A blue ford.
An old, rusty, blue classic ford.
I never thought I’d be sitting in one. It could have been any other car, just not this one.
Dented doors with scratched paintwork, and nothing but a feather duster in the back seat to clean the windows. My knowledge hasn’t expanded more than eleven years, so why me? She got to stay with my aunt, who hasn’t realised that she’s nothing more than hard work.
The sky shouldn’t be blue. Dark blue maybe, but I prefer black.
Birds shouldn’t be birds; they should be magpies searching for their last piece of silver to crave the satisfaction. Satisfaction that they never get.
They couldn’t just shut up once could they? Evening after evening, I sat there, at the top of our mahogany staircase, staring at what was supposed to be the anniversary gift from June. A glass vase. Nicely shaped with a high opening, and every Saturday, filled with a fresh bunch of sunflowers. Until one Saturday, they weren’t there.
I could never forget that Saturday. An autumn day with what seemed to be a magnificent dinner. Gosh, I should’ve put my plate in the sink that night. Maybe mum wouldn’t have ended up with two scars for life, running like the wind down her face. And maybe dad wouldn't have-oh, never mind.
Those hot tears, scorching every inch of my skin as I covered my ears from those cries. She never knew what was happening, I could have held her, told her it was okay, but what kind of big sister am I? One who ends up like this, staring out of the window in a stranger’s car.
Flashbacks. Fragments of hate bouncing off the walls, I never knew it would have come to that.
“I should’ve known you would never stick it out! The girls? This house? What the hell have I lived for all these years? You come home, stinking of beer! I-“
“DON’T YOU EVEN DARE PIN THIS ON ME! WHO THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?”
“Your wife! I couldn’t cope when she came along, I should have just run away then. You and your sluttish girlfriend.”
“SHE’S NOT MY GIRLFRIEND! DON’T YOU DARE CALL HER SLUTTISH.”
“Take a look around Dean! Who the hell doesn’t know? You’re just fooling yourself now, take a look at yourself-“
The shattering of china came next. Followed by the repetition of the same thing, like a broken record. Every portion of my breath flew into my head, gasping for the realisation of what had happened. I remember flinging down the stairs. So fast that I didn’t even feel my ankle twisting, that came later when the police took me to hospital.
Looking into my father’s face, nothing but pain and sadness and torment.
All I could conjure up at that point was the fury, the anguish I felt. But my mother told a different story. Lying on the floor beneath a pile of demolished china plates, she seemed so helpless. The mother I had always known, so willing and dedicated, she just went out of the window with what was left of her. The blood was enough to know what had happened.
So now; I’m here.
Rewinding the past six months as the world carries on with another fantastic day.
Without me.
An old, rusty, blue classic ford.
I never thought I’d be sitting in one. It could have been any other car, just not this one.
Dented doors with scratched paintwork, and nothing but a feather duster in the back seat to clean the windows. My knowledge hasn’t expanded more than eleven years, so why me? She got to stay with my aunt, who hasn’t realised that she’s nothing more than hard work.
The sky shouldn’t be blue. Dark blue maybe, but I prefer black.
Birds shouldn’t be birds; they should be magpies searching for their last piece of silver to crave the satisfaction. Satisfaction that they never get.
They couldn’t just shut up once could they? Evening after evening, I sat there, at the top of our mahogany staircase, staring at what was supposed to be the anniversary gift from June. A glass vase. Nicely shaped with a high opening, and every Saturday, filled with a fresh bunch of sunflowers. Until one Saturday, they weren’t there.
I could never forget that Saturday. An autumn day with what seemed to be a magnificent dinner. Gosh, I should’ve put my plate in the sink that night. Maybe mum wouldn’t have ended up with two scars for life, running like the wind down her face. And maybe dad wouldn't have-oh, never mind.
Those hot tears, scorching every inch of my skin as I covered my ears from those cries. She never knew what was happening, I could have held her, told her it was okay, but what kind of big sister am I? One who ends up like this, staring out of the window in a stranger’s car.
Flashbacks. Fragments of hate bouncing off the walls, I never knew it would have come to that.
“I should’ve known you would never stick it out! The girls? This house? What the hell have I lived for all these years? You come home, stinking of beer! I-“
“DON’T YOU EVEN DARE PIN THIS ON ME! WHO THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?”
