Hey people!
This is my first try writing a super duper long story [Like as long as a published book you'd come across], and this is only the first chapter. (I'm unsure of how to space the paragraphs, italicise, etc...)
I can't seem to kickstart with a satisfying beginning, and I hope you fellow writers could help me,
Suggestions, critiques, pointing out mistakes... Be brutal if you need to (: I want to learn!
I have some ideas where I did not do so well, but I may be wrong, so...
Please help me! It sound so...cheesy.
Much much appreciated, thanks! 
(Its just the intro to the story so I'm sorry if it lacks flavour, dialogue and makes you fall asleep.)
*SUPER NO OFFENSE to the guys who read this, I'm not implying anything. Seriously, so don't be mad, kay? 
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How do you escape from a nightmare? Not just merely a dream, but reality. How do you escape reality?
The day I was born, it marked the start of a nightmare; A nightmare that would never end, unless I could wake up from it. But how do you awaken from reality?
My sisters before me, Josephina, who is twenty-one this year, and eighteen-year-old Josepha, who is three years older than me, were both exceptional ladies. They had talent and beauty, but even the most gifted women, had no place in high society. In this day and age, a man is second to none, and women took their places dutifully at a man’s feet. I myself, the third and last daughter, Josephine, of Henry and Alicia Fairwell, am graced with certain talents, but I could be five times more intelligent than any man, and still not earn half the respect they claimed to rightfully deserve. Pardon me for displaying such immodest comments about myself, but it could hardly compare to the ever-inflating male ego.
My father, if you could call such a man that, was never much of a father towards my sisters and me, frequently disregarding our presence. He did not attempt to conceal his utter disdain for our mother, who had yet to produce him a son. A wife is regarded as a tool in our society, simply serving to sire a son, and love was not factored into a marriage.
My mother, Alicia, was a relatively quiet woman, subdued by her husband’s constant insults at her incompetency to produce him an heir. She was one of the vast majorities of women, who accepted their social standings and surrendered their rights of equality to men.
We got by quite comfortably, brought up in a middle class family. I did not know what my father worked as, possibly a clergyman, but it was not a daughter’s position to inquire such things. I had a loveless childhood, which declined into nothingness, upon the arrival of my brother, Joseph. It was obvious that he pined for a son, as it is reflected in how his daughters are named. All our names started with Joseph, a man’s name. It was predictable of what his son’s name would be. Henry was absolutely euphoric with the birth of his first son, and my sisters and I seemed to completely cease to exist, as far as my father was concerned.
Now, even at the tender age of seven, Joseph had led a pampered life, incredibly spoilt and already educated on the rightful position he had, as a male; Superior to all women, above his mother and older sisters. He took advantage of this, ordering his siblings around for his plain amusement and treating his mother with disrespect. By now, Henry’s daughters seemed to have faded from his memories and it was apparent to them that he thought them to be a burden to raise. Joseph wasn’t even half as talented as any of his sisters, and I seethed in silent and barely-containable rage, blood boiling, as I overheard Henry describing how far more gifted he was, compared to his “good-for-nothing” sisters.
Josephina was first to go. She was “bought” by a farmer and was to be wed to his son. Leaving in the middle of the night, there was no opportunity for parting words, and I lost contact with my dear sister ever since. Poor Josepha was next, as it seems our father was going by age. A nobleman was seeking a wife for his godson, and bought darling Josepha for quite a surprisingly hefty price. My father, greedily accepted the amount, eyeing me, perhaps wondering what price I would fetch? I was about to find out.
So there’s where the money to buy my sisters went! Toys, in exchange for sisters! Joseph didn’t complain, he never loved his sisters, but I did. After Josepha left, I became depressed, with no one to share my pain and shame of having to wait hand and foot of my brother who was at least twice as young as me, and thrice in Josephina’s case. I now had to provide three times the amusement to my brother, to suffice for his two missing sisters. It was pure torture.
“Oi! Get over here, Josephine! I tells you I wants to play horsey! And fetch me some chocolate biscuits, and be quick about it!”
“Yes, Joseph.” I said through gritted teeth.
“Ahem, I thinks I ordered you to call me ‘Joseph, my brother who are in every way superior than his worthless sisters’, doesn't I?”
