So, this is probably a pretty crappy piece, but… Well, the basic jist is that I’ve been trying to get back into writing recently, and have been having a hard time of it. I thought that maybe posting what I’ve got so far might help.
Please people! Help me!
This is the beginning of the first chapter of my novel, which is currently titleless. The book is a young adult paranormal romance. Lemme know what you think.
Chapter One
Life should have a restart button. You know, like this red bump on the side of your head that you can press when you are ready to leave everything you have behind and start over. I think erasing your own memories and making a clean slate for yourself is just too hard.
Of course, since I was trying anyway, I thought I picked a pretty good place to do it.
Mountainside’s streets were narrow and old, and my bike made a loud squealing noise in protest right as I rode past the welcome sign. I slowed my fierce pedaling down, eyeing the looming cabins surrounding me. These were real wood houses, made of thick logs glued with bright white cement. Together with the huge, ominous trees on every corner, the town looked like it was frozen in time, never moving past the days when people made their homes by hand and walked to the trading post to get their food.
Relief rushed over me. There were no Walmarts. No grocery stores with bold, ugly signs. Just bulky trees and oranging foliage, ripe with autumn.
With a deep sigh, I hopped off my bike and nearly collapsed on the side of the road. My whole body growled, pissed off at me for the stress I’d just put it through, and I most certainly felt it. But the worst was behind me. At least, my old home was. So were my old friends. My old job. My old life.
So what if a long bus ride and an hour of brutal bicycling later, I still couldn’t escape my thoughts? That one was a given.
All I had to do now was figure out what I was going to do. I was familiar with the area; my parents had a little retreat home in the forest about twenty minutes out of town. But it wasn’t like I had a place to go. I was just here.
A light breeze grazed my sweaty face. With a feeling of intense relaxation, I lifted my thick hair off my neck and laid down on the sidewalk. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.
My brief, meditative state brought to mind my therapist’s voice, trying to soothe me.
“Just take a deep breath, Evelyn,” she’d say, squinting at me from behind her gargantuan glasses. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
Yeah, right. Because, you know, I wasn’t completely alone in a town at least three hours from home, with no where to go. But, hey, at least I’d chosen to be here.
Part of my mind snarled at me, shrieking mean, horrible things, but I ignored it and sat up, taking a good look around me. I needed to get a move on. My butt wasn’t going to find a place to sleep for me. It was like my brother, Adam, always said. The best course of action was always action.
Thinking of Adam jabbed me in the heart. I swallowed hard, a knot bulging in my throat. I wanted to cry, but crying was for babies. I was no baby. My mind’s eye could see Adam lying in the hospital bed, ruined and broken, but I would not cry.
No matter how much I wanted to scream, I would not cry.
Reaching out to me through the chilly, empty night, a few bells chimed. Wiping my dry eyes impulsively, I stood up and peered around. The bells sang again. Someone was awake somewhere.
“C’mon, Eve,” I grumbled. I used my mind to lift my bike up and place the handlebars in my sweaty palms. “Let’s get going already.”
The bike felt much heavier than I could ever remember it feeling. Chalking it up to my exhausted arms, I used my telekinesis to carry it close to my hips, making sure to keep my hands on it, in case someone saw. Citizens of a colonial little town like Mountainside probably wouldn’t enjoy looking out their window in the middle of the night to see a strange girl with a hovering bike walking through. The last thing I wanted was to get chased by an angry mob.
I followed the sound of the bells, which rang sporadically from somewhere midtown. A chill of desperation settled into my bones with every darkened house I passed. Suddenly, my situation felt much less empowering and much more hopeless. Who the hell would let a stranger sleep in their home? I was a freaking bum.
Then, I saw it. The church, a cute little log cabin with a rather large cross planted on top, was situated in the middle of an island in the road, directly in front of me. And on the top floor, there were lights on.
I might not be one for religion, but I know a miracle when I see one.
My heart thrumming in my throat, I treaded up the church steps, laid my bike against the wooden wall, and knocked on the door. No one answered, but I could still hear the bells jingling, beckoning me. I knew, without a doubt, that if I was going to find a place to stay, this was my only hope. Tentatively, I turned the doorknob.
It opened without a hassle. Inside, the church smelled like pine and old chairs. I frowned, peering through the darkness in the hope of seeing a way upstairs. Silhouettes made chills creep up my arms; shadows played games with my eyes. I swallowed thickly, suddenly filled with unease, but determined to find those bells, I stepped forward.
