No Rest For The Wicked~1

Rated for the content. I swear, It'll go down for a bit. And if someone could give me a better name then Diana Justice, suggestions are welcome.

My mother always said ‘No rest for the wicked’, pertaining to having to make sure a five-year-old, hyper-active, troublemaker Diana Justice never got hurt too badly. She still says it now, having to rescue me from juvie and seedy places. I couldn't help it. Bad things, mainly boys, were just attracted to me, and I couldn't resist. My twin sister, Mariah, was the good one who always wore skirts and got good grades. I wear ripped jeans to our elite private school, and I'm on the brink of being kicked out of said private school.

"Hey, Di." Mariah called me, from the main level of the house. I put down my cigarette lighter, holding fast to the cigarette.

"What?" I yelled as I exhaled the gray smoke. I blew it up towards the celing fan in the centre of my room. Mariah appeared at the top of the stairs, standing just far away enough that should couldn't smell the smoke.

"Mom and I are going out." Her black hair was cut into the same loose bob as our mothers. Her small, pale face was make-up free and she was starting to grow a zit just under her nose, on the top of her lip. I wrinkled my nose.

"Yeah, whatever," I said lazily, "just take the station wagon. I'm going out, and I don't need to be seen in the Loser Cruiser with the 'Raymond' plate. I'm trying hard not to be one of you."

Mariah rolled her big aquamarine eyes, the exact same as mine, "you brat."

"Goody two-shoes." I snapped back. It was a lame come-back, but it needed to be said. Mariah turned and descended the stairs, her kitten heels clacking.

I waited until I could see the green van that my parents loved rolled down the street. Then I turned to my closet, pulling on my favorite pair of ripped jeans, a tank top that revealed a little too much, and stuffed a Kershaw into lace up boots. Pulling my outgrown hair into a ponytail, I dashed down the stairs, grabbed the car keys and slid into the black convertible, my mothers baby.



I drove downtown, where night was falling fast. I pulled up to a curb, and got out, locking the car. There, I stood on the street and waited.

I am not a prostitute. I just had a guy I needed to talk to. I could see him, thin and catlike, with beautiful, dark features.

"Carters," I called, using his last name. He turned around and I crossed my arms, "what the hell?" A lovely, light smile crossed his face.

"Is there a problem, Diana?" he asked me, pretending to play innocent.

"You know the fuck there is." I crossed over to him, the heels of my boots clicking angrily. I hand him back the little baggy, "stuff is skunky."

"It wasn't when I sold it to you." Carters grabbed my wrist, pulling my back into an alley, "but I'm sorry. How should I make it up to you?"

"Why don't you give me a refund?" I asked harshly.

"Oh, Di, you know I can't do that." He leans closer to me, I can see perfectly into his chocolate brown eyes. My heartbeat increases. He’s leaning in. I hold my breath, pursing my lips, just waiting for his kiss.

“Carters, what the hell?” He pulls away from me. “Come on, man.” He says smoothly, “just talking to a client.” The guy behind me laughs.

“Client? Looks more like a hussy to me.” I turned around.

“You don’t even know me.” I said, “you can’t even say that.” The man steps forward into the bleak light and pushed his greasy hair from his watery eyes. His nose is running, but he’s holding a knife, so I take a small step back. I want to pull my knife from my boot, and stab him until he’s dead.

“Some on, Carters, just leave the bitch and get back to business.” He says. I pull my knife out and flick it open. The man laughs at me.

“Di.” Carters warns.

“Shut up.” I snap. I take step towards the man and attempt to kick his knife out of his grasp, being rewarded with a large, long gash up my leg. Blood trickled out, and I looked away. He pushed my into the gravel and broken glass covering the alley floor. Cuts covered my face. I kept a clutch on my knife as I stood back up. I crossed over to him swiftly, stabbing him once, twice, three times, my heart pounding as my vision clouded. I pulled my knife out as I stumbled back, clear of the body. Carters caught me as I moved. My breath came out in short disbelieving gasps, his and my blood mixed and I was covered. I looked away from the body, slowly folding the knife and put it back in my boot. Then I looked at Carters, eyes wide and filled with fear.

“We should get out of here.” I said slowly.

