Anne read. Seated in the creaking armchair, thin legs crossed. Her slippered feet hung off the ankles at odd slants. The flimsy sleeve of her blue muslin frock loosely hung off her white shoulder. One thin white arm draped carelessly over the edge of the chair, the other clenching the book tightly at its spine. Engrossed, she stared at the pages through her strange dark eyes, starred with bristly black lashes.
Outside, dawn was breaking. Streaks of light flowed in streams, checkering the room. Anne could feel the warmth shocking her face. Her eyes crinkled. They looked like smouldering tea, pools of light flitting inside the liquid brown. Clumsily, she ran bony fingers through her hair. The light-coloured feathers stuck up awkwardly, a golden coronet raised around her head.
Anne heard the familiar bark resound through the room and, startled, dropped her book. It landed face down on the floor, its pages spread out like crushed wings.
Tears filled her eyes and she groped around on the periwinkleI adore that word
carpet, her fingers closing protectively around her book. She stood up on wobbly legs and nursed it in her frail arms, like a child. She stroked the emerald cover lovingly, running her fingertips along the engraved title, feeling each crease and indent worn into the leather.
The bark echoed again, the sound grating in Anne’s ears. Then the creature responsible bounded into the room excitedly, an endearing mess of tangled brown fur, scrabbling paws and dewy eyes. It pressed its damp muzzle firmly but gently into her palm. She gave in and placed the book on the table, re-seating herself.
“Oh, you,” Anne murmured fondly. She cradled the head in her lap, feeling the dog’s velvety ears prick up every time a breath evaded her lips. At least with him, she didn’t feel embarrassed about her ineptness.
Her mother hobbled inside presently, sighing grievously with each creak of the floorboards, as if they pained her. She eased herself down on a rocking chair facing her daughter and placed her gnarled hands in her lap. The wrinkles etched into her face were like a confused map; roads, boulevards and streets intersecting in strange patterns. Beautiful imagery
Anne stretched out her hand and intertwined it with her mother’s, tracing each vein, bulge, every soft indentation in the withered skin.
“Anne,” started her mother. She grabbed her daughter’s hand and squeezed it tightly, her breath quickening. “Anne, we are not going to be able to pay.”
The young woman broke away from her mother’s grip, curling up in the armchair and wrapping her arms around herself. “There must be a way,” she said, her voice cracking. “Surely the landlord will let us owe the rent...he must understand how important this is.” I'm not too sure about the dialogue, I think it might be a tad modern. Although, it might be fine on the other hand. Just, think of the language used in books such as Wuthering Heights, this is set less than a hundred years later so maybe the dialogue is a bit too modern.
“No, my dear. There’s not enough money for anything. Not the rent, not the operation, not even for food.”
“But Mother!” Anne interjected, her tealight eyes brimming. “It’s impossible. We’ve waited so long, we all have. I want to see, Mother. I want to be able to see again. We have to keep trying.”
“Dear, I’ve worked the skin off my back to bring in the money. We both have. It is not going to work.”
“But...but we can’t just turn away the doctor. He will have come all this way for nothing. We can’t just tell him we cannot afford it. This can’t happen.”
“It will.” Anne heard the crinkling of paper, as her mother unfolded a letter. “It’s all in here. We’re going to lose the apartment in a month if we don’t find rent. Your eye operation’s no longer our main concern.”
Anne refused to cry like a spoilt infant, in front of her mother, so she retreated to her bedroom. She sat on the bed, trying to ignore the dust she could feel sticking to the fabric of her dress, and the broken slat cracking even more underneath her weight. She choked back angry tears till they formed a painful lump in her throat. The dog scratched at the door, but Anne ignored it.
She curled up miserably on the lumpy mattress and closed her eyes. She wondered how long it was going to be until she could read a book, instead of holding blank pages and imagining the words for herselfBeautiful, beautiful, beautiful.
Plot.
I adore it, uncliched, interesting, endearing. Everything a good plot should be
Once again I take my hat off to you for that Sarah.
Characterization.
This is definitely your strong point Sarah, brilliant, well developed characters. Although this is only the first chapter we are beginning to see certain quirks of them. Well done.
Description and imagery.
You know what I'm going to say. Flawless
Dialogue.
As I said, it might be a tad modern, nothing to worry too much about though. They interact well with each other, and what they say is very realistic. Remember that Sarah, I am not criticizing your speech, it is, as per usual, parfait. I simply wonder if the language is a tad modern. That said I am a huge hypocrite, my dialogue is far too old fashioned
Narrative voice.
Someone made a point of the writing being too modern. However, I come to rescue that
If you're writing in third person I personally don't think it matters. Enchanting, and beautiful. Oh so beautiful Sarah. Your protaganists as usual are gorgeous people, much like yourself........x
Overall.
I loved it. Absolutely adored it. I can't wait for more about these wonderful characters that I have already fallen in love with.
-Kirsten xxx
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