Chapter 1 - Rachel

SHADOWS

CHAPTER 1

RACHEL

Normally there's time to get out, to get away. But this time everything seemed to be against us. My mother and I were sitting in the lounge, watching reruns of America's Next Top Model. The sofa, sagging with age, was just about big enough for the both of us. Everything in our house needed updating, from the furniture to the wallpaper, though it had always seemed homely to me. Kind of lived in but cosy. I could never understand why Mum never had any of her friends round, but put it down to her being embarrassed. All of our friends lived in much bigger, grander houses. That was a while ago, when Mum still had friends that would have wanted to come round, before one of dads 'bad turns' drove them all away in fear.

I remember the day fairly well. It was about 3 years ago, when I was 13, and dad was supposed to be out at work. I'd been home from school for a few hours when mum got home, she'd been out shopping with two of her friends. They all went downstairs to the lounge for a while. Our house has a strange structure, with the front door being on the top floor with the bedrooms, and our kitchen and lounge-diner being downstairs.

My bedroom is the closest to the front door, so when it opened and my dad walked through, I could clearly smell the bitter odour of alcohol that seemed to radiate from his pores. The door slammed. The combination of that stench and the violent sound sent a bolt of pure fear through me. My dad has a vicious temper. This can be bad enough when he's sober, but when he's been drinking he can be lethal. My mum and I had experienced how bad his 'bad turns' as we called them could be. He can't be reasoned with like this. And there's no doubt that he could cause us serious harm, or worse, if his temper really flared.

So we always try to get out for a few hours, until he's cooled off or left again. It's not always easy. Although my mum tries to protect me as well as she can, I often have to make excuses, such as falling off bikes, for the sinister looking bruises I show up with at school.

When we return, the house normally looks like a bomb's hit it. Kitchen utensils and anything that had been left out on the surfaces are strewn across the floor, broken china and glass litters the floor, like a minefield of smashed plates, glasses and, on rare occasions, windows. It may seem awful but it's what we've grown used to. Besides, it's better he takes his anger out on the plates than on us. Seeing the bent handle of a fork that could have been an arm, a leg, a neck...

This particular day, seeing the extra pairs of shoes by the door was enough to start the swearing. From my room I heard his heavy footsteps retreat downstairs as he made a beeline for the lounge, throwing the door open with an almighty crash and a force that tore off one of the hinges. I was already pulling on a jumper and trainers when the shouting started, followed by crashes that I hoped were just caused by furniture. I didn't stick around to hear any more.

A little while later, my mum joined me on the bench in the park near our house that we normally went to. Her lip was bleeding and her eyes were already beginning to darken with bruises. We sat in silence and watched the sun set.

Her friends, I found out later, had fled when his attention had turned to her. Although this hadn't been him at anywhere near his worst, it had been enough to strike fear. As is always the way with incidents in friendship groups, news spread fast. With news of 'the incident' came wariness. And as wariness turned to hostility, my mother and I lost any hope of support that may have been present before.

Reviews

[Jack Wolfe]

Normally there's time to get out, to get away.(,) (b) But this time everything seemed to be against us.

(You normal(ly) don't want to start a story out with an adverb, try and avoid this as much as possible, especial(ly) ones.

Round, (around), you've used this twice, is this a common placement in the UK, I may be ignorant here.

I remember the day fairly well. (avoid adverbs, especial(ly) one, omit . . . I remember the day well (fairly adds nothing.)

I could (clearly) smell the

that (seemed) to (it weren't perceived, it did radiate from his pores)

(pure)fear through, try and avoid adding adjective, rather show the feeling through story telling.

An abusive tale of a family (perhaps) in disrepair, but you need to 'show' this story, rather than tell me what happened. (Johnny went to the store, Johnny bought milk, Johnny walked home, johnny shot his parents) there's a story here, but the reader doesn't experience it. Show this story through yours, or the main characters eyes.

I hope this helps. If you have any questions or comments, feel free to contact me.

[Kat Campbell]

Thanks!! Yeah, this is one of my first pieces so my writing techniques need work. I really appreciate you taking the time to read this and thanks for the feedback!