No Such Thing And Never Was

I've never been one for these caveat's provided by one-day authors to introduce their work. Let the work do the talking I say. But in this instance I feel some information is required or I will be inundated with nitpicks and general criticism about syntax and word choice. That's not what I am after. More and more I have felt I am getting close to a publishable standard. After a handful of drafts, my work becomes polished and consumable. I want to write this novel and this is a first draft. Before I continue with it, I wanted to get a little input. As stated, I'm not in the habit of publishing work to this site that I am not happy with, this piece is the exception and here's what I am after.

Advice on:

- Readability/Style

- Character

- Predicatability

- Premise

It's short, but so is the attention span of the average YW.

One in Two

The first thing you should know about Annabelle Clayton is she does not like to be called AC360, Alternating-Current or AC/DC, but simply Anna Clay. The second thing you should know about Anna Clay is she does not lie. I guess that’s why I believed her when she told me she was planning to kill herself.

“Hey Pauly,” she began. “I think I’m going to end it.” She took a bite of peanut butter toast, chewed, swallowed and smiled. “Why are you wearing that stupid look?” she then asked.

That was a special skill she had, she could raise a sledge hammer up the underside of your sternum and make you feel like an idiot for a change in your expression. Of course there was more to it than that.

Denial

“Oh come on AC what a terrible thing to say, you shouldn’t say things like that. You know there are people who don’t understand your sense of humour who might take that the wrong way.”

Negotiation

“So why do you feel this way? Have you spoken to your parents? Of course, you’re not going to do it. I know you’re not. Please talk to me AC. Think about your poor mom?”

Acceptance

“How long have you felt like this? Let’s go talk to someone about it, surely there’s something we can do to make it better. Does your doctor know? Other people with your condition have gone on to live happy and fulfilling lives.”

That's the cycle. Inevitably and regrettably what came next only made matters worse.

Anger

"It's just stupid, Annabelle."

"It's not, please don't say that."

“Has this got anything to do with Olivia?”

“What?” She said. “Are you insane Paul?”

“Well I fail to understand wh-”

“I’d rather die on my terms. Don’t make this about you and her. Jesus Christ Almighty.”

“If it’s something to do with-”

Her chin down, her eyes wide and fixed on me.

“Okay,” I said. “I don’t understand and I’m going to do everything I can to talk you out of it but I know it has nothing to do with that.” I cleared my throat quietly and looked away. “When do you plan on doing it?”

“Oh not for months,” she said. The flags of colour that had risen in her cheeks draining away again.

I didn’t cry, nor did she. I stood up and horsed my way around the dining room table, between the chairs and stacked junk and furniture. I crouched beside her and pulled her against my chest.

“This is nice Paul, but let’s not make it awkward, I’m not dead yet you know.” That special skill of hers again.

“Don’t do anything stupid, AC.”

“It’s probably the most logical decision I have made, but I know what you mean, PD.” She smiled and pushed me away. “So speaking of Olivia, how are things going?”

It’s not good form to leave someone alone after they have expressed a desire to end their life, but it is also not good form to leave your girlfriend waiting at the dentist while you visit another girl. So in the spirit of compromise I stayed with Anna a little longer, picking cat hair from my sweater and catching her up on what she has missed from school. On the recycled hard wood table my phone shuffled, heralding another missed call or text message. When the time came I called back.

“Hey, sorry I left my phone in the car.”

“I have been waiting for half an hour.” Olivia said. “It’s just rude. If I knew you were going to take this long I would have driven myself.”

“I’m sorry Olivia, I just had to stop off on the way.”

"Well I'm across the road at the shopping centre now."

I’m sorry, got to run I mouthed to Anna.

"Okay, okay, I will be there in five."

Anna shot herself in the temple with her finger, her mouth falling agape and her eyes rolling. Then as if realising the symbol of her gesture in light of our prior conversation, her neck tightened and her shoulders raised. Oops sorry, she mouthed back.

“I’ll be there in five, just sit tight okay?”

“I’m not happy, Paul.”

Anna’s house is kept as a metaphor for her mom’s personality. Inside it is aged and tacky. Cluttered, with a greasy floor and stacks of clacking junk, spilling from ripped boxes and bin bags. Pots clutch at you from the kitchen sink as you pass by, the moth eaten curtains are rarely drawn and mute the sunlight in an oddly distasteful way. Perhaps all that can be said about the interior is the warmth. In winter the double brick and open fire see that layers, gloves and hats are stripped and discarded upon entry. As you approach the front door from the outside, it is well kept, the lawn and garden neatly groomed, the roof an adobe red and the weather boards are bright against the navy shutters. I gave the kitchen window one last glance as I reached my car, I could only see the road reflected back but I wave, in case she was still watching me.