How can I improve this?
Amala sat in the large, almost royal looking library, watching her Grandfather organise his books. He was always with his books nowadays. He didn’t really have much time for Amala. Not right now. Not since that mysterious call he had received only a few weeks ago. Amala had overheard him talking to someone-he had called him the Black Rider. But when she had asked him about it, he had simply shook his head and told her she should not worry about things that did not concern her. But she had a lot of worries at the moment. And she needed some answers.
“Grandfather?” she asked, gazing up at him questioningly.
“Yes Amala?” he replied, not even looking at her as he spoke. He continued to pull certain books from the bookshelf, and place them on a large, purple velvet chair. She studied him carefully for a second and bit her lip.
“Why don’t I live with my parents?” He put down the red leather bound book he was holding and sighed. He had known this day would come ever since Amala had come to live with him.
“You’re only ten Amala. Are you sure you really want to know?”
Amala nodded unconvincingly, and her Grandfather sighed again. He smiled secretly to himself, then began to tell her the truth. Or his version of the truth anyway.
“Your mum never wanted you. From the moment you were born she hated you. She had never loved your dad, and she thought it was the biggest mistake of her life letting you be born.” He paused for a second, before continuing, “One day, when you were just three months old I came to visit you two. But I saw…” he broke off mid-sentence. Amala looked at him worriedly, waiting for him to continue. When he didn’t, she began to speak.
“Tell me Grandfather, you have to tell me what you saw. I need to know.” She pleaded with him.
“Do you really want to here this Amala?” he looked at her sincerely and anxiously. He would’ve made a terrific actor.
She nodded and so he carried on “So like I said, I came to visit you, maybe take you off her hands for a while so she could relax and when I got there, there were no lights on in your house. I ran inside only to find your mother sitting on the floor, splattered in blood. In her hand was a knife, and lying next to her was you. You weren’t breathing. I quickly hurried you to hospital and they only just managed to save you. Your mother tried to kill you Amala.”
He stopped and looked at Amala’s face. Her eyes were open wide as saucers. Despite the sultry, scorching weather beating down upon them, she was shivering. She stood completely still. He had expected her to cry. At least to have silent tears spilling over her cheeks, but she didn’t move an inch. All this time he had spent preparing himself for this question, the thousands of times he had gone over it in his head, he had never expected her to react quite so….blankly. Poor girl. She had no other life choice than what she was born with. He almost felt sorry for her. Almost.
Without warning, Amala dropped the diary clutched in her fist, and span around fleeing as fast as the wind. He didn’t move, but still he could hear her feet pattering up the stairs. Not that it mattered to him. He may’ve been her Grandfather, but by blood only. This was the only way it could be done.
He had to wait the exact amount of time. Just a moment too soon could destroy everything. It had to be prefect. Five…four…three…two…one. It was time to go.
He walked briskly and solemnly up the shining white marble staircase, and marched along the scarlet hall that seemed to continue on forever. Past every golden statue, every magnificent painting until he finally reached the one door that did not blend perfectly with the décor of the rest of the house. On it’s door was a large whiteboard. Every day it would have different words on it. The shining mahogany door had been painted over in ghastly rainbow colours. Why was she always such a cheerful child? She didn’t get it from her mother, he knew that much. It must’ve been that filthy father of hers. A part of their family-how could his darling Kesi have ever chosen him?
He knocked softly on the door, and when Amala didn’t answer, he pushed the door open silently only to reveal an empty room. He punched the wall in frustration. She had slipped straight through his fingers. She had been in the perfect position. He had to find her. And soon.
Amala flung herself down onto the grass. She wanted to cry, but how to cry when she didn’t even know what to feel? It wasn’t true, it couldn’t be. Yet why else would he have said it? Not so much said, he had almost thrown it at her. Like he wanted her to hear; he wanted her to know. He wanted her to be upset.
She sat there, breathing in all the fumes of the flowers all around her. Daffodils, sunflowers, daisies, tulips. Every one of them so captivatingly cheerful. Each one of them a lie. Behind every thing that seemed peaceful and joyous, was the truth. The truth that however perfect they seemed, it was all a lie.
I hate you mother. You hear that? However much you hate me, it can never be nearly as much as I hate you right now.
“Are you all right Amala?” he suddenly appeared from nowhere, and sat beside her on the grass. Amala didn’t answer.
“Look, I understand how you must feel. It’s not every day you find out something like this. But I can help you. I can tell you the truth. And not lies or the truth watered down for you to handle. No, just the plain truth.”
Amala nodded emotionlessly, as if she couldn’t care less. Her Grandfather couldn’t understand it. She didn’t seem to be feeling…well anything. Only Amala could truly understand. And even she didn’t.
“Well I guess it all started when your mother was fifteen. She met your father whilst she was; well she was actually on a mission to destroy him. I know that sounds bad but you don’t understand what kind of man your father was. He was a murderer. He was involved in many different plots and schemes to try and kill me.”
“I don’t understand. Why would he want to kill you?” she turned her deadpan eyes onto him and he sighed.
“You have to remember Amala, I’m a very powerful man. Your father wanted my power, my money.” He paused, before continuing. “Anyway, a few months after they met, your mother announced that they were getting married. I couldn’t let it happen-he was only marrying her to get to me. But she believed he truly loved her. That backfired on her though.”
“What happened?” she whispered
“Well despite the fact that I had forbidden the marriage, your parents got married in secret. I guess they thought I wouldn’t figure it out. I didn’t for a while. Until your mother became pregnant with you. That’s when I realised what had happened.”
“So what did you do?”
“I hope it doesn’t upset you to hear this Amala, but I have to tell you I did beg your mother to have an abortion. I knew she was too young-she was only sixteen for God’s sake-but I never imagined she’s do anything like what she tried to do you.”
Amala looked up at him slowly. It was a lot to take in all at once. She could barely understand what her Grandfather was actually saying to her. She only knew one thing for certain. Her mother hated her. And she hated her mother too.
“So straight after he found out she was pregnant with you, he left. And after that he never returned. She was completely distraught-I guess that’s why she took it out on you.” He bowed his head, and looked away “I’m so sorry Amala.”
She stood up hurriedly, and looked from side to side. Her Grandfather had no idea what she was looking for. Maybe she didn’t either. Seeing that no one was around, she began to sprint towards the gate.
“Amala, come back!” he cried after her, but it was too late. The moment he knew she was out of sight he began to laugh. A cold savage laugh, that filled him all the way through with a feeling that he had just succeeded. She was almost his.
