Waiting out the storm

Thanks everyone who has helped with this

-----

It's been another late night at school. Darkness is already flooding the world at five o'clock. Detention is finally loosing its grip on me and Psalm 23 is knelling in my mind. As I walk through the valley of darkness I will not be afraid... I will not be afraid, because you are with me.

I walk in through the front door of our two bedroom flat, and am hit by the stench of stale cannibus and vodka. It's Tuesday and she's home - that means she skipped work again, whilst the proceeds of our scarce money is flooding the air.

My schoolbad muffles the clang of a bottle hitting the kitchen side. I walk through the hall to where she stands in her 'Dark Masks Tour' tee-shirt, nodding her head as I enter.

She takes a chug from the glass in her hand and waves her finger at me.

'Why?' Already tears are brimming in her puffy mascara-lined eyes. Suddenly they turn narrow, darkening in colour as she steps away from the kitchen lamp. 'Why, pumpkin?'

'Mum?' I know that look.

'I passed one of the girls. She asked why I missed parents' evening. I had no idea.' She starts pacing back and forth and wobbling like a snake before its prey. 'Why didn't you tell me pumkin? Left me to look like the bad parent didn't you. That's what you wanted, wasn't it'. She raises the glass. 'Here's to super-mum.'

She smiles pathetically. Suddenly her voice rises to a vicious scowl as she swoops towards me.

'Why are you making me do this!' I hear the crack as her palm collides with my cheek, feel the absence of pain, the lasting print of her cold fingers against my skin. A bitter sting strikes my chest.

'Come on', she continues, and takes another punch at my face. I move back, causing her to stumble and bash against my shoulder as she cackles and regains her balance. 'Come on lad, you should be able to take me on.'

I step back again. She doesn't mean it. She's not always like this.

I know. She's wasted.

I hear her mumbling incomprehensibly as I swiftly close my bedroom door and hear the sweet metallic sound of the lock clicking shut. Stood with my back pressed against the door I wait, holding my breath, clutching the warm metal cross that hangs around my neck.

When her shouts fade I release a long ghostly sigh and my chest rises and falls in smooth, shallow breaths.

I carry a blanket back to the main room where she lies sprawled out on the battered maroon couch.

I already have the paper in hand, goodbyes rehearsed a thousand times, always denied the final show.

'I love you mum'. Somewhere behind her lipsticked frown and smudged mascara, is a young woman pleading for something to ease the pain. 'I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything.' I've heard that line repeated in movies a thousand times, but I guess I never really understood it until it came from my own lips.

I scrunch up the paper in my palm and put the kettle on, listening to the water rise and crash like the waters of Galilee. Soon this storm will clear, and we'll find out feet again. We just have to wait this one out.

-----

Notes: For those who aren't too religeous -
Psalm 23: popular psalm, 'the lord is my shepard' / 'as i walk through the valley of darkness and death i am not afraid'
metal cross: not crucifix, signifies no particular denomination of christian
waters of Galilee: Lake Galilee where the deciples sailed into a storm until Jesus woke up and calmed it.
also - 'Dark Masks Tour': i made up the name so if it's a real band, there's no intentional reference

kokobeans wrote:It's been another late night at school, darkness already flooding the world at five oclock.

kokobeans wrote:It's tuesday - she skipped work again, whilst the proceeds of our scarse money is flooding the air. Jeez this woman smokes more pot than I do.

Tuesday should be capitalized, and how do you know that she skipped work before saying that she smokes more pot than the main character? Wouldn't that fact come first?

kokobeans wrote: That's what you wanted, wasn't it'. She raises the glass. 'Here's to super-mum'.

She smiles pathetically.

"She smiles pathetically" should be next to "Super-mum," because it is an action dealing with that dialogue.

kokobeans wrote:When her shouts fade, I release a long ghostly sigh and my chest rises and falls in smooth, shallow breaths.

kokobeans wrote:She needs a blanket - it gets cold at night.

Is this really needed?

It's pretty good so far, keep up the good work.

Hey, I don't have much time to review this so I'll be quick....writing and homework beckons!

Nice job mate. Seriously. I reads very nicely indeed, its clear that your not self conscious about your style and simply get on with the pace of the story- a sign of a professional writer.

