And then there was one- (lacking structure) This is the start of my first short story - Writers Forum

jadakiss · 11-22-2007, 11:41 AM

Chapter One: That’s Just The Way Things Where
1998-2003

Picture this it’s a warm June day, sunlight steamed into my window as I lay spread across my mothers bed. Taken in by the sweet smell of the perfume that dad had brought her for the baby shower just the other day. Dad said “It’s unfair, all this attention to the parcel and forgetting the packaging” everyone had laughed at that point although I don’t all together know why.
To my left was Charlie, he’d fallen asleep clutching the long necked Dinosaur Grandma had given him so long ago that the hind legs were stuck in a mangled position. Charlie was my hero, always has been really for as long as I can remember.
Mum said I followed him everywhere. I remember mum laughing, oh how her laugh made my heart swell with warmth, she used to say “Has anyone seen a little girl, around this high” indicating just below her hip. “She goes by the name of Elizabeth”
At which point Charlie would give a shrug of the shoulders and reply “Nope sorry mum, only me and me shadow here” and then laugh hysterically out of the room with his shadow behind him.
And then to my right on the Bennie Bag Bed was Lindsey, listening to her walkman and using mum’s lap top as usual. She tells mum its for work but I’ve looked loads of times and she normally talking to Bev or Laura which is pointless Laura lives two doors down and Bev is at my house every day at some point normally dinner time.
Lindsey was older than Charlie and I, I tried to be her friend like I was Charlie’s but she just said I was annoying and if I asked if I could help her at all she usually said something like “If you really want to help me, then you would play something quite that involves you being as far away from me and my stuff as possible”.
Mum says that Lindsey got her attitude and flare for words from the Italian side of the family and said her own mamma had a high spirit. Lindsey was 14, Charlie was 7 and I was the baby as everyone reminded me at 6. However with the new baby I wont be the youngest anymore I will be mummy’s big girl just like Lindsey.
Charlie awoke with his habitual reserve of energy and pounded out of the room with a cheeky smile just as I had laid back against the pillows to take in that warm loving smell one more time before I myself left the room.
Mum had insisted that me and Charlie go and rest before dinner because we had a long day ahead tomorrow and an early start.
In the kitchen I found mum fussing over things “Touching up on the odd jobs” that’s what she used to call it. Really she was cleaning already immaculate work tops, looking for cracked crockery that was never cracked and hovering the vibrancy out of every carpet in the house.
As I watched mum dust the squeaky clean cabinet in the living room for the forth time today dad walked in with a big smile and an even bigger bag of Chinese food, Charlie instantly came pelting out of the Dinning room and even Lindsey managed to emerge from the internet zone to give her father a kiss on the check and an ever so cool “Hi Dad” as she retreated to take yet another phone call.
It took only a matter of minuets that night and we were all sat round the dinning room table eating Chinese food and talking amongst ourselves with ease and excitement about the annual camping trip ahead of us. Little did I know that these times of happiness, these times of complete harmony and peace were about to be broken and shattered into a zillion pieces like a crystal vase dropped from a great height, In its whole irreplaceable, shuttered worth nothing more than scattered glass.
Mum continued to clean, I asked dad what she was doing, why she was cleaning so much? Dad said she was nesting.
“Nesting” I’d ask, “but mum’s not gong to have a bird is she”.
No, don’t be silly” dad would say
“Its just when mums are expecting a new baby they want to make sure every thing is clean and tidy, all the time you know organised”
When he said this I thought about it and then said “it’s a shame mum’s not pregnant all the time, maybe then she wouldn’t forget to pack my swimming things all the time”
Dad gave me a playful push and told me not to be so cheeky, and with that it was the end of that.