“We should get out of the state. That was my boss.” He said, “every dealer in the tri-state area will be looking for us.” Carters takes my hand, and takes me out of the alley, down an empty road and out of the city.

wickedwonder wrote:Rated for the content. I swear, It'll go down for a bit. And if someone could give me a better name then Diana Justice, suggestions are welcome.

My mother always said ‘No rest for the wicked’, pertaining to having to make sure a five-year-old, hyper-active, troublemaker Diana Justice never got hurt too badly. She still said it now, having to rescue me from juvie and seedy places. I couldn't help it. Bad things, mainly boys, were just attracted to me, and I couldn't resist. My twin sister, Mariah, was the good one who always wore skirts and got good grades. I wore ripped jeans to our elite private school, and I was on the brink of being kicked out of said private school.

"Hey, Di, comma" Mariah called me, from the main level of the house. I put down my cigarette lighter, holding fast to the cigarette.

"What?" I yelled as I exhaled the gray smoke. I blew it up towards the ceiling fan in the center of my room. Mariah appeared at the top of the stairs, standing just far away enough that should couldn't smell the smoke.

"Mom and I are going out." Her black hair was cut into the same loose bob as our mother's. Her small, pale face was make-up free and she was starting to grow a zit just under her nose, on the top of her lip. I wrinkled my nose.

"Yeah, whatever," I said lazily, "just take the station wagon. I'm going out, and I don't need to be seen in the Loser Cruiser with the 'Raymond' plate. I'm trying hard not to be one of you."

Mariah rolled her big aquamarine eyes, the exact same as mine, "you brat."

"Goody two-shoes." I snapped back. It was a lame come-back, but it needed to be said. Mariah turned and descended the stairs, her kitten heels clacking.

I waited until I could see the green van that my parents loved rolling down the street. Then I turned to my closet, pulling on my favorite pair of ripped jeans, a tank top that revealed a little too much, and stuffed a Kershaw into lace up boots. Pulling my outgrown hair into a ponytail, I dashed down the stairs, grabbed the car keys and slid into the black convertible, my mother's baby.



I drove downtown, where night was falling fast. I pulled up to a curb, and got out, locking the car. There, I stood on the street and waited.

I was not a prostitute. I just had a guy I needed to talk to. I could see him, thin and catlike, with beautiful, dark features.

"Carters," I called, using his last name. He turned around and I crossed my arms, "what the hell?" A lovely, light smile crossed his face.

"Is there a problem, Diana?" he asked me, pretending to play innocent.

"You know the fuck there is." I crossed over to him, the heels of my boots clicking angrily. I handed him back the little baggy, "stuff is skunky."

"It wasn't when I sold it to you." Carters grabbed my wrist, pulling my back into an alley, "but I'm sorry. How should I make it up to you?"

"Why don't you give me a refund?" I asked harshly.

"Oh, Di, you know I can't do that." He leaned closer to me, I could see perfectly into his chocolate brown eyes. My heartbeat increased. He was leaning in. I held my breath, pursing my lips, just waiting for his kiss.

“Carters, what the hell?” He pulled away from me.

“Come on, man, comma” He said smoothly, “just talking to a client.” The guy behind me laughed.

“Client? Looks more like a hussy to me.” I turned around.

“You don’t even know me, comma” I said, “you can’t even say that.” The man stepped forward into the bleak light and pushed his greasy hair from his watery eyes. His nose was running, but he was holding a knife, so I took a small step back. I wanted to pull my knife from my boot, and stab him until he was dead.

“Come on, Carters, just leave the bitch and get back to business, comma” He said. I pulled my knife out and flicked it open. The man laughed at me.

“Di, comma” Carters warned.

“Shut up, comma” I snapped. I took a step towards the man and attempted to kick his knife out of his grasp, being rewarded with a large, long gash up my leg. Blood trickled out, and I looked away. He pushed my into the gravel and broken glass covering the alley floor. Cuts covered my face. I kept a clutch on my knife as I stood back up. I crossed over to him swiftly, stabbing him once, twice, three times, my heart pounding as my vision clouded. I pulled my knife out as I stumbled back, clear of the body. Carters caught me as I moved. My breath came out in short disbelieving gasps, his and my blood mixed and I was covered. I looked away from the body, slowly folding the knife and put it back in my boot. Then I looked at Carters, eyes wide and filled with fear.

