My heart is pumping. Thudding, pounding, beating faster like a bass drum. I’m panting, gasping, struggling to catch my breath. All I can hear is the blood thumping through my ears and the distant sound of sirens fats approaching, the lower part of my body, moving of its own accord, desperately trying to escape. Questions that I have no answers to are bombarding my mind. Why are they after me? What have I done? Where am I going? Who am I? I don’t know why I’m running; I just know that something in my blood is telling me that I need to get as far away from here as possible. Some may call it a sixth sense, but in my case it’s a fifth.
The unmistakeable sound of loud, punishing thunder is instantly followed by a burst of merciless rain. It comes gushing down in sheets upon sheets, soaking through my clothes, and beating down lashes upon my hunched back. At this moment shelter is the one and only thing on my mind.
All thoughts of shelter vanish as I realize that the sirens behind me don’t seem as far away as they had been before. My only two options? Find somewhere to hide and be protected from the abusive rain as well as my captors; or surrender.
The police are in dangerously close range now, tires screeching, engines roaring, voices yelling: “Oi!” “You!” “Stop right there!” before I know it I’m on my hands and knees, crawling as fast as I can manage without getting injured.
Unexpectedly a sharp pain bulldozes its way through my skull, and the sounds of car doors opening, people running and unknown voices fade into nothing.
I’m startled awake by the sound of a door slamming shut and footsteps coming towards me as I lay on the bed. The unknown person crouches down to my level; “we’ll try this again shall we?”
Immediately I am alert due to the putrid smell of tobacco and stale coffee that invades my nostrils.
“What happened on Friday July 13th at number 3 Frockwed road?”
“I’ve told you once and I’ve told you twice, I don’t know! I’ve lost my damn memory!”
“So are you telling me that you don’t know anything about the pen knife found around your neck when you were caught?”
“What part of memory loss don’t you understand?”
“Fine have it your way” he spits in my ear “but believe me when I say you will talk”, “it’s only a matter of time”.
The door snaps shut and I am left alone once again feeling like a helpless caged bird. I’ve been here for two days now; racking my brain for a solution to the odd and confusing predicament I have found myself in. so far I can tell that I’ve been imprisoned in a small room which has one door, one medium sized window, and a bed. The window is my only means of escape, unluckily for me the window is very high up, I sigh as I hear the beeping car horns and faint voices that come from below.
An overwhelming wave of hopelessness and grief washes over me; it drains me of every ounce of energy left remaining my body. I slump back down on the bed and burry my head in the pillows attempting to imagine that it’s all a dream, and it isn’t long before I doze off.
Memories that have eluded me for the last few days come flooding back, a penknife; my penknife, the unforgettable smell of blood on my hands, the gut wrenching screams for help, I remember it all. My name is Naomi Phillips, I’m 16 years old, and I am faced with the unassailable truth that I have killed my mother.
You may think I’m mad for doing it and I don’t care, I’m proud to say that it was most definitely not an accident.
I remember that ill-fated evening as if it were yesterday. It all began when I was walking past my mother’s bedroom and I heard her sobbing on the phone.
“It’s Naomi… she’s not like the other children”
At those words I freeze, my blood starts to boil, and my heart begins an erratic hammer in my chest. “I’ve tried and I’ve tried but I just can’t- I can’t… love her!”
My lips start to tremble uncontrollably and I feel like a dam has burst inside my head as stinging tears pour down my cheeks.
“I knew I should have given her up for adoption the minute I found out about her condition”
“I don’t think I can take...
My mother didn’t get to finish off the sentence because at that moment all the bitterness, hurt and anger that I’d kept bottled up came exploding out of me like a volcano.
Not having any control over myself I grab the penknife from around my neck and slit her throat, I’m not fazed by her screams of agony or her blood splattering across my face.
I wait until there is silence and as I stand above her lifeless body my shuddering legs give way beneath me as I faint.
I awaken abruptly and sit up on the bed; instantly I am aware that I’m not alone.
