Chapter One

             “I’m going to enjoy killing you. Watching you squirm and beg for mercy. There’s no feeling like it.”

             A cold shiver ran through my spine. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I looked at the face staring back at me and gently froze to death. Why couldn’t I just be a regular girl whose biggest fear is having a breakout of pimples? I knew you were supposed to always stay strong, but I never knew it was so hard.

             “I’m not afraid of you!” I blurted out of impulse, and suddenly covering my mouth once I realized what I had done.

             “Are you sure?” He pulled out a sharp, silver knife stained with dry blood. I could tell he had used it before, and if I’m correct, he had succeeded. It reflected the light from the torches on the wall, and I thought I saw a shadowy figure of some sort. He shoved it to my throat.

             My heart was a jackhammer. I felt my heart working 10 times as fast as it should be. I tried to think about something else, but it just kept coming back. I looked around. A murky ceiling oozing an unknown substance, weathered brick walls, and a ratty cement floor; not how I pictured dying. I wanted to die peacefully like my sleep like my grandmother who died gracefully falling asleep in her car while her foot was on the pedal. And I told myself, how I can just watch myself die, and not do anything to fight back. And then, I made one false move. I tried to hold it in, but my allergies were too powerful. A cascade of gooey, moist mucus burst on his face.

             “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to-“

             “Hehe, Big mistake.”    

             He wiped his masked face with his furrowed hand. I braced myself for the worst. I knew the consequences I was about to face. He raised his knife in the air. And then, without a moment of hesitation, he swiftly slashed his knife at my throat. I heard a loud howl and felt a sharp pain in my chest, and then everything else was a blur.

             “AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” I screamed at the top of my lungs.

                               

             My blouse was damp from sweat and stuck to my torso. My entire body was sticky. I looked around at my familiar baby blue walls. I looked at the picture that glared at me. It was my grandma and I at Thanksgiving. I remembered because I wanted to go to my friend’s party that everyone was going to, but I was forced to go to grandma’s house. I was whining the whole day that I forgot how much I loved to visit her. I would always sit on her lap, and she would tell me stories. Whenever I was down, She would always give me advice.

             “Oh, grandma. I wish you were here. You would know what to say.”

             That was the third time this week I had the same dream, yet I always screamed, and each time is got scarier and scarier.

             “BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP             !”

             I was so startled by my alarm that I jumped off my bed and fell off, my blanket covering over me. I’m 16 years old, yet I have the coordination of a three year old. It was genetic thing. As I struggled to get out of my blanket, I remembered it was Tuesday. Hurriedly, scrambled up to the alarm clock; 8:35, late again. I dashed down the stairs, tripping down every five steps, to the fridge. I got out some orange juice and a hot pocket. I hastily placed the hot pocket in the microwave, accidentally pressing seven, and in my hurry, I spilled the orange juice all over the table. I ran to the bathroom and scrambled for a toothbrush. I squeezed out a tub of toothpaste and rapidly brushed my teeth. Smacking my lips, I tasted something funny.

             “This isn’t the toothbrush I use to brush my teeth” I stated.

             I pulled it out of my mouth and checked it.

             “Oh, gross!” I yelped as I pulled out a thread of hair from the toothbrush.”Ugh!” I gurgled my mouth for two whole minutes. I hurried to my closet and put on whatever I could find. When I went halfway down the stairs, I sniffed an unusual smell, kind of like smoke. Then a haze of fog blurred my senses. I saw a bright, burning fire.

             “Crap! My hot pocket!” I drew out the fire extinguishe and, me being all clumsy, faced it the wrong way. When I pulled it, the foam spewed out my face and shirt. I spun it back around and sprayed it all around me. I looked at my watch. “Shoot! 9:00!” I said. “Ugh! I don’t have time to clean this up!” I gulped all the orange juice and went out the door, leaving a mess behind me.

 

Reviews

[Rebecca Rogers]

Take everything I say with a grain of salt.

The dream sequence almost seemed funny to me. As soon as the killer asked, "Are you sure?", I lost interest. However, I did keep reading.

There are a couple of grammar errors.

"I'm 16 years old, yet I have the coordination of a three year old."

[Tim H]

Both the dream segment and the reality segment are well written. Sheri Haynes' comment are valid and perhaps pertain more to the feeling that the chapter seems incomplete. If we had a little more of the narrator's story we might connect as readers to her situation. I do like the description of the character in the reality segment; it provides a humorous and believable counterpoint to the dream. I have read similar hooks with the protagonist being murdered in the dream only to awaken and start their day at least twice on WritersCafe there may be a danger that this device is overused. I liked the story so far and look forward to more.

[shane]

good, the beginning really dragged me in, will be watching for more chapters

[Sheri Haynes]

What is your main character's name, and why is she having this dream? What does she look like and who is the man killing her? You have a good hook to get the reader to read on to see what happens to the main character and then you go into her everyday events. What is special about her? Why should we care about her? How can I connect with her? Why should I care what happens to her? Fill in the answers to some of these questions and ask yourself some more to fill in the plot holes and you'll have a great story.