Right, so I'm writing this book with hopes to get it published eventually. I want to post the first chapter here, and generally I want your opinions on my style of writing and whether or not you would be interested in reading the whole book. Please be honest, but with constructive comments please.
Chapter 1
Staring outwards, watching the rain batter against the clear pane of glass, I trace the path of a singular raindrop with my fingertip. It comes to a rest at the bottom of the window, and I let out an almighty sigh. This lesson never did interest me too much.
Turning my attention back to the teacher at the front, talking aimlessly at an uninterested group of students, I half listen as I doodle pointless little images in the margins of my exercise book: a star, a spiral, a random little squiggle... Jumping, brought back to life by the buzz of the phone in my pocket, heart pumping, I pull the phone out of my pocket and keep it beneath the table. Closing my eyes for a moment to slow my surprised heart, I open them again and look down at the phone.
It’s him.
Trembling once more, I hit a couple of buttons to open the new message. Shining out of the little screen, scream two words- ‘It’s time.’ Again, I try to calm myself, closing my eyes and breathing slowly and deeply. By the time I open my eyes, the boy next to me is looking at me oddly.
“What are you doing?” Blaise continues to look at me funny, head slightly tilted.
“I… umm… nothing.” Inwardly, I curse myself. Why the hell couldn’t I make anything up? Why did I have to stutter like a fool? Feeling my cheeks redden, I turn away and stare out of the window once more. Suddenly remembering about the message I just received, I thrust my hand in the air.
“Miss! I need the loo!”
The teacher has stopped talking by now, giving up by now. She's bent over a desk, helping one of the geekier students who is actually trying to work. Glancing up, the teacher sees me, waving my hand around in the air. She walks over slowly, dodging between the closely packed tables. When she reaches the desk in front of me, she turns on her heel and walks back towards her desk, grabs a slip of paper and walks back towards me.
“You got your planner?” She asks.
Rooting through my bag, I find it, crumpled and squashed in the unknown depths by countless exercise and text books. Handing the sorry looking planner to my teacher, she rolls her eyes at its awful state as she flicks to the right page and scribbles my supposed destination and her signature. She gives it back to me, and also hands me the piece of paper from her desk.
“Could you please take this to Mr. Mullard on your way down?”
Perfect.
“Yes Miss. Of course.” Pretending to be an ordinary, studious child comes far too easily to me. I reach down under the table and grab my bag. Slipping out of my chair and squeezing past Blaise, I walk to the door, my bag in my grasp. No one will question why. Being female sometimes helps in my line of work. Opening the classroom door, I set off down the corridor, enjoying the silence that only comes during lesson times. Ahead of me, a student slumps on the floor of the corridor. I’ve seen him sat there many times before. Seems he’s always in trouble with that particular teacher.
At the end of the corridor, I turn onto the mezzanine, where all the lockers are kept. Pulling the key from my pocket, I shove it into the keyhole of my locker, turn it roughly and yank the door open. Looking around, I check that nobody is around to watch me. Although no person is in sight, there's still a security camera attached to the wall with no-one else to watch. Moving in front of my locker, blocking it from the camera's large fish eye lens, I reach in and caress the long, slender objects, so familiar to my touch. Wrapped in a cloth to hide them from prying eyes and to protect them just as much. Ever so gently, I ease them out of the relative security of my locker and lower them into my bag. Sealing it, I head towards the toilets.
Throwing open the door to the loos, I walk slowly around the corner. Again, a camera hangs on the wall. They say that it’s there to stop the older kids from smoking in the newly renovated toilets. Personally, I find it a little pervy. Walking into a cubicle and locking the door, I lower the seat and perch myself on the edge of it. Pulling the beloved objects, the tools of my trade, my life, from my bag, I un-wrap them tenderly, lovingly, drop the cloth to the ground and take an adoring look at these beloved items.
The blood red metal shines beautifully, effortlessly catching the light. The razor sharp, serrated edges encased safely in the tough, smooth leather holsters. The handle, long and straight, with the red leather grip wrapped around it, a ring of metal adorning it. My knives- my livelihood. Strapping the supple leather to my calves beneath my trouser legs, I felt the reassurance of the cold metal against my flesh through the gaps in the leather. Sliding my trouser legs back down, concealing the deadly, beautiful things, I stand from the toilet seat, unlock the cubicle door and set off towards Mr. Mullard's classroom.