“You remember don’t you” growls a gruff voice from the corner of the room, I reluctantly nod my head.
“Why did you do it?”
“Do you have any idea of what it’s like to be blind?”
“Do you know what it’s like to hear about clear blue skies and rainbows but never see them?”
“I’ve learnt to live with it, after all I had no choice, and somewhere deep inside me I think I always knew that my mother couldn’t handle my blindness; I simply decided to put her out of her misery and I have no regrets”.
Hi Scarlet,
ReplyDeleteYou write really well and evocatively convey the character's sightless world, the memories gradually returning, with an appropriate use of vocabulary and vivid description, such as:
"Immediately I am alert due to the putrid smell of tobacco and stale coffee that invades my nostrils."
I liked the nod to Friday the 13th too!
There's a real feeling of sensory deprivation at work and I enjoyed the shifts from one scene to another. You need to completely disguise the visible world though to make the narrative successful.
Think of as many ways as possible to invade your character's head. Particularly at the start where, in my opinion, the real world needs to play a larger part. You have captured the psychology of the character but surely she would be bumping into things, running out into the road unintentionally that kind of thing.
Make things seem strange, where she asks "do you have any idea what it's like to be blind?" tell us!
Another thing I would ask is whether a pen knife is really sharp or large enough to harm a person in such a way. I would say not, and if the mother had her throat cut how would she scream for help?
Elaborate on how the character examines the room she is trapped in, how does she realise there's only one window for instance. There's a lot you could do with that section.
You need to watch for grammar occasionally as well, this:
"my heart begins an erratic hammer in my chest."
Instead could be:
"my heart begins hammering/to hammer erratically."
On the whole your choice of words, punctuation and spelling is excellent though and this a visceral, very well written tale.
Hope that helps, happy to answer any questions.
Simon
THANK YOU SIMON_H !
ReplyDeletei really appreciate your comments and you have made it clear where my work needs some improvements.
i'm glad that you mentioned the penknife and the slit throat because i wouldn't have noticed it before, and all of your suggestions have been taken on board so once again THANK YOU!
:}
:D
:]
scarlet-kyuubi
Hi Scarlet-kyuubi,
ReplyDeleteI like the rhythm and the repetition of the verbs in the opening paragraph (thudding/pounding/beating; panting/gasping/struggling). Watch out for the typo (fats for fast). I don’t think you mean ‘of its own accord’ (literally agreement), try ‘of its own volition’.
Try rephrasing the line about ‘Questions that I have no answers to...’, maybe it would read more neatly as something like ‘My mind is bombarded with questions for which I have no answers’ or ‘I don’t have answers for the questions that bombard my mind’. ‘Sheet upon sheet’ (rather than sheets) sounds better to me. I would also think about removing ‘All thoughts of shelter vanish’ from the third para and change it to ‘I realise that’ or something similar; it seems abrupt to mention shelter then immediately revoke the idea. Also I might change the punctuation mark before ‘or surrender’ to a comma or colon as the clause after the semi-colon doesn’t have its own verb, nor is it part of a list of discrete objects.
‘Tires’ – is this American spelling?
If ‘Oi’, ‘You’, etc are being said by a different voice each it might make more sense to indent them:
‘Oi!’
‘You!’
etc.
Before speech you should have a colon or comma not a semi-colon. Also you need a comma ‘Fine, have it your way,’ he spits, ‘etc...’ when reporting speech.
‘I’ve been here for two days now; racking...’ – this might be better with just a comma instead of the semi-colon.
‘the unassailable truth’ – I like this phrase, but it seems very decorous (almost Jane Austenish) and so a little out of keeping with the rest of the piece.
‘You may think I’m mad ...and I don’t care’ – HERE you could have a semi colon instead of comma.
The tense is wavering between present and past in the retelling of the attack on her mother but I think on the whole that it works.
I think the other moderators have made good points about the practicality of the incidents but that apart I think it’s a really well-written piece and I like the rhythm of the language and the way you’re attuned to senses other than sight (especially sound and smell). Well done.
Anjali