Inevitable(Na No Wri Mo): Intro!

Here is an introduction(or half of Chapter 1) of my Na No Wri Mo YWP Novel. I've done 5514 words now, towards my goal of 30,000.(Yikes!)

I stare at myself in the mirror. I don't know who the creature staring back at me is. She has deep dark circles under her eyes, greasy hair all tangled in knots and a tear-stained face. She stares at me with a a pained expression. There is no color in her cheeks: no blush on her pale cheeks. I stand staring at her for a long time, probably too long. How can that be me? I push the thought of what I look like out of my mind and move away from the mirror hanging on the wall. The daily tasks lie ahead of me, washing and getting myself dressed; preparing breakfast; waking Willow and helping her get ready for school; I will leave my mother in bed, there's no need to wake her.

I move silently down the corridor, peaking around the door at Willow. When she's asleep her face is peaceful, like she has no worries to contend with. Being careful not to wake her or my mother I fill the basin in the bathroom with cold water, saving the warm water for when Willow wakes up. Taking the small bar of soap on the side of the sink I wash all the tear-stains from my face. The shock of the freezing water makes my whole body rigid but I continue. I can't wake Willow looking the way I did in the mirror this morning: It's my job to stay strong. I don't feel strong though. I feel weak, fragile in this unknown world. A world where I now stand-alone. How long can I keep this up? I just want to break down and cry. Go to sleep one night and never wake up again. I can't. Leaving Willow alone is not an option. Not with mum and her anger. Not with nobody to protect her. I don't believe I just considered this: death. Letting them win. Giving up. That's not an option, not anymore.

Reaching for the towel that hangs over the rail I dry my face. The bathroom is damp with mold building in the corners of the room and taking it's place on the ceiling. The tile flooring is cracked.  I walk over to the cupboard : the door is slowly coming off it's hinges: and take out my brush. I tug on the knots: it hurts, pulling on my scalp. I resist the urge to let out a moan and instead clamp down my teeth. It's lucky I got up earlier this morning.

When my hair is finally un-knotted I go to get dressed. I can see my rib-cage through my skin and count out my ribs.My shoulder bones stick out in awkward angles. My bones in my leg jut out awkwardly and my fingers are long but thin. My frame is tiny: not one of a fourteen year-old girl. I can't think about the last time I ate a good sized meal, the last time my stomach was satisfied. The sun is now shining through the window, illuminating my room as I stare at my body. My clothes lie on the floor, creased where I left them yesterday night. I pulled myself out of school, too much to do at home. Willow agreed to stay behind and give me a hand but I can't ruin her chances of doing something good with her life. I want her to be able to leave when she's old enough: get away from this place. I could run way right now if I wanted too but living on the streets is too dangerous: I would be asking for a death sentence. You trust no one here. No one. Someone is out to ruin us, this family and no one can be trusted until I have found out who him or her is. I'm not going to leave until I solve the problem that I'm continuously reminded of in my waking hours and kept awake by at night.

When I'm dressed in my daily clothes: an old shirt, canvas trousers and boots: I make my way to the kitchen. The clock on the wall tells me it's 6.30am, I must have been up for at least two hours already. I yawn. Working my way around the kitchen I get what I need to make breakfast. Slipping some bread into the toaster and putting the kettle on boil I take a seat for a moment at the table. Every time me and Willow sit here it feels like something is missing. The old times when we were a family. When there were no worries, just laughter filling the room. I loved school, I was even good at it. Always top of the class. If none of this had ever happened. None of this mess, I would probably have continued in school and trained as a doctor. I've always wanted to help people: at least until a few months ago. Now I'm ready to do whatever it takes to discover how this has happened. How this family is a threat. How I'm sure I am next. How I know we will all suffer the consequences.

