said. And he kissed her. It wasn’t her first kiss, but it was her first kiss with him. They kissed for a couple seconds before she opened her mouth to allow his tongue in. He wasn’t the best kisser ever. In fact, he was a little aggressive in the way his tongue wriggled around in her mouth. She didn’t care though, and when his hand started to slide up her leg under her short skirt, she did not push it away. From that point, there was very little talking besides when she asked him if he had a condom and he pulled one out of his wallet. That was her first time.

A week later she found out he also thought he loved three other girls at the same time.

At the present, however, he asked her, “What’s your name?”

“Jessica,” Hailey said. She didn’t recognize her voice at first. It had raised in pitch a little, but was not shrill. “And yours?” she asked in return.

“Adam,” he said, and bit his lip afterward looking forward which was one of his strongest vices. She could still find herself attracted to him: his spotless face, his strong arms, his shining white teeth. But she hated him much more. She hated the way he made her feel like she was extraordinary and then crushed her in one fell swoop. She hated him for saying he loved her so he could use her.

“Pull over,” she said.

“Umm… Alright,” he said and he drove the truck over to the dirt shoulder. As soon as he put the truck in park, she was all over him. She leaned over with her hand on his leg, kissing him. He didn’t back away. Strike one. He kissed back, eventually putting his hand on the back of her thigh. His hand slowly slid up her skin just like last time. Strike two. A second later he said “Hold on.” Huh, maybe he could redeem himself. He pulled out his wallet and grabbed a little packet that said Trojan. Strike three. She kissed him again; stronger this time. She opened her mouth and his tongue invaded just like last time. She was overwhelmed with hatred. She wanted to kill him for making her feel this way. How many other girls did he have this time? And he was just going to do some stranger he found on the side of the road? As the rage took over, she could feel a change. She could do it; she could kill him. She threw her leg to the other side of him, grabbed his face tightly, and just like she was exhaling, she poured gallons of lake water into his mouth. His once strong arms struggled against her, but she was stronger now and he couldn’t win. He started to choke and sputter. He couldn’t breathe. She held on until his lungs were completely filled with water. His heart stopped beating.

She backed away, wiped her mouth and pushed him out of the tuck, vindicated. Now that that was done, she turned the key and continued into town.

 She only had to make one stop. She walked into the hardware store and bought a length of thick, brown rope. Even in the short time it took to do this, she caught the eye of every male in the store. Determined, she got back into the truck and drove back the way she had come.

On the way, she passed the spot where she made Adam pull over. Slowing down to look at him, she remembered more about him. She remembered when she went over to his house one day and his little sister said “Hi Hailey!” then ran to hide behind her brother’s leg. A pang of regret ran through her as she thought of what that little girl would say when she was told that her brother was found on the side of the road and that he had drowned to death. Her next victim would be more deserving.

The truck turned down a familiar street lined with old houses, like the kind with no attic and exposed rafters that gave them “character.” When the truck reached number 475, Hailey backed it into the driveway smoothly. Hailey took the rope in her hand and walked like a lawyer into a courtroom up to the front door. She picked the key from her pocket, unlocked the door, and went straight inside. Her steps were quiet as she walked to the kitchen. Once there, she found exactly what she expected: her stepfather bent over in the fridge looking for another beer. She took another step, this time smacking her foot down on the vinyl floor. Her stepfather snapped around and looked confused for a second. Then his expression changed, and he looked her up and down, taking in her beauty. This made Hailey feel a little sick and she began work immediately. She walked up, circled around him as he stood dumbstruck, thinking that he was about to live some sort of fantasy. Then when she was behind him, she threw the rope over his head and pulled it tight. His hand reached behind him and grabbed her by the hair. He was stronger than Adam. He pulled her around to face him and slapped her with and open hand. It stung her face and forced a single tear to fall from her eye, then the anger returned.  She was in charge now. She grabbed his face, covering his mouth with her hand while her other hand restrained his. This time the water poured out from Hailey’s hand and filled her stepfather’s lungs. It wasn’t long before his heart, too, had stopped beating. He fell to the floor and she saw what she had done. She took the rope included in her original plan and used it to make a noose. Then she hoisted her stepfather up by the rafters and tied a good knot. Her mission complete, she walked out for good.

She got back into the Truck and just started driving. She was way above the speed limit but she didn’t care and wasn’t going to stop for anyone. She didn’t know where she was going; she just knew that she was running. But while she was running, she thought about everything that had happened. First to break through her barrier was the image of a little girl hiding behind her brother’s leg. Second, came the dead body of the boy she killed. Third was the image of the man she was forced to call ‘dad’ hanging from the rafters. Last, was the image of her mom hopping down the stairs in the morning on her way to get some breakfast and the look on her face when she realized that her second husband was dead.

She pulled over on the side of the road and started crying. Then, without thinking, she took out the keys, abandoned the car and started running. She was just half a mile from another small town and it didn’t take too long for her to run out of breath and collapse on the sidewalk beside a redbrick building. She sat herself up against it and pulled her knees up by her face and cried into them. The saltwater of the tears made her feel like she couldn’t live; not like how she was before she killed herself, but like there was no life inside of her. Once she started to feel the blood pulsing in her head and feel the pain of it, there was a tap on her shoulder. She looked up through her blurry tears to find a boy wearing dark corduroys, a white button-down shirt and thick, black glasses, and holding a beautiful rose out to her.

Reviews

[patricia]

Engaging start. Sophisticated understanding of issues. I liked the metamorphic description.
'too much hormones' didn't sound right. How about 'too much testosterone?'
Imaginative re: the gallons of lake water killings. I didn't expect that!
A page turning, suspense building, good read. It flowed well. Thankyou.

[Weaver]

"was at the bottom" - try "lay at the bottom"
comma, not semicolon, after "among the weeds"
start new paragraph with "She used to be so different"
"girl who’s weight" - "whose"
start new paragraph with "Then everything changed after the death of her father"
"was an excellent man who loved her" - Doesn't sound as if he was "an excellent person."
comma after "sad that he had gone"
"her mother lost control" - give more detail - "lost control" could mean just about anything
comma after "in school and in life"
"Soon she was a size 2" - "a size two" - comma after - Believe it or not, not every young woman who is this size is too thin; it's a perfectly healthy size (pretending for a moment that there is a standardized "size 2," which there isn't) for someone who is only five feet tall and small-boned, for example. And that's an adult woman - teenage girls are still growing and are generally smaller anyway.
comma after "death of her husband"
comma after "one knee"
WAY too much backstory at the beginning; most of this information can be worked in later.
comma after "She did come back up"
comma after "part of the weeds"
comma before "with a flick of her wrist"
comma after "heart kept beating"
comma after "muddy lakeside"
Start a new paragraph whenever there's new dialogue.
"into the cab, and crossing her legs delicately, buckled her seatbelt" - comma after "and," not before
comma after "out at the lights"
comma after "hadn't eaten that day"
comma after "She didn't care"

That's just part of the chapter, but you get the idea.
There isn't much happening here, either in action or in characterization - the latter because you gloss over the relevant details as well as bury them under a lot of backstory facts.
The massive blocks of text make this hard to read. Break it up into smaller paragraphs, especially when you get to any kind of dialogue.