So, any thoughts?
Chapter 1
Staring outwards, watching the rain batter against the clear pane of glass, I trace the path of a singular raindrop with my fingertip. It comes to a rest at the bottom of the window, and I let out an almighty sigh. This lesson never did interest me too much.
Turning my attention back to the teacher at the front, talking aimlessly at an uninterested group of students, I half listen as I doodle pointless little images in the margins of my exercise book: a star, a spiral, a random little squiggle... Jumping, brought back to life by the buzz of the phone in my pocket, heart pumping, I pull the phone out of my pocket and keep it beneath the table. Closing my eyes for a moment to slow my surprised heart, I open them again and look down at the phone.
It’s him.
Trembling once more, I hit a couple of buttons to open the new message. Shining out of the little screen, scream two words- ‘It’s time.’ Again, I try to calm myself, closing my eyes and breathing slowly and deeply. By the time I open my eyes, the boy next to me is looking at me oddly.
“What are you doing?” Blaise continues to look at me funny, head slightly tilted.
“I… umm… nothing.” Inwardly, I curse myself. Why the hell couldn’t I make anything up? Why did I have to stutter like a fool? Feeling my cheeks redden, I turn away and stare out of the window once more. Suddenly remembering about the message I just received, I thrust my hand in the air.
“Miss! I need the loo!”
The teacher has stopped talking by now, giving up by now. She's bent over a desk, helping one of the geekier students who is actually trying to work. Glancing up, the teacher sees me, waving my hand around in the air. She walks over slowly, dodging between the closely packed tables. When she reaches the desk in front of me, she turns on her heel and walks back towards her desk, grabs a slip of paper and walks back towards me.
“You got your planner?” She asks.
Rooting through my bag, I find it, crumpled and squashed in the unknown depths by countless exercise and text books. Handing the sorry looking planner to my teacher, she rolls her eyes at its awful state as she flicks to the right page and scribbles my supposed destination and her signature. She gives it back to me, and also hands me the piece of paper from her desk.
“Could you please take this to Mr. Mullard on your way down?”
Perfect.
“Yes Miss. Of course.” Pretending to be an ordinary, studious child comes far too easily to me. I reach down under the table and grab my bag. Slipping out of my chair and squeezing past Blaise, I walk to the door, my bag in my grasp. No one will question why. Being female sometimes helps in my line of work. Opening the classroom door, I set off down the corridor, enjoying the silence that only comes during lesson times. Ahead of me, a student slumps on the floor of the corridor. I’ve seen him sat there many times before. Seems he’s always in trouble with that particular teacher.
At the end of the corridor, I turn onto the mezzanine, where all the lockers are kept. Pulling the key from my pocket, I shove it into the keyhole of my locker, turn it roughly and yank the door open. Looking around, I check that nobody is around to watch me. Although no person is in sight, there's still a security camera attached to the wall with no-one else to watch. Moving in front of my locker, blocking it from the camera's large fish eye lens, I reach in and caress the long, slender objects, so familiar to my touch. Wrapped in a cloth to hide them from prying eyes and to protect them just as much. Ever so gently, I ease them out of the relative security of my locker and lower them into my bag. Sealing it, I head towards the toilets.
Throwing open the door to the loos, I walk slowly around the corner. Again, a camera hangs on the wall. They say that it’s there to stop the older kids from smoking in the newly renovated toilets. Personally, I find it a little pervy. Walking into a cubicle and locking the door, I lower the seat and perch myself on the edge of it. Pulling the beloved objects, the tools of my trade, my life, from my bag, I un-wrap them tenderly, lovingly, drop the cloth to the ground and take an adoring look at these beloved items.
The blood red metal shines beautifully, effortlessly catching the light. The razor sharp, serrated edges encased safely in the tough, smooth leather holsters. The handle, long and straight, with the red leather grip wrapped around it, a ring of metal adorning it. My knives- my livelihood. Strapping the supple leather to my calves beneath my trouser legs, I felt the reassurance of the cold metal against my flesh through the gaps in the leather. Sliding my trouser legs back down, concealing the deadly, beautiful things, I stand from the toilet seat, unlock the cubicle door and set off towards Mr. Mullard's classroom.
So, any thoughts?