The only line I found a bit awkward was this,

The thud of my schoolbag as it is tossed onto the carpet muffles the clang of a bottle hitting the kitchen side.

Cut half the words in this to

'My bag muffled the clang of a bottle as it hit the kitchen side'

(Only a suggestion though)

Otherwise- good narrative, dialogue just a tad cliched- but an overview will see to that.

PM me if there's more to post- I'm intrigued by this boy.

Eimearxx

omigosh!!! that was...wow. You're a really good writer, and the subtle references to Christ and the chance for hope really speak out for themselves. in short...



THAT.

WAS.

AMAZING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This is the first thing I've read since I joined, and I love it!! ^_^ keep up the good work!

first off, great job!

secondly, I was wondering why you used ' <-- those, whatever they're called (mental block here >_<) instead of quotes, which brings me to my next thought.

'I passed one of the girls. She asked why I missed parents evening. I had no idea', she starts

I'm not sure if the rules with ' <-- those are different... But grammatically with quotes, the period or comma goes before the last quotation mark.

It's been another late night at school. (period) Dark is already flooding the world at five o' (apostrophe)clock. Detention is finally loosing its grip on me and Psalm 23 is knelling in my mind.

I know later you have the psalm so that people can see, but perhaps you could put it here in the story, as if he is thinking about it. It's also let readers really see what the psalm is without you having to tell them outside the story.

I walk in through the front door of our two bedroom flat and am hit by the stench of stale cannibus and vodka. It's Tuesday - she skipped work again, whilst the proceeds of our scarse = scarce money is flooding the air. Jeez, (comma) this woman smokes more pot than I do.

The thud of my schoolbag as it is tossed onto the carpet muffles the clang of a bottle hitting the kitchen side. I walk through the hall to where she stands in her 'Dark Masks Tour' tee-shirt, nodding her head as I enter.

She takes a chug from the glass in her hand and waves her finger at me.

'Why?' Already tears are brimming in her puffy mascara-lined eyes. Suddenly they turn narrow, darkening in colour as she steps away from the kitchen lamp. 'Why, (comma) pumpkin?'

'Mum?' I know that look.

'I passed one of the girls. She asked why I missed parents' (apostrophe0 evening. I had no idea. (period) She starts pacing back and forth and wobbling like a snake before its pray = prey. 'Why didn't you tell me, (comma) pumpkin? Left me to look like the bad parent didn't you? (question mark)[b] That's what you wanted, wasn't it[b]? (question mark) She raises the glass. 'Here's to Super-M[b]um'.

She smiles pathetically. Suddenly her voice rises to a vicious scowl as she swoops towards me.

[b]I moved this down to its own paragraph'Why are you making me do this? (question mark' I hear the crack as her palm collides with my cheek, feel the absence of pain, the lasting print of her cold fingers against my skin. A bitter sting strikes my chest.

'Come on', she continues, and takes another punch at my face. I move back, causing her to stumble and bash against my shoulder as she cackles and regains her balance. 'Come on lad, you should be able to take me on. (period)'

I step back again. She doesn't mean it. She's not always like this.

I know. She's wasted.

I hear her mumbling incomprehensibly as I swiftly close my bedroom door and hear the sweet metallic sound of the lock clicking shut. Stood with my back pressed against the door I wait, holding my breath, clutching the warm metal cross that hangs around my neck.

When her shouts fade I release a long ghostly sigh and my chest rises and falls in smooth, shallow breaths.

I carry a blanket back to the main room where she lies sprawled out on the battered maroon couch.

She needs a blanket - it gets cold at night.

I already have the paper in hand, goodbyes rehearsed a thousand times, always denied the final show.

'I love you mum'. Somewhere behind her lipsticked frown and smudged mascara, is a young woman pleading for something to ease the pain. 'I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything'.

I scrunch up the paper in my palm and put the kettle on, listening to the water rise and crash like the waters of Galilee. Soon this storm will clear, and we'll find out feet again. We just have to wait this one out.

I liked this. Your references to Christianity were nice and subtle, not Bible-bashing or anything. Nice job.

You need to work a little bit on punctuation and capitalization and there were a few looooong sentences that were a bit overloaded, but overall, the story looks pretty good.

Nice job. *thumbs up*

~GryphonFledgling