Post by aquarianstar on Apr 12, 2005 15:26:47 GMT -5
This is the first chapter of a novel I am writing. I hope you enjoy. Say what you think and, please, feel free to critisize if needed...
Ch. 1.
It was a bitter Christmas Eve in Dublin that year. The wind was whistling an eerie tune and snowflakes had no sooner fallen from the sky than they were whipped away by its sharp edge. Dark clouds hid the sky and there wasn’t a star to be seen, let alone the moon. The streets were empty and desolate, on a night like this no one in their right mind would be putting so much as a toe outside their doors. Carollers? What carollers? To the careless observer this would seem to be a rather depressing scene, but behind those doors festivity was in full swing. No. 12 Rose Terrace was no exception. In fact, it was probably the liveliest house on the street. The Thompsons lived there, and anyone around would tell you that a bit of cold on Christmas wouldn’t be enough to dampen their spirits. They were a friendly bunch, loud and bubbly, always a smile to offer, and a story to tell.
The fire in the Thompson living room was roaring and crackling, and this along with festive scents from spiced candles brought warmth to the house. Colourful decorations were hanging gaily from the ceiling and the Christmas tree in the corner set off the scene perfectly with its shiny bobbles and shimmering tinsel draped over the branches. With the laughter coming from the room long and loud, it was a truly merry scene, fit to melt the hardest heart.
“Here Joe, I’ll pull one with you then”, Peter Thompson called to his brother.
“Alright then”, said Joe, grabbing a cracker eagerly and crossing the room to Peter.
On the way he passed his sister Carla, who had her nose in a book as usual. He couldn’t understand her, why bother yourself with books when you could play in the snow and read comics instead? He was only five, and he already had a bigger collection of comics than any boy in his class, a fact he was quite proud of. Even more than Peter, who was ten and had been collecting comics for much longer. Carla was sixteen though, and Joe supposed that you do funny things when you get to that age.
Carla jumped with the bang of the cracker, disturbed for about the tenth time in the last two minutes. Little brothers, she thought, fuming silently. She was starting to get frustrated now; she would have to go up to her bedroom in a minute, and she really didn’t want to do that, her mother was annoyed with her already for not really getting into the Christmas spirit. Then there was Alice, her little sister who she shared a bedroom with. Alice had too much energy; you’d swear she was a caffeine addict the way she went on. And it was always one drama after another, one minute she’d be on top of the world, the next her life would be falling apart. She was so unpredictable.
Carla preferred things to be predictable, it made life a lot easier. In this family though asking for predictable was asking for a miracle.
Her mother, a round, cheery woman, was playing on the floor with baby Paula, who was making all those cute baby noises that just make you want to smile. Paula was the first child to inherit her father’s dark head of hair; all the others were blonde like their mother. Her father was sitting with Joe and Peter and they were busy trying to assemble a model car Peter was given by his uncle Dan. Carla had to smile at them. Her father was frowning at the instruction booklet, trying to make some sense of it, while Joe had decided that the instructions were all wrong and that they should just work on instinct. Instructions! More like destructions, he said, as he proceeded to put together something that looked vaguely like an aeroplane. In slightly better humour, she went back to her book.
At about eleven o’ clock, dad announced that it was way past all of their bedtimes, and was met with moans all around. Everyone seemed to develop a sudden leg paralysis, with the result that no one got to bed until a quarter to twelve. Even with dad insisting that Santa wouldn’t come to children who went to bed late on Christmas Eve, the process was a slow one. When they had all finally been put to bed their dad went outside to the garage to take down the box that held their presents. He smiled to himself when he imagined their faces in the morning. It was going to be a merry Christmas all right.
