Barbed Wire Roses Prologue

Here is the prologue to a book Barbed Wire Roses I have started to write. It's based on an alternate history and the aim to create the 'perfect generation'.

I watched as the girl stumbled through cobble stone streets, she couldn't have been any older than five yet she was alone. She wore a grey pinafore over a crumpled white blouse, her legs were partially covered with knee length white socks but it wasn't enough to protect her from the freezing hue of the winter evening. Her face was white and hollow, partially from the cold but mostly from lack of nutrition. Her lips had an icy blue tint to them and her hands were clenched into fists in a failed attempt to keep them warm. Each panting breath brought a icy mist to the air that hovered for a few seconds in front of her eyes before fading into the sky line. Her eyes were a golden brown with little flecks of green in them if you looked close, long dark eyelashes framed them and brushed against her cheeks as she scrunched up her face trying to shut out the cold.
She would have been quite pretty if it wasn't for the ugly bruises that scattered her body and face. Her cheek was swollen in a bluey yellow bruising and her rosebud lips had a split across the bottom. Her clothes hid more violent markings, five purple circles in the shape of fingerprints clenched onto her arm and raw red scars shaped like that of cigarette ends covered her back. 
The girl stopped for a second and sat down on a frost laden wall; she rubbed her aching ankles and wiggled numb toes. Home was still a mile away and added onto the two she'd already struggled through this afternoon she longed to just stop and collapse right here, but she knew she couldn't. Daddy would hit her again if she didn't get home in time. It hurt when he hit her, but he'd hit her harder if she cried so she would dig her bitten fingernails into the tiny palm of her hand, trying to bite back the tears, I'd watched her many times. She just wanted mummy and daddy to love her.

The little girl clambered to her feet clutching onto a crumpled brown paper bag, in it was the remains of a slightly bruised apple and the crumbs of some wholegrain bread; she never threw the paper bag away after eating her lunch, if she used her black crayon to draw a smiling face on the front and cut out the blobby shape of a body it was something she could call her own: her own dolly. She stumbled on through the streets passing few people as she went, one man in a suit and tie raised an eyebrow at the little girl on her own, but he didn't ask.

When she arrived home she reached into her pinafore pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Carefully she unfolded each crease until they no longer remained and smiling handed it to her mother. On the paper surface was a crayon drawn picture; it had taken her hours to clutch onto the sticks of colour with her stubby little fingers and draw herself, father, mother and her sister Arianne. Each careful item of clothing and curl of the hair had been neatly coloured in shades of the rainbow and between their smiling faces floated little pink hearts. Her mother took the paper and with hardly a glance at the drawing dragged the little girl into the sitting room and shoved her down on the sofa just as the television set sprung to life. 
Her mother sat down beside her 'Keep quiet and watch.'
A man appeared on the screen and shots of cheering crowds flashed across the set. The man was surrounded by hoards of security as he made his way towards the large wooded podium mounted on the stage. Silence fell as he coughed down the microphone that stood before him. 
'As many of you will know the time to pronounce the new president has come and so here I stand, to announce to you, that I, Andrew Mainford am the new leader of the British Empire. I have one main aim to complete whilst I am in this position and that is to accomplish perfection in this generation. Many have failed to meet the scriptures and the prophesies that promise riches and wealth. The last to try was Adolf Hitler, he didn't realise who he had to abolish and wasted much time with his stupid games. Although he may of got the idea wrong his method of purification was correct, many of the camps he used to rid this world of the unwanted have been savoured as a section of History, but I think it is time we put them to use in order to finally, create the perfect generation.' The man on the screen paused and scanned his eyes around the crowds that surrounded him. 'Many of you will already know of my plan but for those who don't I am here to explain. Many called me ludicrous when I first presented the idea but then I explained to them and leaders of the world have come to see the light. In order to create the perfect generation we need to abolish love.' A few gasps erupted from the crowd as the word flew from his mouth like spittle into the dirt. 'As the ten commandments states we should love only thy father. Yes, you may say it also state 'love thy neighbour' however, what many of you have not realized is God is your neighbour. He lives next to us our whole lives whether we move houses and cities or to the other side of the world God will remain our only solid neighbour. Love causes pain, anger, sadness. Why do we want this in our world? It distracts people from the purpose of life and makes them do crazy things. In the short term love can seem like a blessing but in the long run no good comes from it. And so I announce the new law that any seen expressing feelings of love towards one another and going against the word of God shall be killed instantly or tortured. The father may have told us 'thou shall not kill' but as in order to accomplish perfection in a generation we must dispose of those who cannot respect the Lord. Those who do not follow his word are already as good as dead by the devils hand and it is too late to save their souls. By carrying out this plan we will rid our race of the weak, and only capture the strong to survive and live on.'  As the anthem began to play and the screen fade out the little girl’s mother gripped onto the crumpled piece of paper in her palm, crushing the pink hearts that covered its surface.

I watched a couple of years later as that same little girl walked home from school. I watched as she slipped past legs and crept her way to the front of the crowd. Chants echoed round the groups of people that surrounded the center, cramming against each other for a closer look. The little girl squirmed through a few more trouser legs and reached the center. 

