Constructive criticizm would be awesome. Thanks. I dont know how to do the italic thing on a website so when it sounds like its in first person its the main character talking in her head and when it sounds like its in third person its the narrarator. Sorry that its confusing.
CHAPTER 1: First there was cold EXPECTATIONS
Smoking cigarettes was her thing. The grey smoke often rolled, and tumbled through her windpipe blackening, and tarring lungs that gave this 17 year old life. Standing outside in a constant: put fingers to lips-inhale-remove fingers from lips-exhale, has become a daily ritual passing the time between different events. To some it has become a disgusting ritual.
It doesn’t matter to her though. She understands the health complications, emphysema, all that stuff. She supports the people who do ad’s to encourage people to quit, and later help them. This is all fine with her, she just doesn’t want to quit. She likes the taste of it- like a soft dose of hard liquor. Plus the rebellion factor helped a little bit. She laughed thinking of how cliché that sounded, and continued to press the matter in her mind. Rebellion, it gets a bad name.
Honestly, she didn’t know what it was that made her feel the need to “rebel”. “I guess I just don’t feel the need to shop at Hollister, and throw myself on the first thing I see with two legs.” That’s the only way she can explain it, and it seemed to be a good enough explanation for people. When she explains it as a protest to being normal and proving the point that you can be happy (except for the emo kids) being different no one seems to get it. So instead she uses the lame explanation that makes fun of preps.
“I do fit the stereotype pretty well,” she though to herself. Looking down she listed off her clothing In her mind, “Black converse high-tops, guys black dickies, girls pink band t-shirt, light-blue bandanna sticking out of my back pocket. Yep, pretty much a stereotype, and proud of it.”
“Fuck duck its cold!” she exhaled into the harsh winter wind, smoldering her cigarette in the concrete step. Every Sunday she suffers through her parents two hour church service in the freezing cold given the choice of going inside or freeze outside. She chooses outside rather than let them win. Being a lesbian is not a problem; it’s not believing in god that is.
February, the peak of harsh winter temperatures in Vermont, was close to passing and she could hardly wait. The trek to her friend’s house, where she usually escaped to, was long and cold these last weeks. Her ponytail consistently knocked her in the face, whipping long, dyed black hair into her eyes, which then followed by having to remove her warm hands from their sacred place, to be once again cold so she could see again. The teenagers beaten up converse also managed to prove difficult in the cold, wet, snow, successful in bleeding through the canvas material.
Today the walk had been brutal, and she had complained to Em, the friend with a house, about it throughout breakfast. Em had laughed it off realizing how stubborn her friend is. She stayed for an hour and a half then back tracked to the church.
Now sitting on the church steps, she hunched over trying to warm her legs through rubbing previously, swearing every now and then. The bells of the building rang sending a warm surge through her core, knowing that soon she will be in an extremely hot car. She used the railing to her right to pull herself up, and turned to face the large, red doors which welcomed people like a victim to his or her murderer.
Two minutes later, still freezing from and now jumping up and down to regain muscle movement, the doors opened, and a flood of mindless drones walked out. She heard murmurs of: “Great sermon…That was boring…Have you seen them…Rather nice family I think…” “Church gossip, bringing happiness to housewives everywhere!” She grimaced at the thought. Fuck! There’s probably a new family. She turned straight around and tried to push herself through the mob to her parent’s car but was too late.
“Kirsten! Kirsten where are you? She must be around here somewhere?” Great! Mom and some random people.
“Right here mom,” Kirsten mumbled trying to hide her enthusiasm.
“W-Where are you?” Her mom answered confused in the mosh of people.
“Right here!” Kirsten yelled so she wouldn’t have had to repeat it again.
“Oh good! There you are honey! Kirsten this is Mr. and Mrs. Lade, and their daughter Raye.”
“Maybe meeting them won’t actually be so bad.” Kirsten thought as she gave a crooked smile to a brunette the same age as her.