Chapter 1

1

 

I wake up with a startle, pitch black outside. The alarm clock flashes 2 am in my face. You can’t get up! Too weak for that now. Stop it! I shout to myself. The aches in my legs make it hard to walk; and I struggle to get out of bed. But in the end I succeed.

Steam escapes the safety of the mug, the fresh smell hit my nose the moment I poor the milk in. I look out the window, into the vast dark night sky outside; the steam leaving the coffee mug, entering my noise with the smell of coffee. I close my eyes, taking in the aroma. My back hairs raise, an old addiction is reawakened. I start to wake up.

It’s been three weeks since I had a proper night’s sleep. The effect of so little sleep was starting to show on my body, especially in my mind. I cannot think straight. I am starting to see figures, people, and little children. The worst one hit me two weeks ago. I thought I saw my dad, sitting alone in the kitchen on the floor. I helped him up, and made us both coffee. I sat next to him the whole night, talked to him like he was actually there. I fell asleep, woke the next morning and had a fright when I saw the full mug coffee still standing on the table. He wasn’t there.

 

                “Why are you awake so early in the morning,” my mom comes in the kitchen, only wearing a night gown, a little bit too small for her though. I ignore her, looking through the window; drinking the coffee slowly.

“So you are still not going to answer me,”

“I still don’t know why you had to say it to me,” I don’t look at her when I talk.

 “Why then? Why in front of all the people? Why humiliate our family name so much,” I put the mug down, a little harder than I should have. I turn around slowly, looking her in the eyes. My fingers move against the edges of the table, my eyes open, flaming with anger.

“I am sorry,” she walks toward me, but I walk away, brushing my hands against her thighs. I stop at the door frame; my body fill the empty space. Her black hair is straight, long behind her back. Her eyes are blue, but without love, harden by life itself; pale skin with wrinkles, showing her real age.

“Do you know what it feels like to live day by day without him, not seeing him rush in my room after work, ‘Hey son!’, I will never hear his voice again, I will never see his smile, I will never be able to hug him,” I sigh quiet, the air escaping through my mouth, emptying my lungs. I clench my fist, trying not to explode in anger; I close my eyes as well, feeling the rage building in my blood. The frame suddenly feels too small, tight around me. I need to get out, I need fresh air.

“Wait; please just wait before you go. I really didn’t want to do it, I really loved your...” I walk away before she finishes. I cannot take her voice anymore. All the lies have hardened me; all her lies just fuel my hate. I run outside, into the night air. Gravel on the road pierces my bare feet, the cold air tickling my naked body. I walk across the road, the place where I always feel safe; the field where he died. The long grass nips my legs; I take in the fresh air. I walk slowly, left leg in front of my right leg. Single dots of light shine across the field, homes filled with love, people dreaming of futures they believe in. A God they can talk to, a God they can believe in. Time passes slowly - second by second �" I sit on the grass. I look up at the stars, the ones we can see, the ones my dad showed me.

My skin tingles as the morning sun burn it. My boxer is wet from the damp grass. I sit in the middle of the grass field, my place to be alone and think. Pieces of dust fly loose through the air; birds sing their songs in the high trees, the sound of crashing waves are not far from me. I breathe deep, in and out. The grass tickles my naked thighs. Goosebumps start to form where the grass touches me, almost luring me out. My body is weak, with no energy, but I am not tired. My eyes are open, but my body is asleep. A slight breeze blows over the grass, covering my body with loose sand. People walk up and down the road, ignoring me. I blink twice; capturing the sunlight. My hands draw pictures in the sad, without looking at them. My finger digs deep into the sand, cutting it like butter. I close my eyes, imagining my father’s voice, his touch, his breath, his smell. I see him.

Author's Note

also new and edited =D please tell me what u think...

Reviews

[TheRavenQueer]

I like it. Very intense. A couple of grammatical errors, but nothing too serious. Considering English isn't your mother-tongue, you're doing a fantastic job. :) The first sentence is a bit choppy, maybe consider changing it to, "When I woke, it was pitch black outside." But if you still want to use the word "start", you can work it in. Other than that, I actually like the way you've written everything in present tense, as if it's happening right now. It's different. Well done, Jaco, I'll definitely keep reading. :)

[KAOlmsted]

I don't know that the piece is useless, and certainly backstory is never "dumb" to include, but I find it more interesting (to write and to read) when characters develop gradually. I wouldn't chuck it in the bin, but I wouldn't start the story with it, either. Maybe allude to the murder of the protagonist's father, but don't come right out and tell us the Mum did it right now; and maybe don't come right out and tell us the Mum is this wretched woman, either. Perhaps it would be more effective if we, the readers, came to that conclusion on our own by her actions later in the story.

[Jeremy Haynes]

This part is very good, and helps describe the people for later in the book, when you could use theses things to mess with their minds.