Question

Could someone help me edit the start of the first chapter of a book I have to write?

((posted below))

Answer 1

Yes! :D I would love to!

Answer 2

P R O L O G U E

"YOU ALWAYS MESS UP!" The screaming, the fighting. "You're fake." The cold hard tone of his voice. "I HATE YOU!" The slap of his hand as it came in contact with her cheek. The shocked look on his face. Her hand, reaching for the burning spot on her cheek, staring at him. The spinning room... her head dizzy. The world imploding. Blues, blacks, whites. Blurry figures. Running out the door. The sound of the slamming door behind her. Running, running. Just run. "Heather, I'm sorry." calling after. She didn't turn to look at him. She had to keep running, get away. "Heather! Please, come back!" Running, senseless, one foot in front of another. The pounding of her shoes on the pavement, the thrumming of her heart. His voice echoing in her ears. "Always mess up...always mess up...always mess up." Escape. She had to escape. The tears streaming down her face. The cold wind. Running. Past the elementary school. Running. Jump the stream. Running. Into the woods. Running. The branches ripping and slashing against her arms. Turmoil. "I HATE YOU...HATE YOU...HATE YOU." Running. Flying through the trees. Her cheek burning. Running. The world whipping past her. Running. Jump the log, keep running. Just keep running. The smack of his hand. Running. The look on his face. Running. Keep running fast enough. Keep running 'till all the memories are gone. Keep running 'till the pain disappears. The fight, their first fight. Running. He hit her. Hit her. Running. Outrunning the betrayal.



{C h a p t e r O n e}

A memory is what is left when something happens and does not completely unhappen.~Edward de Bono


Heather woke with a gasp, her whole body trembling. Her hair was plastered to her head with sticky sweat. “It’s just a dream.” She whispered to herself. “Just a dream.” But it wasn’t, not really. It wasn’t a dream, it was a memory. A horrid, painful, awful memory that Heather would rather forget. The feeling of her whole world falling to pieces, being torn apart still tormented her now. “Pull it together.” Heather told herself. “It happened over a year ago.” But when your world comes tumbling down, is ‘pulling it together’ even possible? Heather felt something warm and soft rub against her clammy hand and she smile slightly. “Hey Coco.” she whispered. The cat mewed in response and climbed onto Heather’s chest. Her soft weight comforted Heather and the girl’s racing heartbeat slowed down. Coco always seemed to know when Heather needed her; it was like the cat’s sixth sense. As she stroked the ragdoll cat softly, Heather stared up at the cracked ceiling, trying to clear her mind. She glanced over at the clock. It read “5:14 AM”. “Well, there was no point in trying to go to sleep now.” Heather thought to herself. “I have to be up at 6:00 AM for school anyways.” Heather sighed but didn’t get up. She lay in bed, absorbing the cat’s comforting warmth. She must have drifted off because it seemed like the next second her alarm was beeping loudly in her ear. Heather groaned and rolled out of bed, leaving a disgruntled Coco where she had lain. She stumbled into the bathroom, her eyes still bleary with sleep.

Heather mechanically went through the motions of preparing for the day, putting on her mascara in a dazed state and tugging a brush through her straight brown hair. “Heather, breakfast is ready.” Audrey called up the stairs. “Coming.” Heather shouted back, grabbing a hair band off her dresser and the notebook of poems she always carried around. As Heather entered the kitchen, her step-mom turned away from the skillet on the stove to greet her. "Hi Heather. " As Heather sat down, her step-mom put a plate of bacon and eggs in front of her. "Umm...Audrey." Heather said, trying not to be rude. "I'm vegetarian." "Oh, right." Audrey replied. "I forgot. " Heather sighed. "Give Dad my breakfast; I have to go to school anyways." She got up from the table without touching the food and slung her book bag over her shoulder. "Tell Dad I said bye and thanks for trying to make breakfast." As she walked down the street, Heather’s stomach grumbled. "Well, it isn't the first time I've skipped breakfast." Heather thought to herself. "And if course I can't count on Audrey to remember that I'm vegetarian, even if she has been married to Dad for three years." Since Heather was alone now, the forced smile fell from her face. There was no reason to pretend she was happy if no one was around.Her cheeks ached from the effort it took to look happy. ”No one must know, no one can ever know.” Heather thought to herself. Her hand unconsciously moved to trace the thin, raised scars concealed under the grey material of her shirt. Some of them were recent and the pink, irritated skin was sore to the touch. Wincing slightly, Heather removed her hand. A small frown permanent creased Heather's face now that the mask of a smile had been taken off. She let her hair fall over her shoulders, hiding her face from the view of anyone who happened to pass. Heather's shoulders slumped in a defeated slouch as she slowly made her way to school. It was weird sometimes, the desperate need to be alone and once she was by herself, the need to be with other people, just to feel that she wasn't alone. She hated being alone, the quiet pressing down on her, smothering her, suffocating her. She also hated being with other people, their loud, happy attitudes, the way it was always about them. It was almost to much to bear.

As Heather approached her school, she heard a voice cry out "Heather!" Heather instinctively straightened up and braced herself, once again pulling the mask of a smile over her face, hiding her expression. "Sam!" she replied,trying to make her tone sound equally as enthusiastic. "I've missed you." "It was only a week silly." Sam laughed. "I didn't move to Arkansas or anything." Heather grinned, falling into the familiar rhythm. She asked Sam about her trip, the places she had gone, the people she had met, trying to seem interested. If Sam noticed Heather wasn't paying attention, she didn't show it. The girl chattered on, filling the air with noise. It was so loud, Heather felt like covering her ears with her hands just to block out the sound, to make the world go quiet again. But that would be rude and if there was one thing Heather almost never was, it was rude. She was know by her group of friends as the quiet girl, the one they could dump all of their problems on ad she would listen without interrupting. Heather would nod and make sympathetic noises at the right times and the girls would go away feeling like they had gained something.

Answer 3

The book is for English. It's supposed to be about someone hiding a part of themselves. I think I'm going to call mine "Behind My Eyes".

Answer 4

That's amazing! Hang on, I'm still reading. So far so good. :)

Answer 5

It's perfect. :)

Answer 6

Thanks. I feel sometimes like the mood swings too quickly though. Also, I wan to kind of incorporate details about Heather's character in the story without flat out saying. "Heather has brown hair and green eyes. She is very nice and never rude to anyone. Heather tends to be quiet..." that sort of thing. Did I do a good job with that?

Answer 7

Yes, that is awesome. So is this about a girl who has a boyfriend that abuses her?

Answer 8

That's what I got out of it anyways.

Answer 9

Kind of. It's about a girl who has a family that doesn't really listen to her or notice her at all. She says with her boyfriend because she feels like he is the only one who really cares. Heather is suffering from minor depression but she hides it because she is afraid to let anyone in because she has sort of a 'perfect girl' image and she feels that if she keeps her image up, her father will finally notice her.

Answer 10

I love the opening! I really became interested in the story. I would love to read the rest when you finish. Very good job!

Answer 11

It reminds me of Nature of Blood by Caryl Phillips and the theme of trauma. Dreams as well. http://www.carylphillips.com/the-nature-of-blood.html