“Your wife! I couldn’t cope when she came along, I should have just run away then. You and your sluttish girlfriend.”
“SHE’S NOT MY GIRLFRIEND! DON’T YOU DARE CALL HER SLUTTISH.”
“Take a look around Dean! Who the hell doesn’t know? You’re just fooling yourself now, take a look at yourself-“
The shattering of china came next. Followed by the repetition of the same thing, like a broken record. Every portion of my breath flew into my head, gasping for the realisation of what had happened. I remember flinging down the stairs. So fast that I didn’t even feel my ankle twisting, that came later when the police took me to hospital.
Looking into my father’s face, nothing but pain and sadness and torment.
All I could conjure up at that point was the fury, the anguish I felt. But my mother told a different story. Lying on the floor beneath a pile of demolished china plates, she seemed so helpless. The mother I had always known, so willing and dedicated, she just went out of the window with what was left of her. The blood was enough to know what had happened.
So now; I’m here.
Rewinding the past six months as the world carries on with another fantastic day.
Without me.
aww.Your piece is fab.You can really feel the emotions going through the girls heart.
ReplyDeleteThanks Shiningstar. :)
ReplyDeleteThere are moments in this which are you at your very best. The opening is wonderfully understated, and, I think, very effective - and the subsequent focus on individual, even arbitrary details (car, birds, vase etc.) gives immense depth to the whole scene, and is expertly done.
ReplyDeleteIf anything doesn't work quite so well, I would say it is the structure of the whole piece, framed as it is by the present, and filled with flashbacks. I can't quite put my finger on it - and perhaps your guest moderators will have more luck - but your use of time seems to misfire a little.
And the best bit? "...two scars for life, running like the wind down her face" I thought that was excellent! :)
Dear E.,
ReplyDeleteThis is very good. You choose words well, and create some striking images. I like how you phrase your introduction: first, a very simple sentence, ‘a blue Ford’. Then you repeat it, expanding it; and then you begin to explain it. It grabs the reader: a bright, simple image first; explanation after.
When you are working with flashbacks especially, a fragmented approach can be effective. However, be careful of being too fragmented – it makes it hard for the reader to follow, and we want to be able to see how different parts of the narrative link to each other – don’t let it seem like it’s rambling. Don’t start a new line unless you’re starting a new paragraph. This isn’t just being picky – it lets the reader know which thoughts of yours you intend to ‘hang together’, and which break off into another idea. For example, I would make one paragraph from ‘An old, rusty, blue classic Ford’ to ‘They couldn’t just shut up for once, could they?’ because this whole thing is one scene, the narrator in the car. Then a new paragraph, perhaps beginning with those great two lines you have: ‘Flashbacks. Fragments of hate bouncing off the walls…’ and use that to lead us into your flashback. And don’t cut off your narration of the scene unless you’re going to move us out of that scene again: the paragraph ends ‘dad wouldn’t have – oh, never mind’, which makes us think you will return to the present, but then it goes back almost straightaway to tell us what dad did, after all. If you cut that sentence, you could keep going straight on with ‘Those hot tears…’ If you imagine structuring it this way, you have a great, sharp opening line that is left standing by itself, then two good-sized paragraphs, and then you’re into your dialogue. This kind of thing is much easier to read, keeps the reader interested, and flows better. Obviously this is just an example, it’s not the only or the best way to structure it, but just to show you the kind of thing I’m talking about.
Really nice sense of detail – eg the feather duster in the back of the car, or the vase of flowers. Also, the mention, not just that it is ‘filled with flowers’, but every Saturday filled with flowers is useful in giving a sense of background or continuity. Some striking uses of language, eg ‘fragments of hate bouncing off the walls’. This is really good; stick to things like this which are fresh and powerful. Avoid clichés especially in clichéd similes like ‘like a broken record’ – I know how it is, we use these sorts of phrases so often that they roll out almost automatically, but if you’re writing , make the effort to find something that comes from your own voice – I mean, we don’t even use records any more! For example, you could say, ‘as if it were on loop’, or ‘as though there were a glitch in time’, or ‘like an echo, only it wouldn’t fade away’.
Well done with this, I look forward to reading more!