So I wasn't going to post this, but I decided I wanted some feedback. This is the preface of my story, which is more of a romance than science fiction, but this part is not... romantic. However, the story does take place 100 years into the future! Please be as mean as you want! But do remember this is only the preface.
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She has always been immune to death. It is expected when you grow up watching your father go through woman after woman, killing for his own sick pleasure. She has seen death in many ways. The killings have ranged from simple stabbing or shooting to the chainsaw in the garage. She doesn’t know how he had kept up with this without anyone knowing. But eventually it killed him. Either his conscience caught up with him, or he just couldn’t take it anymore.
Goosebumps rise on her bare arms as the wind blows. She lights the cigarette expertly and brings it to her chapped lips. He knows that she doesn’t like it when he’s late. Something must have gone wrong. He doesn’t usually keep her waiting.
She exhales through her nose and looks down the road. She can see headlights coming her way. Ten minutes. He is very late.
The car slowly approaches, and then comes to a stop in front of her. She sighs and drops the cigarette to the ground, stomping it out with a foot. The door opens and he steps out.
“What took you so long, Haven?” She does not look at him as she says this. Her eyes are on the trunk.
Haven sighs.
“I’m sorry. They got to her too soon. She made it only a few miles.” He walks around to the trunk and opens it. The corners of her lips turn down as she observes the body. “So?” Jesse asks.
She doesn’t answer at first. Her eyes do not stray from that pale body. How long did she suffer? Was she in much pain?
“Nana is dead,” she says simply.
“I know.”
Somehow, she feels like she should be crying. She never cries. She didn’t cry when she watched her father kill women. She didn’t cry when he died. But… Nana is dead. Her lifeless body is pale and her thin black hair falls over her face, where her eyebrows are drawn into a frown and her lips are in a thin line, as if she were angry when she died.
“Nana is dead.” She glides a hand over Nana’s cold arm. “Does Addie know yet?”
“No. I thought you should be the one to tell her.”
She stands there for another moment, waiting for the tears to come. They don’t. She closes the trunk and brushes her hair out of her eyes.
“I’ll have to hide all the knives, then.”
Then they get into the car and drive away.
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