Here is the start of a novel I am working on. Here we see the first chapter, dedicated to Oscar, one of the main characters. The start of the novel's timeline is there, as well as some of his back story but it will probably not be in this exact order when finished. Enjoy.
Drip, drip, drip. The sound of liquid hitting the rough, hard ground drew Oscar out of his unconscious state to be met abruptly with the sharp agony that streaked down the right side of his face. A dull pain rested heavily on his shoulder, running across his chest, down to his waist. Just as heavy were his eye lids and he struggled against a throbbing headache to open them onto the confusing devastation that lay shattered across his view. He was in a car, and the night air passed through the obliterated windshield and began to rouse Oscar from his daze. Looking up, he saw the roof of the vehicle sprinkled with glass and past events crept out of the shadows of his memory, while the time that had elapsed since then was still shrouded in mystery. There had been a tremendous crash, the remnants of the stag still stamped on the hood across the POLICE lettering.
Police car?
The cold sting around his wrists suddenly became clear as the restraint of handcuffs suspended in front of his face. It became apparent that he was not seated in the backseat of the car. Gravity was pulling him out of it and the weight across his front was the seatbelt holding him above the distorted ceiling. Fumbling with the catch, Oscar fell to land sprawled across the roof of the car. With the windows smashed he was able to crawl out of the side to examine himself. He was miraculously left without serious injury. A few bruises complimented the gash that ran down his cheek.
Oscar's brother, Alex, sat in his room, his eyes fixed against the wall registering nothing. He had been caught again. He thought of every time he had been interrupted by his mother when taking drugs or masturbating and it made him angry. Tonight he had been rolling a joint when his mother walked into the room without any semblance of a knock. She had walked out in disappointment and silence but he knew that the call would come anytime and he would be summoned for sentencing. He knew she would be irate, but he was now furious. Fire flooded his head and he searched for all the ways that he could lash out. It was not fair, he told himself.
He was young, only sixteen, but his life had already been taken over by drugs. It was only an escape from boredom but every hour he spent without intoxication felt like overwhelming torture. There was no desire to escape the trap and one by one his friends had turned away in despair and disgust, to be replaced by those who would satisfy his needs and lead him into greater depths. He could not understand what he was doing wrong, stealing and lying was an emotionless means to an end, an easy path to easy satisfaction.
Then he heard the shout. Before he would have been scared, worried that punishment would be harsh and long but he quickly learnt that they had not the means to stop him and these talks were now just inevitable irritations. He would scream and shout, maybe they would finally understand his righteous position but no, he would storm out. There were plenty of parks and fields where no one judged or sought to stop him, where he could get lost in waves of plastic euphoria. Rising from his chair he walked into the kitchen where his mother was standing, arms crossed and a gaze of hopelessness and fury met him. Her stare sent him into the tantrum which usually took minutes to envelope and he began a monumental verbal assault. Curses and abuse spewed from his mouth like volcanic lava and a violent determination surged into his limbs. She had no right to tell him what to do, it was his body and mind and he would have dominion over it. The knives stood on the counter to his right, beckoning him with promises of sharp, swift justice. He grasped one, the biggest, with cold menace.
Oscar was lying in bed, enjoying his holiday and the relaxing time that he expected from his family home when he heard the yells from below. He had lived away from home for many years and a lack of communication with his parents left him clueless to the path his brother now sprinted down. He was unaware of the situation and his mind immediately leapt to panic about break-ins and attacks. Jumping from his relaxation, he clutched his old hockey stick and bounded down the stairs. What he saw in the kitchen made his heart stop. Terror and devastating sadness shone from his mother's eyes as she bore witness to her younger son brandishing a knife before her. Oscar was not a violent person, but he would protect those he loved against any intruder and, to him, he who stood with his back to him was not his brother but a demon, sent to tear at family ties with mindless brutality. Oscar would not let this unfold and with startling strength that strained every muscle in his arms he swung the stick above his brother's ear. In less than a second, Alex changed from ferocious monster to crumpled heap on the floor. Blood trickled from his temple while his life force dissipated. Then Oscar could see who he had made his victim. He forgot all language, unable to speak and while his brain struggled desperately to make sense of the situation his feet took control and he was out of the door and running down the street.
No comments:
Post a Comment