A boy who looked about eighteen was being restrained by several men; they shouted comments of disgust at him as did the crowds, taunting him. 'Lover boy' several chanted, spitting out the words. 'Shoot it' men yelled, refusing to acknowledge the boy as a human. The little girl didn't properly understand what was happening and as the chanting got louder she began to panic. The boy struggled to pull free of the man's grasp. His eyes were red and swollen with tears and a deep cut on his cheek seeped blood. His clothes stuck to his body, glued with sweat and blood and as they ripped his top from him more bleeding gashes were revealed. The little girl began to cry, suddenly scared, she tried to push out from the crowds but as people had crammed closer to get a better look the gaps between onlookers legs had closed. Shaking violently she crumpled into a little ball on the floor and clutched her arms around herself. Peering out from between her arms she watched as a man pulled out a gun from his trouser pocket. The crowd went wild, jeering and chanting, savouring the moments. The boy was crying heavily now as one man held him tightly upwards the other placed the end of the shining pistol against the boy’s forehead and made the sign of the cross over his own chest. The boy trembled, writhing to escape the arms that bound him so tightly. The little girl sniffed peeking over her arms. The man pulled the trigger. Crack. The boy fell. The little girl screamed.

Again I watched as the little girl walked home, aged eight but this time she wasn't alone. A boy stood beside her, he looked much older than her, aged about fifteen. She'd only just met him and all she knew was his name: Zayn. He told her he'd look after her if she did him some favours. The girl didn't ask what these favours were; she just wanted someone to care for her.

Another two years on I watched the girl after school hours. She was with Zayn and as her chest rose and fell into panting patterns he lifted her up by the legs and forced her through the house window. The gap was too small for his muscular frame but it was just the right size for a skinny ten year old. Zayn whispered words of encouragement as she scavenged through the house, grabbing any objects of value. A shout echoed through the hallway as the girl froze. 'Emery' Zayn hissed as she ran towards him, stumbling on a loose floorboard and grazing her knee. Tears welled up in her eyes as she clumsily gathered together the fallen goods. The angry cries were growing closer now as she fumbled to pick up a silver locket, but as the yells broke through the doorway she felt Zayn's rough hands forcing her through the window frame. 'You almost got us caught. Stupid kid' He hissed the last words under his breath but she still heard him. She'd heard those words fall many times from her parents’ lips.

Another couple of years later I saw that same girl with Zayn again. He must have been almost twenty by now yet the girl only scraped twelve. He touched her in ways she didn't understand; running his rough hands along her waistline and leaning in a little too close. The girl didn't like the way he let his hands roam her body, exploring areas that made her feel uncomfortable and brushing fingertips against young flesh. The look in his eyes was filled with hunger and lust as he pulled her closer and forced her tiny frame against a wall. She could feel his breath, hot against her face as the stench of stale cigarettes and alcohol reeked from his body. He held her there for longer than she liked but she didn't dare object, he wouldn't try anything in public, not with the security cameras that littered the streets.

Now fifteen the girl had a change in company. In the same street she crouched with a boy, he wrapped his arms around her but not in a molesting manner, instead protectively clutching her as if he couldn't bear to let her go. They remained hidden behind a large garbage can as men patrolled the streets, bearing guns and various other weapons on their shoulders or poised to shoot. This wasn't the first time the girl had hidden with this boy, they had to hide, or someone might find them; find the feelings they had for each other.

Author's Note

This is the start if a book i have been writing for quite a while. It still needs a lot of editing and your reviews of the concept and writing would be greatly appreciated.

Reviews

[River Page]

Alrighty, so I think you have an interesting concept here. This sort of writing is quite popular in America nowadays, with the Hunger Games and whatnot. The idea of love being immoral is not too farfetched of an idea. If I were you I would research the philosophy of Objectivism and its creator Ayn Rand. Rand beleived that putting anothers needs above yours was immoral, she even went as far as to say that whites had the right to take away land from the Native Americans because they were weak, a statement which drew alot of critisim towards her. She beleived in minimal government though, so the philosphy wouldn't go along with all of this story.

With all of that behind us. I think you need to slow down the story a bit. You've compacted so much information into a prolouge. Why not start in the middle of the story and reveal the past through flashbacks or something? You have a great idea. Its just a little rushed to me. Anyway, good luck! PM me you have any questions! Keep at it with this story, its intriguing. :)

[paperdaydreams]

I'll have a look at that, it sounds like a good idea. I wasn't really sure how to go about writing a book because i've never done it before, only short stories. With the prolouge I wanted to set the scene for the story without dragging it out for too long - it's meant to be the main character looking back at herself- and then in the first chapter slow down the pace of the story. I'll have a go at changing it a bit and see what works best :) thankyou, i'm glad you like it :)

[Drake]

I like the concept and idea you have here, it is very interesting. Yes, it does need some revising, but it is very good. Nicely done.

[paperdaydreams]

Thankyou, when writing this bit I did mostly focus on getting the initial idea down quickly, hopefully once I've researched a bit and improved it'll be a good start

[Emrick]

So sad but very interesting. .
(i like that idea of God being our solid neighbor. He really is.for sure.

[paperdaydreams]

Thank you, It is quite a sad story and I wanted to try and set the scene whilst explaining the main character's history in this section, so I hope I managed to do that