Mum had the baby July 16th. Helen Jessica Riley, mum has been out of hospital for about five weeks and today Helen is allowed to go home. I’m sitting in the car with Lindsey and Charlie while Mum and Dad just grab the last of our bits from Gran & Grandpa’s house they take like what seemed an age, then my parents emerged from my Grandparents pleasant little house. As we take off from their drive they both wave and smile as usual and we in return wave back but the car was silent, to silent. Their was something in their silence that rang as loud as a train and that was that something just wasn’t right. But we drove down to the Lewisham Discharge Department all the same to collect my beautiful little sister.
On the way home from the hospital I sat in silence my ability to normally find something to talk about had been clogged-up by the thought of such a tiny baby needing so many different types of medication. I wanted to ask mum or dad why Helen needed the medicine, I was already nearly seven and I had never taken that many tablets or even seen that many in my whole life. I wanted to ask why Helen was coming home at all if she needed the doctors help to make her better, but the sad and empty stare from my mums eyes as she looked out of her window made me think twice. So I sat back in silence watching the tears roll solemnly down her pale tired face.
I didn’t ask why that day nor any other day. Helen came into the world July 16th , came home August 21st and by September 9th she was gone. On that night I was woken by the most terrifying waling I have ever heard even to this day the thought sends cold shivers down my spine and that was the night that Helen died, my Mum broke down and cried for day’s and my Dads heart broke silently and this is when things changed. A dark cloud descended upon us that night and stayed for many years to come. Our unit had broken Helen may not have been with use very long but she was one of us a Riley and now she was gone. Things could never be the same Lindsey stayed in her room a lot and even Charlie didn’t want to do anything except sit by mum’s side. So that’s why, that’s why mum never let her stay with the doctors, why the doctor who would come every other day always lowered his head and shook his head as he left the room, because Helen came home to die.
Two years we went on like this, mum crying every time we went to the supermarket. Seeing a little girl who had the same hair colouring or looked about the age Helen would be sent memories cascading back. Dads silence and his temper. He’s never hit Mum or any of us but lately he goes off for days and when mum asks him where he’s been, he says “ None of your business what’s the point in having a get away if the person your running from knows where it is”
This would always start another row and then Dad would leave again. Lately the back of he’s head as he leaves or the sound of raised voices is all I have to savour of the loving bond that once occupied its place. No longer do the days seem topped with the sweet feel of stability and security. But instead feel as though the earth on which I stood could shift and move and swallow me at any moment. Without warning as it had my baby sister along with my happy memories.
Dad didn’t come home that night, nor the rest of that month. When he did finally come home it was a quiet evening, I was supposed to be in bed but I sat on the top step just out of view, surrounded by the darkness I looked at my father and even then at 8 I knew he didn’t look in the mood to talk. I thought then of the times he had chased me and Charlie round the house, pulling funny faces at Lindsey when she commented on “How mature” he was. Just the thought made tears swell in the eyes that were sore and dry with exhaustion, over the last three weeks mum had taken to her bed with a bottle of whiskey most days complaining that she felt weak and that she was going to have a lie down which left me and Charlie to the house work, and fend for ourselves. Mum didn’t even go a cash her dhs cheque which she got bi-weekly anymore.
We didn’t even go to school Neither of us, we each had our own responsibilities now. Charlie did odd jobs like cleaning cars, clearing gardens of weeds and rubbish he may only be 9 but he was “Built to last” as grandma used to say. Grandma died the same year as Helen and Grandad was put into a home for old people because the authorities said that with the grief the family had already suffered it would be unwise to commit to such a position. Lindsey didn’t speck much nowadays she seemed to have really gone into herself. She works at a factory packing boxes with house hold solvents, long hours, low pay, no talk just money in hand no questions asked. She blames herself for not being strong enough to look after us but I try to reassure her everything will be fine, Charlie makes her laugh when he has the energy to, And Dad comes home in the dead of night to leave‘s whatever he can, sometimes a tenner most nights a fiver. And we all look after mum. Together the five of us.
Dad hadn’t been there long when returned to the hall way with a bag and his old camping coat and it was then that I realised that he was going. He too was leaving. Just as he began looking for his keys in the kitchen he must have got a better look at the stairs. He looked straight at me, his hair over grown and the beard that was once cut clean was rough and dirty but underneath he was my dad. The smiling, laughing dad he used to be. He removed his hat and started towards me. He sat on the step at the bottom of the stairs humbly, I didn’t move, infact I don’t think I even breathed. I wanted not to have the forthcoming conversation I wanted to just go to bed and wake up in the old house the one we live in now just the happy place. Filled with laughter and joy and the smell off roasted chicken or freshly baked tarts or biscuits that mum always made on a Friday. But instead here I was. Alone. Alone I a house full of people. It was Friday but today there were no cookies or biscuits only a sad house with sad people and a sadder situation about to get worse. Dad gestured for me to come and sit next to him without even removing his gaze from his mobile held firmly in his hand. I hesitated and then came swiftly down the stairs suddenly feeling about 10 degrees cooler than hunched in a ball at the top. I came to the bottom step and occupied the seat next to the shadow of my father.