I closed my eyes in frustration, pinching the bridge of my nose, feeling my temperature rise, hearing my teeth grind together, jaws locked tight. For goodness sake, here he was, declaring how magnificent and better than his sisters he was, and yet he could not string together a grammatically correct sentence, which my sisters and I could have done perfectly at his age.
“Hello? Don’t be rude and keep me waiting. Did you hear what I says?” Joseph demanded impatiently, irritatingly tapping his foot, arms folded.
“Me? Rude? I’ll show you manners, you little-” I opened my mouth to say, but restrained myself in time.
“Don’t let it bother you, don’t let it bother you…” I chanted in my head continuously. Joseph cleared his throat, annoyance flaring up inside me, threatening to explode any moment.
Finally, I forced my eyes open and glared at my loathsome brother.
“Yes, Joseph, who is in every way superior to his worthless sisters.” I spat, injecting as much venom as I could in my statement, and emphasizing the correct grammatical structure. He rolled his eyes in response and seemed to be placated, however he notice and did not like how I was glaring icy daggers at him, and he scurried off to complain to Henry, that little snitch. I sighed exasperatedly, for I knew what was in store for me. I was sharply reprimanded and denied my share of dinner for the night. It was nothing new, as I was often stripped of my right for a share of a meal, whenever there was not enough left for me, when my brother’s voracious appetite vacuumed every dish into the abyss of his apparently bottomless pit of a stomach.
In addition, I was commanded to polish all of Joseph toys, the very ones that cost the price of my two sisters. I conceded defeat, and obediently but viciously cleaned the toys, knowing that to refuse would only bring on more rebukes and possibly a flogging. My monstrous little brother watched me, never failing to point out imaginary dirt spots and ordering me to stand while cleaning. Eventually that evil brat became bored and left me to suffer in peace. I made sure to forcefully chuck the toy in the wooden box whenever I was out of hearing and seeing range. Such revenge did little to appease me.
My days at the Fairwell Residence were quite routine, and everyday I would stare wistfully out the window, whenever the opportunity presented itself, not really seeing anything, but rather deep in thought, melancholy evident in my sad green eyes. Otherwise, I would be attending to my brother’s foolish whims. Like a caged bird, I longed for freedom, and dreamed of the day I would be set free.
Another occasion, where Joseph’s antics led to me meeting some disaster, was when I had to play dress-up with Joseph. I was not allowed to dress up as a man of course. I was not “worthy” of being one, rolling my eyes every time I recalled Joseph lecturing me on this. He too, did not dress up as a mere girl would be simply too menial for a person, namely himself, of superior-blood. I had to fight off the strong urge I had, to claw out his stupid little eyes. I was to be a slave woman, and him, a king. In my opinion, the only king he is fit of becoming, is the King of Prats. I was forced to stoop to such lowness, as to bow and kneel before him, praising him with undeserved titles such as “Your Majesty, Joseph, who is grand and wise, beloved by all his subjects.” It was worse than having to curse aloud, and I just had to wash my mouth after that, which I duly did. He proceeded to ordering me to do pointless tasks such as tying his shoelace, and labour about the house, serving as his steed. At one point, as I carried off a tray of fine china, the little idiot thought my movement was too laggard. He delivered a kick to my knee and stomped hard on my foot, causing me to yelp in pain, the tray of china tumbled over, crashing to the floor as my hand flew to my knee, clutching it, my face twisted in agony, whimpering. Shame, that his aiming was so good.
How could so much evil be stored in the body of something so puny? He was seven for crying out loud! I crumpled to the hard wooden floor, unable to balance on one leg any further. I heard a sickening crunch as my skull came in contact with the wood. I was not given any treatment for my knee, and a purplish patch formed. Instead, my parents directed all their attention over Joseph, whose leg had sustained a minor cut as a result of a shard of china searing his skin. I was outraged, furious, and completely livid at the injustice. I was blamed for breaking the china, denting the tray, as well as causing “poor Joseph” harm. I wanted to scream, scream till my lungs burst. It was just so unfair! What did I do to deserve this? Was it a crime to be born, such unbelievable felony that I deserved all of this?
I was alone, in a loveless family with a not-so-fatherly father, and a mother who, after giving birth to son, became alienated. Henry had warmed towards as he was pleased that she had finally presented him with a son. She doted on Joseph, whose presence made Henry pleasant towards her. She now resented her daughters, who had brought nothing but scolding from Henry. Then, one day as I was sewing a coat for Joseph, as decreed by my mother, a gentleman came to our doorstep to ask for my hand. He seemed quite well-off; by the way he donned expensive silk and satin. However, his “dowry” was something else that left nothing to be desired. Am I not worth more than a jug of milk? To treat me like a commodity was degrading enough, but this was simply insulting! I refuse to marry!
