This is the first chapter of my JulNoWriMo novel I'm writing. Since this is a WriMo, I'm more interested in the big things then grammar. Like if the style is good, how believable the characters are, if I need to describe more/less, etc. Stuff that will make my novel better then this first chapter.
BTW, I know the ending is terrible, advice on that would be great.
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There was once a boy who was different from any other. He was conceived to be a miracle, to be the first human embryo to be injected with bird DNA. With this, the hope of winged humans became a reality. Human would move one step closer to being like the holy angels. But the scientists, with their perfect logic endless equations did not factor in the unknown. Some call it the will of god, others fate. But it’s really just luck. Dumb luck. Instead of beautiful silky wings, the baby boy grew into a monster. The perfect wings the scientist dreamed of were instead replaced with mangled black wings. The wing bones were devoid of the endless brown feathers, and instead had a few grey ones lingering behind. The wings were useless, too scrawny to support a human, too mangled to work. Without them, the boy became a freak. Like a fallen angel, he walked the earth alone because of his failure. People would look onward, but never get close to him. He lived on this Earth for 15 years of torment and isolation. His name was Raven.
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Raven sat absentmindedly, staring out the window into the October rain. The rain drops hit the trees and made the brown and red leaves fall gently from their homes onto the ground. Onto the ground where they would dry, crumble, and then, get crushed into nothingness. Those beautiful crimson leaves, looking so stunning now. That was their fate.
“Okay class, that’s all the notes for today. Homework is on the board, page 57 through 79.” Mr. Sanford said. Raven looked up at the teacher for the first time all class. He thought about the failed test next to him, the incomplete homework. Would he have to lie to his Dad again about his grades? Would his Dad even care? Raven stuffed the test into him handbag, hoping the latter. Even though he was living in a world of lies, he still clung to truth like a raft in the middle of the sea.
Raven walked across the wet pavement from school, carrying a broken umbrella above his head. Along the way he watched as he stepped on the newly fallen leaves. His house was an hour away, but he didn’t ever take the bus. His wings would just get in the way of everybody, and the all that attention would be even worse. So he traveled by foot too everywhere he went, occasionally taking a bicycle.
Raven looked back at his wings now, if you could even call them that. They were barely wings, more like bones with feathers stuck on. Instead of looking like a mighty raven; his wings were barely more dignified then a plucked chickens’. They looked a burned charcoal black, with sores covering them. Most of the wings were feather-less, looking more like bat-wings then birds. Where there were feathers, they were grey and see-through. His wings grew out from his shoulder blade, and were, at their fullest, about the length of his arm-span. But most of the time they were about as long as his elbows.
When Raven got home, he was soaked. He put the broken umbrella down in the kitchen to dry, and walked to his room. On the way there he made a mental note to himself again to clean the house. His father’s Playboy magazines were strewn along the tables next to cans of beer. The kitchen table was covered with about a week’s worth of mail, Raven unfinished homework, a half finished bag of chips, a baseball and other crap he didn’t even want to think about.
He turned back to face his room. As he was doing so, his left wing hit a bookshelf he was walking by. Instantly, a sharp pain of a thousand needles ran across Raven’s wing. He winced in pain, and stopped for a second, waiting for it to pass. Ever since he was young, Raven’s wings were very sensitive. Even the slightest touch would cause pain to him. Because of this he had distanced himself from people, and made his movements cautious.
Raven put his handbag down onto the floor of his room and went to his bed. He plopped face down onto it, so his wings faced up and out. His bed was in the middle of his room, so that even if his wings were fully stretched, they would not touch the walls. On the wall parallel to his bed-frames were bookshelves filled with artwork, drawing pads and art books. Raven’s latest drawing was a tree, its branches bare. All around it were the tree’s leaves, swirling around. The wind was making a spiral around the tree, almost like a tornado of its own leaves.
Raven stayed in his bed, his eyes slowly dropping, his mind slowly drifting away. The breeze comforted him, creating a shield of noise around his ears. His wings drooped downwards slightly. Things were at ease in the young man’s mind.
“Raven!” a cry shattered the wind’s shield, and Raven flashed his eyes open. He groaned, and slide off the bed.