“We should get out of here, comma” I said slowly.

“We should get out of the state. That was my boss, comma” He said, “every dealer in the tri-state area will be looking for us.” Carters took my hand, and lead me out of the alley, down an empty road and out of the city.

Alright, overall, this looks great so far. The only thing would be the verb tenses... When you write, everything should be either in past tense, or in present tense with the flashbacks in past tense. I changed it all to the past tense, because you kept changing back and forth between the two, but I'll leave it up to you if you want to keep it as it is, or change it all to present except for the past events.
Keep on writing this!

-Truth-

Hey wonder! Your story seems interesting and makes me want to read more, but I got a little bogged down by your first sentence.

My mother always said ‘No rest for the wicked’, pertaining to having to make sure a five-year-old, hyper-active, troublemaker Diana Justice never got hurt too badly.

At first I thought that the speaker was talking about someone else, but later lines revealed that the speaker was talking about herself. Could you try and smoothen this sentence out a little bit? It seems kind of rough. Also, in this line,

and stuffed a Kershaw into lace up boots.

you mention a Kershaw. What is that? I couldn't tell what it was from the description. However, in this line,

I want to pull my knife from my boot, and stab him until he’s dead.

you mention a knife. Is the Kershaw the knife? I'm confused as to where the knife came from. Also, this part ,

“Carters, what the hell?” He pulls away from me. “Come on, man.” He says smoothly, “just talking to a client.” The guy behind me laughs.

,makes it seem like Di's speaking, but later it looks like it was someone else speaking. Could you make this clearer please? I think you wrote this during a word war, so that's why it feels rough, but it's good. I wanna see more now. Keep going!

Ok this story was good, but there was some parts I didn't understand.
First of all she sounds like a ordinary juvie girl and then she kills someone? Like maybe start off by introducing her as violent to build up her character. Like his talking and insulted her slightly while holding a knife and suddenly she wants to get her knife out of her boots and 'stab him until his dead'? That sounds like a mental illness to me xD
Otherwise great story, I really enjoyed it (:
<3

My mother always said ‘No rest for the wicked’, pertaining to having to make sure a five-year-old, hyper-active, troublemaker Diana Justice never got hurt too badly. She still says it now, having to rescue me from juvie and seedy places. I couldn't help it. Bad things, mainly boys, were just attracted to me, and I couldn't resist. My twin sister, Mariah, was the good one who always wore skirts and got good grades. I wear ripped jeans to our elite private school, and I'm on the brink of being kicked out of said private school.

"Hey, Di," Mariah called me, from the main level of the house. I put down my cigarette lighter, holding fast to the cigarette it.

"What?" I yelled as I exhaled the gray smoke. I blew it up towards the ceiling fan in the centre of my room. Mariah appeared at the top of the stairs, standing just as far so as not to smell the smoke.

"Mom and I are going out." Her black hair was cut into the same loose bob as our mother's. Her small, pale face was make-up free and she was starting to grow a zit just under her nose, on the top of her lip. I wrinkled my nose.

"Yeah, whatever," I said lazily, "just take the station wagon. I'm going out, and I don't need to be seen in the Loser Cruiser with the 'Raymond' plate. I'm trying hard not to be one of you."

Mariah rolled her big aquamarine eyes, the exact same (the exact size or colour, I assume?) as mine, "You brat."

"Goody two-shoes," I snapped back. It was a lame come-back, but it needed to be said. Mariah turned and descended the stairs, her kitten heels clacking.

I waited until I could see the green van that my parents loved rolled down the street. Then I turned to my closet, pulling on my favorite pair of ripped jeans, a tank top that revealed a little too much, and stuffed a Kershaw into lace up boots. Pulling my outgrown hair into a ponytail, I dashed down the stairs, grabbed the car keys and slid into the black convertible, my mother's baby.



I drove downtown, where night was falling fast. I pulled up to a curb, and got out, locking the car. There, I stood on the street and waited.

I am not a prostitute. I just had a guy I needed to talk to. I could see him, thin and catlike, with beautiful, dark features.

"Carters," I called, using his last name. He turned around and I crossed my arms, "what the hell?" A lovely, light smile crossed his face.

"Is there a problem, Diana?" he asked me, pretending to play innocent.