The toast pops up and startles me. I get up with a groan, It's been so long since I've sat down for a few minutes and had some time to myself. I feel like going back to my room and sleeping the whole day but I know I can't. I've got to get Willow ready to stop my mum getting angry. Ever since my father 'died' it's like a light has gone out within her. She does nothing except shout at me and snap at Willow. I'm hoping that this is just the grief, that maybe it will wear off but I am ready and I know that I may have to continue looking after Willow and the house fort a lot longer. My childhood has gone. I guess it was gone months ago but I didn't realise and I thought I was smart. I butter the toast, pour the tea and lay the table for the two of us. The clock continues to tick by, each second, each minute as I prepare breakfast. I chew on a piece of burnt toast myself, ignoring the charcoal taste,  not wanting to let it go to waste. It's clear I need the extra calories anyway. Once I'm done I head back up to the corridor to Willow's room. Her room is small and cramped but she doesn't seem to mind. Her books stand in alphabetical order on a shelf running across the room. Her patchwork quilted duvet has holes and tears in it. I make a mental note to sew it up during the day with the spare needle and thread I keep in my room. There is an old rug on the floor, grey instead of it's original white. The house is falling to pieces but we don't have the money to do anything about it nor do I have the time. A pair of her boats, the soles bared down and perfectly lined up against the wall. Her chest of draws are open, her clothes from the day before neatly folded inside. I walk through the room and give her a shoulder a shake.

"Willow?" I ask, trying to wake her "Willow, it's time for breakfast"

She yawns and turns onto her back. Her eyes flick open but she looks disappointed, she was probably dreaming. I hear her talking in her sleep most nights as I make my way to bed. I stop and listen every time I past trying to work out what the dream is about. I normally hear her calling to my dad, speaking to my mother, the same way we used to in the evenings where we would sit around the television in the living room watching an old film. I had to sell it last month.

"Morning" I whisper to Willow

I help her out of bed and take her neatly folded clothes out of the drawer. Willow has become but she always has been. Her bones don't jut out in the same awkward angles as mine do. There are no dark circles under her eyes and her blonde hair is still neat despite having just got up. I slip on her school shirt and over it her school pinafore. They are all still clean, not a speck of dirt on them and she's been wearing them for a few days now. Her tights have been sewn in several places but it's not noticeable and her shoes leather are scraped. I have done my best to keep Willow healthy and tried to cheer her up. I make sure she has enough to eat and her school clothes are washed every time I can. I refuse to let her stay up and help me at night with the cleaning and instead make sure she has enough sleep. When she's dressed she follows me into the kitchen and we sit down together at the table.

"Are you okay?" Willow asks me a concerned look on her face "You look tired"

"I'm fine" I reply, gesturing my hand away at her concern

"The dark circles under your eyes...?" She continues

"Willow" I say exasperated now " I promise I'm fine"

If there's one thing she doesn't need it's another thing to worry about.

I sigh and get up from the table, glugging down the remains of my tea. I leave Willow sitting at the table to go and get her coat from the Lounge. As a walk in I feel a pain in my chest. A pain of all the memories, the laughter, even the tears. I remember back to the times where I would curl up against my father and listen to his thrumming heartbeat. I would match my breathing to his, taking breaths at the same time. I remember sitting cross-legged on the floor with a board game in front of us. Me and father would argue about everything, the amounts of turns, the cards, the cheat.  My mum would laugh: her laugh infectious. I haven't heard that laugh since my father was murdered. I miss it. I miss everything. This room brings it all back. The pain in my chest is becoming unbearable, threatening to break me. Last October, it has only been six months. I knew something was wrong. There were too many letters coming through the letterbox, too many glances shared between my parents: too many times I found my father sitting on his own shaking. I know that my mother knows something. I don't dare to ask her. She probably knows everything. Maybe that's why she is always so angry. I don't dare to predict anything. I know it's not long until I find out. Does she know how much danger we are in? Everytime I would ask while father was still alive she would refuse to answer me. She would give me a look, her eyes glued against mine. With Willow she was always so comforting, always reassuring her when there were arguments. What if this was all my fault? Somehow, it has to be? What is my father is dead because of me? What is I am the person endangering my whole family? Am I next? What is my mum knows the answer?

What do you think?
How is your Na No Wri Mo going?
Sophie