Elly sits at a thick-legged wooden table, dilute monday-morning light filtering through kitchen windows. Each breath is slow, deep and deliberate. She blinks once or twice, with eyes that are shadowed with smudged mascara. Her fingers are like wispy spider-legs shuffling through messy blonde hair. 1
Eighteen. She is eighteen now. The smell of left-over birthday hangs in the quietness of the room, as though it were clinging to the tacky floral wallpaper. The lights, the music, the laughter. It all echoes like a ghost town as Elly runs her fingers through her hair again.2
She pushes the chair back a few centimetres and leans forward, arms on table, head on arms. Each breath swells within her chest and a clock absentmindedly ticks away seconds in the next room; faint reminders of how many things she should be doing, or could be doing.3
School. There is always school. A cloud of gravity that will never let her fly free, no matter how many essays she writes, pencil stubs she chews on, roots of x she finds. There is always school, even when she can’t wake up in the morning, won’t get out of bed.4
5
Footsteps. Elly raises her head a fraction as her sister comes in.6
“Hey Chloe,” She says, but it comes out in a whisper. 7
“Morning gorgeous,” Chloe is older, she owns the house. “Have a good night?”8
“Mmmm, yeah.” Elly yawns, and doesn’t open her eyes for a few seconds.9
“What do you want for breakfast?” Chloe’s dressed and already smells like cigarettes. She probably has to work today.10
“Toast,” Elly mumbles. “I can do it”11
The toast takes an age to cook, and then it’s slightly burnt on one side. Elly scrapes vegemite from the bottom of a jar, but it’s not enough to smother the charcoal flavour. Each bite is thick and miserable.12
13
Chloe makes herself black coffee in a black mug, and arranges herself on the corner of a chair, crossing one leg over the other. Chloe’s complaining about money or gossiping about such-and-such, but to Elly it sounds like TV static between each crunch of toast-crust. Instead of listening, Elly stares at the stain of vegemite left on her plate until Chloe says she should get going, boss is probably waiting. Chloe picks up her handbag, and leaves to catch a bus two blocks away. 14
The door shuts, submersing Elly in haunted silence again. She lets diaphanous thoughts drift in and out of her mind, like the smell of smoke that lingers long after Chloe’s gone. Last night was a good night. Every night is a good night, Elly half smiles at that thought, the dizzy-headed dancing feels more real than brick school buildings and formulated smiles. 15
And anything would feel more real than her father; he’s sprawled like a red-eyed vegetable in his couch all day every day, TV raving, drink in hand. He lives 20 minutes away but hasn’t visited since June, and then he was really only after money. He hasn’t rung for her birthday, but Elly’s long given up expecting anything that fatherly from him.16
His house is falling down around his pitiful existence, and now Elly’s out of that hellhole she wishes she could put it far out of her thoughts. But nearly eighteen years is simply too much, and memories keep materialising, never leaving her alone regardless of how many times she tries to suppress it all.17
18
Elly stands up, head pounding, and moves over to the window to press her hands against the cold glass. For now, Elly surrenders and lets the unspeakable memories flood through her throbbing veins. 19
There was always three pairs of muddy sneakers suspended from powerlines outside her father’s derelict home, and when one pair plummeted in the wind, there’d soon be another. As a child, Elly always thought it was fairies or something, until Chloe told her it just meant their dad dealt drugs. She supposes the shoes are still there. She doubts her father’s changed at all. 20
There was always too much shouting, not enough money. Elly blinks back a few newborn tears, her polished eyes reflecting in the window. She breathes and fogs the glass. There were too many times her dad came home drunk, too many times he was angry. She stares out at the grey muted street, wishing she could forget everything, but all those years still blacken her life like plum-coloured bruises that won’t dissolve in bath water. 21
Elly. It’s all Elly’s fault. Ever since Angie died giving birth to her, everything’s been Elly’s fault and her father made sure she knew. Chloe’s the apple of her father’s eye, the princess, the angel, while Elly’s just some wild mistake of a vasectomy gone wrong, and it’s because of Elly that her mother died. 22
23
It’s easier to pretend she doesn’t have a dad, never had a mother. She never talks about it and so her friends live in peaceful oblivion. She never mentions it to Chloe either, ‘cause Chloe’s free from the ugly guilt that festers under Elly’s skin and simmers in her blood. Chloe wouldn’t understand. She lived with her father, watched him hit Elly, but she’s not the reason her mother’s dead. She’s never killed anyone.24
Elly’s friends don’t know. She’s never told them, they’ve never asked. To them she’s just a windswept girl who loves to party, not some nut drowned in guilt, swamped by her shameful past. They don’t know anything.25
Elly takes a step back from the window, and flips her fringe back from her eyes. The clock is still ticking, but it’s not even 9 yet. Maybe she’ll get to school today.26
xx
Author notes
It's written for English; I had to write a story in which I would 'communicate some dark, unpalatable secret aspect of this character or their circumstances.'