Without looking my way he began to speak “ I’ve planned to stay at a mates for a while.” there was a pause I thought he would say more. He rouse up and made for his bag all the time his gaze fixed on the floor. “Are you coming back ..“ I paused no answer came. “Dad are you coming back” I hadn’t moved, I watched as if in a parallel universe unable to stop the motions played before me. He made for the door hanging his keys on the key hook as he moved, he stopped at the door and turned I was beside him, I don’t know how. I grabbed his sleeve and tried to pull him back but my feet were sliding on the cold lino floor of the hall. “Please dad , please don’t go…. Mum will get better soon. I promise and we can all start again, all together somewhere new”. He didn’t look at me I cried quietly but inside I was braking.
He tried to walk toward the front door I held steadfast. He opened the door I felt a cold breeze run through my body and dance on my spine. He tried to jerk further away. Still not looking at me I gazed recklessly up at him pleading “Dad talk to me.. I haven’t done anything.. Please” my mouth was drying up it was as if my saliva seemed to be welding my mouth shut and my streaming tears blurred my vision. I fell to the floor my left knee shoot with pain I was hurt but I couldn’t let him go not another person I love gone.
I felt a pair of hands grab my arms firmly, I lifted my head expecting to see my dad looking at me and instead all I saw was the back of my dads figure as he re-gathered the items I had grabbed from him and picked up his bag. The hands I felt were Charlie’s warm and loving as he held me close to his body .He turned looked up at Charlie who’s eyes were red but with what I couldn’t tell if it was Pain and tears or sheer murderous anger and hatred or even worse a mixture of both.
I fought shouting through my tears “Dad I love you .. Please I know you love me, you might have forgotten it but its ok cause.. “ I searched for the words my brain frantic and my lungs screaming for air . He turned to me kissed me then left the house, the street, the ones who loved him most. And there I lay I Charlie’s arms for what seemed like an eternity. And then there were four. That night I laid in Charlie’s bed to the calming sound of Charlie’s breathing and later feel asleep to the soft lonely cries of my mother.
I didn’t care anymore, I couldn’t, it hurts you know to feel as though your whole life is falling down bit by bit and there is nothing in your power you can do to stop it or even support it for a while. I don’t really know how long we all struggled for but piece by piece mother pulled herself out of her black hole as me and Charlie put it. Charlie had been there for me even when I was difficult to handle. For what seemed a long while after dad left I blamed him for letting him go. It was unfair and I know that now especially given the fact that he was and always will be my hero.
Its five days before Christmas and mum has been promising us the best Christmas ever. Involving all the specials turkey with all the trimmings, Christmas puddings with decorations and even presents this year. Since dad left mum banned Christmas saying normally in a bitter tone that “Christmas’s are for families and since you brats have ruined any chance of there being any family, fuck you all”, Us brats have become accustom to being called the fuckers, or little cunts. And to be honest its just nice to be seen. Nowadays we can go days without mum even coming out of her bedroom. She would just sit in her room dressed in her old grey shorts with her torn black t-shirt that was covered in holes from the funny fags mum sometimes got from her visitors. Mums visitors came at all times of the day and night. I would even sometimes have to get up and make cups of tea for the men that visited. Some where nice most times I would get a smile and a little nudge under the chin, the nicest ones even gave me a pound if I sat on their knee.
For a while things seemed to be looking up regular meals, almost clean clothes and Christmas just around the corner. I thought about Dad everyday still but somehow the pain had dulled. Mum’s nightly visitors came during the day too sometimes. I use to wonder what went on during these visits. Frankie was a younger lad that used to come by and visit mum, he was so good-looking and he always had plenty of time for me, made me feel a warm glow when he held me by the hand or when he guided me around only ever placing one hand on the arch of my back. Sometimes we would make the tea together and he would stand close behind me to make sure I didn’t burn myself. Then one day I was about to ask Frankie if he would like a cup of tea, when I walked into my mum and dads room I saw my mother spread naked and blindfolded across her bed face down with her ankles and wrists tide to the four corners of her bed, with Frankie thrusting behind her forcefully I almost cried out, almost went into attack mode when I heard my mother say in a calm and placid voice “Five more minuets, big boy!” I looked from my mother to Frankie who was looking directly at me as he pushed harder into my mother, that’s when I understood, that was the moment I realised. I turned without a sound and quietly closed the door behind me feeling suddenly sick. As I left the room and slid against the wall I felt eye’s watching me and I turned to my left to see Lindsey in the doorway of her room next door with her hand stretched out and a look on her face I couldn’t quite place, maybe a combination of shame and understanding!
I didn’t mention that day to mother and I made Frankie his cups of tea although now I knew what they were up to I saw them for what they were all men. First my dad runs off in the night like the coward he is and then these men come into my house and fuck my mum leaving the smell of sex to infect everything. Well I began to get my own back in my own little way. I would wipe the tea bag around the dirtiest nocks and crannies in the house I could find. My favourite was the toilet seat if you lifted it up there was always a thick layer of a white-off coloured substance due to the fact that we lived in a house where no-one cared enough to clean that thoroughly . I have no idea what it was all I knew was it was nasty. Frankie would never notice and neither did the rest of the dirty old men that visited. Christmas came and went with none of the promised festivities, mum was beaten up by one on the visitors again and he stole all of her savings along with the money Charlie had made on odd jobs. He said it was a lesson for getting involved, he said “A whores pimp is no business for a boy!” I watched my brother wrestle with that shabby looking man with every last effort and then watched his heart break as the realisation hit him…….. That this penny’s worth of a man was right!