But it was not to be my choice, and my father readily accepted. A dowry was not important, though I assume it was a bonus point, but being rid of dead-weight daughters were his priority. No, I had to leave before early morning tomorrow when the stranger would come to take me away against my own will, and I had to leave NOW. I grabbed my thick manuscripts, containing my literary works and musical compositions, thrusting them into an empty valise. Grabbing a few pieces of my best artworks, I hurriedly tossed them into the valise, along with my meager possessions and a few articles of clothing. As soon as the Fairwells left for some afternoon tea in town, I fled from the house, which had kept me a prisoner for fifteen years that had trapped me with such horrid people.
“Farewell, Fairwells.” I thought dryly. Though I looked suspicious on my own, I was kept in the house frequently enough for people to be unfamiliar with my existence.
Unsure of where to go, I walked a dozen buildings away from the Fairwell residence, just to ensure that I would not be found so soon. Wandering around the huge town for a few days, drawing strange and curious looks from passersby, I aimlessly travel from one unknown street to another. Even though I had lived in this town for years, my father saw no need to let me and my sisters step outside of the house and we were confined inside, only on certain occasions were we set free from our oppressive “prison”. Finally, I came across a vaguely familiar avenue name, and relief washed over me like a tidal wave. It would not seem conspicuous to run so I broke into a brisk walk, recalling that a Convent was only a few more blocks from where I was.
It was a grand building, old, but had an air of peace and calm; it was one place where a lady would not have to worry about being under the shadow of a man. Admiring its splendour for a brief moment, I glanced at the skillfully painted glass windows high above the building, with vibrant colours clashing together to form a mosaic pattern. But I was wasting time, and took a deep breath, knocking on the regal oak door, adorned with an ornately carved crucifix.
No answer. I tried again, knocking with so much force that my knuckles smarted painfully and turned red. I winced, the door opened with a creak, and I was greeted by a stout nun, dressed in the traditional black and white clothes. Before I could open my mouth to speak, “There’s no need to knock so loudly dearie, we’re not hard of hearing.” She frowned at me, sheer disapproval colouring her tone.
“Oh, I’m so very sorry, sister, but there was no reply the first time. Have I come at a bad time?” I enquired politely.
“Goodness gracious, no! We’re just about to start lunch. What can I do for you, darling?” she smiled, taking on a friendlier look, her face softening.
“Please, I need a place to stay. I have no family, and I wished to be educated, but I cannot afford to go to school.” I pleaded pitifully, staring at her with tears threatening to spill over, my lower lip trembling, hoping to tug on her heartstrings. Well, I wasn’t exactly lying when I said I had no family. A family is a place where a person is happy and loved by her kin, but there was nothing of the sort in my case.
My charade worked, “You poor dear! Do come in,” she made way and beckoned me into the grand hall of the convent. “Is there anything I can get you? Are you hungry? I shall think so. I beseech you to join us for lunch.”
I nodded gratefully, lost in the beauty of the hall’s décor, that I forgot my basic manners. Eventually when I snapped out of my trance-like state, I thanked her profusely.
When questioned about the valise I was carrying in my right hand, I hadn’t considered its significance, but when I realized this was not what a supposed orphan would lug around, I quickly blurted out “These are my worldly possessions, I happened to be carrying them when I was separated from my family.” I tried to put on another sad face, and the sister sympathetically comforted me. When asked how I got separated from my family, I grimly replied that I’d rather not talk about it, and she was tactful enough not to press further. I felt somewhat guilty deceiving her, but I could not tell her that I was a runaway child, the nuns would rat me out and try to locate my family. This ridiculous society frowns upon runaways and the child, as punishment, whether caught or not, would be written off the will of their father. It didn’t apply to women anyway; whenever the head man of the house passes away, only the son may inherit his property and money, in the case where the father is without a son, it is given to the man’s brother, or the next closest male relative. No woman has the “right” to inherit anything. Not even residence in her husband’s house. No doubt when Henry pops his clogs, Alicia would find herself on the streets.
No sense in being honest here, I had nothing to lose from running away.
Absolutely nothing.
