Author: TragicE1515 PM
So since I have issues with the beginnings of stories I have the beginning of a story that I'm working on to be critiqued.Rated: Fiction K - English - Fantasy - Words: 500 - Reviews: 1 - Published: 11-17-12 - id: 3075255
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
I realize with a sudden jolt that I am burning beneath the blanket which I've had ever since I could remember. According to my 'interesting' mother, my great-grandmother sewed it when her life was coming to an end, it was only really a 'keeping me busy until I die' kind of activity, though my mother it explained in a less harsh way. I live in reality, I have for most of my life. Trying to sweeten bitter things won't help any, that's why my perception is rougher than most.
I wasn't always so in tune with what the real world held. When my father passed away when I was seven, it seemed like sugar-coating the truth was more harmful than just digesting it and dealing with it. Of course, though, I was seven so I really didn't understand it at the time, but as I grew I hardened inside.
I toss off the pale green blanket I received several years ago and sighed heavily. I turned my head ever-so-slightly to glance at the alarm clock that stands on my bedside table 2:07 a.m. Almost as if it was scheduled, I cover my face with my and lay there with a a racing mind. Insomnia was my curse and had been since my father died. At first it was the nightmares that scared me away from my dreamland, but now it was the disease that millions of people suffer from each night.
I rub my ice blue eyes until they hurt. I slide my upper body up to lean against the wooden bed frame, then I slide my pillows up as well. Clicking a small button on my elegant lamp the room illuminates. A faint glow creates shadows on the walls that had scared me as a child, now it's almost a comfort. It means that I'm not alone.
The usual faded blue color that stains the wall is now a shade darker. I feel like the room is also tired of the happy color; the underlying truth is that I'm just not that preppy girl anymore who chose the brightest color in the store to splatter on the walls. I've begged my mother many times to change the color, but she finds that there isn't enough hours in a day to do so.
I seems like only a couple of minutes have passed, with my thoughts about everything; my father, my 'legendary' great-grandmother, and people at school, occupying my time. I glance at the clock again and see that nearly three hours have passed. To not worry my mother who knows nothing of my time at night, I yawn intentionally, to calm my thoughts. It helps some and the next moment I'm sliding down so that I'm horizontal. I shut the light off and my hands drag the pillows to underneath my head. I close my eyes and fake my sleep.