BlueLucario · 11-23-2007, 01:42 PM

Very Good, I like the way you grabbed my attention this is what I love the most about reading stories.

In the 2nd or 3rd paragraph, instead of saying Mum insisted Carrie and me, say "Carrie and I".

On that last paragraph I don't have to explain to you how disturbing that one was.

Other than that, your writing is excellent.

BlueLucario · 11-23-2007, 01:45 PM

This is a double post please Delete this.

VigorousMastication · 11-23-2007, 03:23 PM

Hmmm... You have a strong narrative voice that comes through in both pieces you've written. It's angry and raw, and at the moment it's your strongest asset. You also have a knack for choosing the right word at the right time. Don't knock it, because some of us would kill for that

. Reading your work, it's clear you have an understanding of how good writing should sound, and from what I've seen so far, I think you have a lot of talent.

Okay, now for the critiques. You need to work on your grammar. I said this when I commented on your last piece, and I'll keep saying it until you get it right; I'd be doing you a disservice otherwise. If you wanted someone to tell you it was fantastic, you could give it to your friends. I think you're here to become a better writer, and the only way you'll ever get there is by revising your grammar till you can do it in your sleep.

You need to understand that a sentence contains a single idea, and where you want to include other ideas to support that initial, main thought, you need to split them off with grammar, or put them into another sentence. The best way to pick this up is by reading. As shitty as that sounds, all good authors are also good readers. Read enough, and you get a feel for what goes where, even though you might not be able to articulate it if someone asked you why.

So, read like you're going blind tomorrow, and try to stick to good authors. F. Scott Fitzgerald is good, and Mark Twain is a favourite of mine. Ray Bradbury is good for short stories if you're into that kind of thing, and Neill Gaiman is hilarious. Brett Easton Ellis is another one of my favourites; American Psycho is hypnotic in a fucked up kind of way. Chuck Palahniuk is also very good, and his writing has a dark voice similar to your own. Try to look at the way these authors construct their sentences, and try to emulate what they do. I don't mean for you to copy their style, but emulating them will help you get a good grasp of grammar, and allow you develop your own style.

One more thing. If you want comments and crits, try to submit something a bit more polished. It doesn't have to be perfect, but it helps if it's easy on the eyes. It doesn't take much to read over your work and put a space between the paragraphs and dialogue, and it makes it much easier for the people who have to read it. Give it a bit of structure next time

. As someone once said in response to one of my own pieces: if you don't put in the effort, why should I?

Cheers!

VM

adrianhayter · 11-23-2007, 03:47 PM

Please Jadakiss - reformat this with lots of spaces before and after dialog. I would sincerely like to read the work but my microscope is in the shop -hint! Bigger type please.

Adrian

jadakiss · 11-27-2007, 07:16 PM

I've still got to change the numrical numbers to written i know but the structure does in prove the flow of the read! i feel xx

Eli Cash · 11-27-2007, 07:40 PM

The first sentence is a run-on. The second is a fragment.