“Coming Dad!” he cried back. Raven carefully got out of bed and went downstairs to his father. Raven’s father, Desmond Rabell, lived in the basement where he spent most of his time watching sports on the old 32 inch TV. Raven walked past his father’s bedroom and into the family room. He always wondered why, if his Dad spent all his time watching TV he didn’t just move it into his bedroom. The king sized bed with its wonderfully soft sheets was empty most nights, with the coach housing his father. Raven walked in to see him sitting in his lazy boy, as usual, watching a football game.
“Oh come on, you idiot!” his father yelled at the television. “I should be the coach of this good-for-nothing team, Jesus Christ. Raven!!”
“I’m right here Dad,” Raven said, walking out into the room. The room stunk of alcohol, but Raven could barely tell. He had gotten so used to the smell.
“Oh, good. Get me another beer, k?” Desmond said, raising an empty can and shaking it slightly.
Raven nodded slightly, and walked back upstairs. He and his father’s relationship was little more than this. His Dad calling him to get a beer. Raven traveling up and down the stairs like a waiter. He got to the fridge and opened it up, pulling out a can. He noticed they were running low on them. Raven prayed his Dad would go out to buy them. Any time Raven had to go outside was torture to him. He hated the looks everyone gave him, the stares. A thousand people, all seemingly saying “Look, there goes the freak. Why won’t he just stay in his overgrown nest?”
Raven went back downstairs and handed the can to his father. His father took it, and put the empty one with the rest of them. Desmond was in his mid 30s, but looked older. Once upon a time, he had been handsome, ready to face the world. But now, he was beaten down just like Raven. He traded his bright, hopeful face in for an unshaven mess. His eyes, once a dazzling sapphire were now a murky blue. Raven looked at him and wondered if this was his Dad, what type of man would he become? Would it really matter, with him being the way he was? Those questions, too mature for any boy to be thinking of, constantly plagued Raven’s mind.
“Raven?” his Dad looked away from the game at him.
“Yeah?” Raven replied.
“Isn’t today October 12th?”
“Yeah. It’s my birthday today Dad.” Desmond took a second to process this through his hazed mind, then realization spread across his face.
“Really? Wow, you’re 16 now right?”
“Yeah” Raven said. Birthdays were never a big event in Raven’s life. As a child, he remembered his Dad giving him a cake filled with glowing candles, the light creating an alluring effect on the wall. He would love to watch the light dance across the room. He delayed blowing out the candles as long as he could, until his Dad threatened to blow them out for him. But then when Raven became a teenage the celebration stopped. They slipped away along with his father. For the past six years Raven hadn’t had a birthday cake. He wouldn’t have even mentioned it, except for the lingering hope in the back of his mind that maybe this year would be different.
“Congratulations Raven,” his Dad said dryly, turning back to the game.
“Thanks,” Raven said. He stood there for a moment, wondering if his father would say anything else, then turned to leave.
“Raven. Why did she have to die?” Raven stopped and turned around to face his father. His dad had turned off the TV, and was facing him, face totally serious. Raven’s heart sped up, his eyes widened. Raven remembered the times this had happened. His father, drunk, becoming absolutely serious. Raven tried to step away, but his father’s stare locked him into place.
“She died on your birthday. During childbirth. You know that?” Raven nodded at this ever so slightly.
“So…you killed her! And you expect me to celebrate that? Her death?!” his father’s voice was raising slowly, getting ready to burst.
“No…I couldn’t have,” Raven tried to explain. But he knew it was hopeless. Logic couldn’t reach his father’s brain now. It was too late.
“You…KILLED HER! Damn you Raven, you killed her!!” his dad hiccuped, and stumbled towards Raven.
“No…” Raven slowly backed away. Then suddenly, his father ran at him. Raven braced for impact, but instead of a hit, his dad fell into his arms. He heard sobs coming from his dad, who had suddenly started to cry. The switch caught Raven off guard. His fear instantly washed away, and he patted his dad on the back, trying to comfort him.
“I miss ‘er Raven. I miss her,” his dad sobbed into his shoulder.
“I know,” Raven said. “I know.”
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So there you go. I actually like the beginning, but the end (starting with the dad becoming super-serious) seems really forced and dumb to me (oh how I hate it). Thank you for your time! And "like" it if you think it deserves it (probably not
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Even if you make up a name, that would be good, as long as it was something original and quirky. If you want his name to sound bird-like, you can still make up a name, just make it so that it sounds kind of bird-ish. I'm sure that you can come up with something.
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