"You know the fuck there is." I crossed over to him, the heels of my boots clicking angrily. I hand him back the little baggy, "stuff is skunky."

"It wasn't when I sold it to you." Carters grabbed my wrist, pulling my back into an alley, "but I'm sorry. How should I make it up to you?"

"Why don't you give me a refund?" I asked harshly.

"Oh, Di, you know I can't do that." He leans closer to me, I can see perfectly into his chocolate brown eyes. My heartbeat increases. He’s leaning in. I hold my breath, pursing my lips, just waiting for his kiss.

“Carters, what the hell?” He pulls away from me. “Come on, man.” He says smoothly, “just talking to a client.” The guy behind me laughs.

“Client? Looks more like a hussy to me.” I turned around.

“You don’t even know me.” I said, “you can’t even say that.” The man steps forward into the bleak light and pushed his greasy hair from his watery eyes. His nose is running, but he’s holding a knife, so I take a small step back. I want to pull my knife from my boot, and stab him until he’s dead.

“Some on, Carters, just leave the bitch and get back to business.” He says. I pull my knife out and flick it open. The man laughs at me.

“Di,” Carters warns.

“Shut up,” I snap. I take step towards the man and attempt to kick his knife out of his grasp, being rewarded with a large, long gash up my leg. Blood trickled out, and I looked away. He pushed my into the gravel and broken glass covering the alley floor. Cuts covered my face. I kept a clutch on my knife as I stood back up. I crossed over to him swiftly, stabbing him once, twice, three times, my heart pounding as my vision clouded. I pulled my knife out as I stumbled back, clear of the body. Carters caught me as I moved. My breath came out in short disbelieving gasps, his and my blood mixed and I was covered. I looked away from the body, slowly folding the knife and put it back in my boot. Then I looked at Carters, eyes wide and filled with fear.

“We should get out of here,” I said in a low voice.

“We should get out of the state. That was my boss,” He said, “every dealer in the tri-state area will be looking for us.” Carters takes my hand, and takes me out of the alley, down an empty road and out of the city.

As for the name of your character, I don't think "Justice" is the right choice, unless you want her name to contrast with reality, with her character. But perhaps I am wrong, since I can only read the first chapter -- not enough to get familiar enough with your character.

Hmm.

I'm not sure how I feel about this story. Somehow I'm in the middle of liking it and hating it. It seems to be quite rushed, and the characters seem a bit underdeveloped but the general story idea kind of drags me in.

The beginning isn't too shabby, and I sort of liked it. But as you go deeper into the story it starts to show it's cracks. Like how you don't really describe anything...show don't tell. There are several articles on YWS that help against this disease that even I seem to be battling against, so don't worry it's not just you.

Next thing is your MC. At first she starts out like a normal girl rebelling against her parents and a seemingly perfect sibling, but then she changes drastically into well, this:

I want to pull my knife from my boot, and stab him until he’s dead.

Which is a HUGE transition from who she's been for most of the story. If you want to add something like that in, you should at least show that she has aggressive tendencies, maybe lead it into a earlier fight when she had to use her knife.

Third thing of all is your pacing. Again there are several articles on YWS that discuss this, I'm just too lazy to link them to you -.- (forgive me). You go from home to Carters to Dead guy in about thirty seconds. Don't rush, lead the reader to the end of the story at a pace that is balanced, not too fast, but not too slow as well.

Oh, and the typos.

Hope this helped,

Anger

P.S Ooops practically forgot about this, Diana Justice is a good name if you make it a good name. Some characters have the most cliched names I've ever come across, but they're good because the writer makes them fit the character.

Hey. Your title drew me in. Ever seen Wicked? It's a great play.
Anyway, down to buisness.

My mother always said, ‘No rest for the wicked’

troublemaker named Diana Justice

standing just far away enough that she couldn't smell the smoke

same loose bob as our mother's

green van that my parents loved roll

my mother's baby

Come on, Carters

He pushed me

Holy crap, she killed the guy! Now I want to know what happens next! Write more, please!

Hiya Wicked! Long time no see. Anyway, I really liked this. There are some things that I would like to know. I would like a little more background about what is going on and what has gone on before. I was a little confused. Other than that there were some minor grammar issues, but it was great!
Luxy