The Road to Atonement

Hi You reviewed my story, so I'm happily returning the favour.
I'll comment as I read through and then conclude afterwards.

David Furey woke to the clang of an impish alarm clock. nice start After ceasing the dreadful noise, he rubbed his blurred eyes and sat up too quickly. Blood instantly rushed to his [s]d[/s]head and his [s]eyes[/s] vision [s]were going black[/s] went black He clenched his forehead in agony and got ready for school, while still overwhelmed with exhaustion. Once he pulled on a dirty pair of jeans and a baggy sweatshirt, he stomped down the stairs to the kitchen and poured himself a mug of black coffee. He was soon greeted by his incoherent and sleep-deprived mother. The opening paragraph was fine, but a bit too much tell-not-show, I feel.

“Good morning, David,” his mother grumbled. She looked especially disheveled this morning: this colon feels like the wrong piece of punctuation her hair was pulled back into a sloppy mass at the back of her head, her face was as white as freshly starched bed sheets, and her eyes were scarlet and puffy with massive bags. I feel that this is a bit of an info-dump. You don't need to descrive ehr appearance completely in one sentence. Thread it into the story. David offered only a grunt in reply, and sat at the counter [s]and poured[/s], pouring himself some Cheerios.

“We’re going to have to do some scrimping this month, sweety,” [s]she[/s] his mother grimly stated, “Your father still stands by his refusal to send me any checks. Things aren’t going too smoothly at the office. I don’t want you to worry or anything, we just need to brace ourselves for the worse.” David didn’t want to hear it anymore. He snatched his backpack and stormed out the door.

When he got to his car, he threw the backpack into his passenger seat and slammed the door so hard it was a miracle the window didn’t shatter. Several years ago, his father embarked on a vacation that never ended. He took it upon himself to protect his family, but it was not an easy feat being preoccupied with school and the other pains of adolescence. After hearing of his mother’s financial struggles, he felt guilt boiling in the pit of his stomach for purchasing his car with his savings. David took a deep breath, and made his way to Glenville High School. All good, but where's the imagery?

As he drove through the neighborhoods, he observed yet again how the town of Glenville was the quintessence of sameness. There were the green lawns and hedges all symmetrical and orderly with homes that resembled gingerbread houses. He saw a father teaching his son how to ride a two-wheeled bicycle. The boy had achieved a shaky balance, like a fawn taking its first awkward steps. He pressed his face greedily against the car window as though it was the window of a candy shop. He could not recall the last time he had experienced such bliss.

David had really started to crack when he was about eleven; the time his father took off. He became a regular at the principal’s office for various fights and skirmishes. Most of them started for petty reasons. It almost seemed he reacted so easily because he was desperate to cause pain, to give another person as much physical trauma as he felt emotionally everyday. Most were simple rough housing, but others came with harsher damage. Once, he had broken his hand as a result of its acquaintance with a classmate‘s face. He also gained two black eyes as a souvenir from another brawl. Last summer, however, reality sent him a deafening alert. After shattering a kid’s arm with a crowbar, he spent the entire summer in juvenile detention. There had been fewer incidents in the previous year, but he was like a dormant volcano only taking a short rest.

Once David got to school, he parked his car in the senior lot and made his way to class. History was one of the easier classes to nap in. He sat in his usual corner in the back of the room, put his hood up so it covered his eyes, and peacefully dozed off.


* * * * *


By the time he had gotten home, there was a definite aura of foreboding throughout the house. When he reached the kitchen, he saw his mother had gotten home early. She had her head in her hands, and was taking many forced-steady, deep breaths. Her head snapped up at the sound of his steps.

“David, we need to have a talk,” she muttered through clenched teeth. “Take a seat.” He refused. “Fine, be contrary. I got a call today from your principal. You’re failing History and Math.” Her eyes were irritated and swollen, probably from sobbing prior to his arrival.

David was silent and stared at his feet. There really wasn’t anything valuable he could offer her at this point. He knew what had happened; it was nobody’s fault but his own. He could not blame her for being disappointed, but [s]did[/s] could not stand the thought of himself being its source. “Honey, what have I done wrong? Why is it that you choose to fail? You are so bright, you’ve always been a good student. Am I not giving you enough? David, Tell me what it is I’ve done.”

“Nothing, Mom, stop making this so dramatic,” he grumbled.

“Do you feel neglected? Do you think I love your sister more? She succumbed to her emotion. Fat droplets were shooting from her eyes at a rapid pace.

This was way too much for her. He wasn’t the feeling-sharing kind of guy. He preferred his home life simple and apathetic. A crying mother put a damper on that for sure. “I don’t want your attention,” he explained to his shoes, “I don’t want your guilt, and I don’t want your nagging. I just want out.”

“What do you mean ‘out?’ You want to leave? You want to abandon me like him?” She was getting even shriller now. “Am I really that horrible to live with? If you don’t cut the crap now, you’re going to end up just like your father: a drunk. You still have time, David, don’t turn into him.”