First story I've written in present tense, first story about someone older than I am. And apart from my similar lack of love for Monday mornings, this piece is purely fictional.
xx
A contest entry
- 1 Vs 100 by pathetic.
3135 points, ended November 27, 2007, 71 entries
• next story in this contest, remove from contest
Critical comments are most welcome.
Comments
1 - 16 of 16
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I enjoyed this piece a lot. I never had any touble understanding the character, and you pulled off the present tense aspect admirably.
There was one thing I noticed that affected the flow of the work in general, and that is word usage. For the most part, this piece had a wonderful flow that was very easy to read, which made those few times there were hiccups stand out even more. For example, "dilute" in the first line. It's not that the word itself sticks out, just it's placement in that particualr point of the sentence. It's something that is easily ironed out as you practice, though. I'm just nit-picking.
Great job.
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Brilliant
I loved the beginning it really made me want to read more. The way you didn't jump straight into what was wrong with Elly you explained her thoughts and feelings first.
It flowed really really well to, which made it easy to read. Well done and keep writing things like this, worth reading.
beginning: 5, language: 4, plot: 3, ending: 4, dialog: 3, characters: 3.
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Interesting
An interesting vignette. Only one punctuation error I picked up: "“Morning gorgeous,” Chloe is older, she owns the house." The comma after gorgeous should be a full stop, due to the fact that the speech is followed by a statement about the character.
Stylistically, you kept the flow going well, though there are some sentences that could be re-worded differently to infer greater meaning. For example "Her fingers are like wispy spider-legs shuffling through messy blonde hair." gives the impression that her fingers felt like spiders in her hair, perhaps 'Her fingers shuffled like wispy spider-legs through messy blonde hair." Later you note "but all those years still blacken her life like plum-coloured bruises that won’t dissolve in bath water" as far as I know no bruises will disappear with water, perhaps you meant the colouration resulting from the juice? Perhaps by replacing 'plum-coloured' with 'plum juice stained'.
I liked your description of of family situation and the way the character felt about her being the reason for her mother's death. It was realistic and believeable.
Well done!beginning: 4, language: 4, plot: 5, ending: 4, dialog: 3, characters: 5.
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thank you very much for your comment! I'll work on those things you said.
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great
i always love emotions running high in stories from the start. deatils was the part i loved the most, they way you described everything, keep on the good work -
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thanks!
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Good story
I think it is jam packed with emotion. To add to the story I think you could tell what transpired the night before to make her so blue in the morning. Usually turning 18 is a happy mile stone and a time to turn the page without looking back to the past. -
BRILLIANT! It was amazing, the description was really good, I could feel the darkness, sorrow and tension in your words. I loved it!
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wow
this is really really really good. maybe one of the best stories i've read on storywrite. its really impressive. i dont think there's any flaws. it was sad, but it was real and realistic and had feeilng, but it wasn't exploding with it. and the descriptions were well-written but not overdone, and they painted a perfectly visible picture. really great job
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You say you are poet, and in this it shows. You wrote this in sense of third person almost, I say this from this exert; "Elly sits at a thick-legged wooden table"
Good depth, very true about the darness of society, tnks for entering and goodluck.
~Lady Madeline.
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I'll be honest with you, i had to force myself to begin reading. but once i got into it i couldnt stop. i read your author comment and i must say it is far more poetic prose than a story. but its well done and i'm willing to bet youre a great poet. as for the story, the theme is sad, i really feel sorry for her. but i wish there was some sort of point to it, there dosent seem to be much in it, which is why i call it prose rather than a story, and the repetition just screams poetry hehe. as a story? not great. but as a peice of writing its awesome does that make sence? i hope so hehe. good write, even if not for the intended purpous
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Thanks for the comment!
I understand what you're getting at -- I do have lots of difficulty with plot and events, and so tend just to go with description rather than tell a story. That's something I'll have to work on, I think.
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Wow... this is awesome , m'dear.
I can really feel the tumultuous emotions hidden in your character.
Great writing, I'm sure you'll get 20/20.
*Hugs.* Shadow-Phoenix. -
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Thank you thank you.
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Wow, I couldn't look away! I suspected this of her father, the tone she used or rather way of talking about him, that he had hurt her physically before. It was very descriptive too and emotional, coming from a writer at heart. You seem really good at writing stories!!
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Thanks a million.
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