Back in the house Christine, their mother, slumped into the big comfortable armchair by the slowly dying fire. Christmas again. The years were going faster and faster and she rarely had time to herself anymore. Her hair was turning grey and wrinkles were appearing on her face. She was tired. She loved her family dearly, loved the experience of bringing up her four children, loved her husband, but it was exhausting sometimes. Christmas was always such a busy time, and although she always celebrated the season with a bit more than the usual gusto, she had to admit that, at her age it was just a front, put on because it’s expected of her. Age had sprung itself on her so suddenly, it had shocked her, and it had taken her a while to identify with it. They seemed to come all together, the headaches, the tiredness, the constant need to sit down, everything. Pat was at work all day so she had no help around the house, and the kids always had homework after they came in from school. And Carla! Even after she had finished her homework she would lose herself in a book on science or something of the sort, then baffle her with what she had learned. Christine could only hope that it was put to good use someday. Alice was a complete livewire. If only she could have that kind of energy when it came to housework! One mention of it and her motor would jam in reverse. Oh kids. Who’d have ‘em?
Carla couldn’t sleep. She never could on Christmas Eve. She didn’t know why, but she had sort of grown out of the whole commercial aspect of Christmas. Nowadays she was slowly beginning to appreciate the value of the season. A warm glow enveloped her as she thought of the next day. They would go to visit uncle Dan; they always did that at Christmas time and there’d no doubt be a party. Dad would love that; he really enjoyed a good party.
She had been thinking a lot lately, mostly about her future. She would spend hours on end planning out the perfect life, realising that she could never achieve it, and then changing her mind and asking herself why not? Why not indeed? She wanted to be a doctor or nurse or have some sort of medical profession anyway. She liked the idea of helping people, possibly saving lives. She read about it as much as she could and never found herself bored with the subject at all, just intrigued. In a months time she would have the chance to win a scholarship to study medicine. She really needed that scholarship because there was no way her parents would be able to pay for college. She knew that this was what she wanted to do. In the past there had been so many phases, hairdresser, photographer, journalist, teacher, chef, even an astronaut (from a very early stage obviously). But this was different. Nobody really took it too seriously yet but she’d show them. She’d get that scholarship; she had to.
Sarah Darcy 2005.
Ch. 1.
It was a bitter Christmas Eve in Dublin that year. The wind was whistling an eerie tune and snowflakes had no sooner fallen from the sky than they were whipped away by its sharp edge. Dark clouds hid the sky and there wasn’t a star to be seen, let alone the moon. The streets were empty and desolate, on a night like this no one in their right mind would be putting so much as a toe outside their doors. Carollers? What carollers? To the careless observer this would seem to be a rather depressing scene, but behind those doors festivity was in full swing. No. 12 Rose Terrace was no exception. In fact, it was probably the liveliest house on the street. The Thompsons lived there, and anyone around would tell you that a bit of cold on Christmas wouldn’t be enough to dampen their spirits. They were a friendly bunch, loud and bubbly, always a smile to offer, and a story to tell.
The fire in the Thompson living room was roaring and crackling, and this along with festive scents from spiced candles brought warmth to the house. Colourful decorations were hanging gaily from the ceiling and the Christmas tree in the corner set off the scene perfectly with its shiny bobbles and shimmering tinsel draped over the branches. With the laughter coming from the room long and loud, it was a truly merry scene, fit to melt the hardest heart.
“Here Joe, I’ll pull one with you then”, Peter Thompson called to his brother.
“Alright then”, said Joe, grabbing a cracker eagerly and crossing the room to Peter.
On the way he passed his sister Carla, who had her nose in a book as usual. He couldn’t understand her, why bother yourself with books when you could play in the snow and read comics instead? He was only five, and he already had a bigger collection of comics than any boy in his class, a fact he was quite proud of. Even more than Peter, who was ten and had been collecting comics for much longer. Carla was sixteen though, and Joe supposed that you do funny things when you get to that age.