Back to his father, as if he wasn’t mentioned enough in therapy. It amazed him the impact the man had on the family even with his absence. He wished he never even had a father. “You think I’m like him, really? Blame yourself, not me. You have him nothing, that’s why he chose to drink. Don’t you dare try calling me a deadbeat, if anything I became this way because of you.”

His mother said nothing; not even a whimper. She merely walked, silently, upstairs to her room and slammed to door.

David was paralyzed. He thought of what had just occurred. He played and re-played what he had said over and over again in his head like a broken record. This was it, he had to leave. He dropped his backpack, and solemnly left the house.

By the time he reached his car, he was about to collapse. Emotion was fighting to break out of him as forcefully as David was trying to smother it. He was through with being himself. He deplored himself, even more than his father. He remembered his father vividly, how he unleash the assault. He couldn’t help but relive the events in his mind’s eye. He was watching TV, inhaling beer after beer. Now David could see himself as his father, beating his mother. Belting, striking, mangling, and spitting. He clenched his forehead and rocked back and forth in the driver’s seat. He scratched at his forearms with such vigor that dewy scarlet had come up. He had to leave not to escape becoming him. He took a deep breath, and started the car.

He wasn’t sure exactly where he would be going, he just knew that he couldn’t stay in that house any longer. His foot hammered on the gas pedal and he drove faster and faster until he lost himself. His entire body was vibrating with rage as he accelerated. Visions of his father appeared before his eyes. He was yelling at David, trying to slap him. But he knew if he went even faster, he would lose his father and the pain of the back of his hand. He was successfully losing him, until he felt something thud against the front of his car.

The shock of the bump sent his foot on the break and brought his mind back to reality. Once the car came to a complete stop, David felt his stomach acids turn to ice. His trembling body opened the car door and brought him to the front of the car. He saw the source of the noise. It had been caught between the bottom of the car and the road and dragged several yards as the car had come to a complete stop. It was the delicate, mangled body of a child. good juxtaposition of delicate and mangled

David lifted the corpse with caution how did it feel in his arms?. He saw that the child was a boy, with glassy blue eyes that would no longer see. His spine had been completely crunched not a good word by the drag, as well as his knee caps and shins. His body was limp as a marionette cut loose from its strings [s]coated in gore[/s]. Through all the trauma and destruction the boy’s body had went through, his face showed no anger. Even though David had terminated him, the boy did not appear to be spiteful. He lightly closed the victim’s eyelids so the clear eyes could rest. Now he appeared to be dreaming. His expression was so tranquil and hushed, David was positive he was in paradise.

He tenderly held the boy in his arms. The blood coated his body so thickly, he could hardly see any skin. It was so gory and gruesome; the boy deserved more than to have such an appearance. He put the corpse in the backseat of the car and arranged his hands so he was lying down with his hands folded across his chest. He drove to the nearby lake, which was the most serene location in Glenville.

David carried the boy to the border between land and lake. Carefully, he stripped off the boy’s bloodied clothes. He soaked them into the cool water until all of the blood had rinsed out. Then, he lowered the boy into the water. Using the shirt as a sponge, he cleansed all the blood and dirt from the boy’s body. By the time he had finished, the corpse looked human again. He looked so vulnerable, as helpless as a newborn infant. He needed protection. David set him on the sand and gathered all the sticks and leaves he could find. Using the lighter from his glove compartment, he lit the kindle and created a decent sized fire. He set the body at rest in the flames. He burned his hands at the same time, but didn’t seem to mind. It was time for his own cleansing. He stripped off his clothes, and swam into the lake.

He didn’t know how long he had been cleaning, but by the time he got out, it was pitch black. He laid himself on the beach until he was dry. Once he put his clothes back on, the fire was nearly out. He tossed sand on it until he was sure it was extinguished. Using the light of his cell phone, he gathered the ashes and tied them into the shirt like a pouch. There was a tree nearby, that seemed like a dignified place. Using a stick, he dug a hole big enough to hold the remains of the boy. He laid the shirt into the hole and covered it in dirt. The tree, he felt, was a guardian.

David took a final glance of his surroundings. It was late at night, or by technicality, early morning. He got back into his car and drove off. The road was far-reaching and immeasurable. He thought not of his father or of his past, but of the repose he sensed in the child. He recalled his eyes, as clear and opal as the limpid waters of the lake. He would come to terms with the events of the night, but at the present he sought solace. He felt he would attain renewal at some time, but the only thing to do now was drive. The road was sinuous, with countless directions and infinite outcomes, with only an elicit selection of triumphs.

This is a great concept for a story, and the title is great. I think you wrote it well enough, and David is a very realistic, human character, but there was so little imagery and showing that a lot was amiss. You need to find a balance between the no-nonsense fast pace of telling, and the vital imagery of showing. It doesn't have to be long-winded, but I felt there was a lot lacking in that area.
Anyway, I'm assuming there's more to come, and I would like to read it.

Lauren