Carla jumped with the bang of the cracker, disturbed for about the tenth time in the last two minutes. Little brothers, she thought, fuming silently. She was starting to get frustrated now; she would have to go up to her bedroom in a minute, and she really didn’t want to do that, her mother was annoyed with her already for not really getting into the Christmas spirit. Then there was Alice, her little sister who she shared a bedroom with. Alice had too much energy; you’d swear she was a caffeine addict the way she went on. And it was always one drama after another, one minute she’d be on top of the world, the next her life would be falling apart. She was so unpredictable.
Carla preferred things to be predictable, it made life a lot easier. In this family though asking for predictable was asking for a miracle.
Her mother, a round, cheery woman, was playing on the floor with baby Paula, who was making all those cute baby noises that just make you want to smile. Paula was the first child to inherit her father’s dark head of hair; all the others were blonde like their mother. Her father was sitting with Joe and Peter and they were busy trying to assemble a model car Peter was given by his uncle Dan. Carla had to smile at them. Her father was frowning at the instruction booklet, trying to make some sense of it, while Joe had decided that the instructions were all wrong and that they should just work on instinct. Instructions! More like destructions, he said, as he proceeded to put together something that looked vaguely like an aeroplane. In slightly better humour, she went back to her book.
At about eleven o’ clock, dad announced that it was way past all of their bedtimes, and was met with moans all around. Everyone seemed to develop a sudden leg paralysis, with the result that no one got to bed until a quarter to twelve. Even with dad insisting that Santa wouldn’t come to children who went to bed late on Christmas Eve, the process was a slow one. When they had all finally been put to bed their dad went outside to the garage to take down the box that held their presents. He smiled to himself when he imagined their faces in the morning. It was going to be a merry Christmas all right.
Back in the house Christine, their mother, slumped into the big comfortable armchair by the slowly dying fire. Christmas again. The years were going faster and faster and she rarely had time to herself anymore. Her hair was turning grey and wrinkles were appearing on her face. She was tired. She loved her family dearly, loved the experience of bringing up her four children, loved her husband, but it was exhausting sometimes. Christmas was always such a busy time, and although she always celebrated the season with a bit more than the usual gusto, she had to admit that, at her age it was just a front, put on because it’s expected of her. Age had sprung itself on her so suddenly, it had shocked her, and it had taken her a while to identify with it. They seemed to come all together, the headaches, the tiredness, the constant need to sit down, everything. Pat was at work all day so she had no help around the house, and the kids always had homework after they came in from school. And Carla! Even after she had finished her homework she would lose herself in a book on science or something of the sort, then baffle her with what she had learned. Christine could only hope that it was put to good use someday. Alice was a complete livewire. If only she could have that kind of energy when it came to housework! One mention of it and her motor would jam in reverse. Oh kids. Who’d have ‘em?
Carla couldn’t sleep. She never could on Christmas Eve. She didn’t know why, but she had sort of grown out of the whole commercial aspect of Christmas. Nowadays she was slowly beginning to appreciate the value of the season. A warm glow enveloped her as she thought of the next day. They would go to visit uncle Dan; they always did that at Christmas time and there’d no doubt be a party. Dad would love that; he really enjoyed a good party.
She had been thinking a lot lately, mostly about her future. She would spend hours on end planning out the perfect life, realising that she could never achieve it, and then changing her mind and asking herself why not? Why not indeed? She wanted to be a doctor or nurse or have some sort of medical profession anyway. She liked the idea of helping people, possibly saving lives. She read about it as much as she could and never found herself bored with the subject at all, just intrigued. In a months time she would have the chance to win a scholarship to study medicine. She really needed that scholarship because there was no way her parents would be able to pay for college. She knew that this was what she wanted to do. In the past there had been so many phases, hairdresser, photographer, journalist, teacher, chef, even an astronaut (from a very early stage obviously). But this was different. Nobody really took it too seriously yet but she’d show them. She’d get that scholarship; she had to.
Sarah Darcy 2005.
and 
all
time for me 
echoes, hope you all are doing well 
