Saturday, December 21, 2013

Brief Synopsis& Sneek peek!

 Here's a brief synopsis of a story idea:
Olivia Rake, 13, can't handle her own emotions. But how can she? She's growing up, and her father just walked out. Meanwhile, her mother is depressed and alone. How can she possibly stay calm?
But when her best friend turns on her and  her brother gets diagnosed with cancer, she learns she can be just as strong on her own. 
Olivia Rake clings to her journal, the only one who seems to listen.

Olivia
  It's a weekend.
Now, normally, I would've been as happy as ever, but today my mother looks especially sad.
She's in bed, head in hands and cheeks wet from crying.
''Mama,'' I try to console her. ''Mama,'' I repeat, but she doesn't stop crying. I try to sound encouraging, but it's extremely hard.  My voice cracks.  Then, I relize my mom isn't fine on her own.
How can she be?
 My mother is like an ornament pretty and nice. But when people aren't careful, she can shatter into a million peices. Looking at my mom, I feel sorry and there's a deep feeling that I can't recongnize.
 I slip out of the room. 
   It's December 21st, and I take out my journal and climb up on the window  seat.
Dear Journal
   Nothing's right. My brother's off at college and my mother's here but not SAYING or DOING anything. It's like I'm all alone. As angry as I am with him,  I need my dad to come home.
I close my journal, making a mental note to add to the entry later. My mother won't mind if I sit outside. I slip on my coat and scurry outside, feeling snow rest on the brim of my eyelashes.
'' Dad come home,'' I sing softly. ''Dad come home,'' I repeat.
'' Where did you run, I need you! Please, Daddy.'' I say, my eyes filling up with tears wh`en I say Daddy.
For a moment I hear my name, in his deep, solemn voice, but I relize it's only my imagination.
 Oh, but I wish it wasn't.
                                                                 ***
''Ma, let's go swing by the coffee shop,'' I call out to her from the stairs. A smile breaks out on my face. No more whimpering!
''Ma-a!" I sing, swirling up the stairs.
'' Olivia!" My mother scolds. '' Don't startle me like that.''
''Let's go to the little shop up the street. You can't stay here like a hermit.''
  Like a mother, I leave my mother to sit there on her bed stubbornly while I take out clothes. Preferably pretty ones that she doesn't wear anymore. A black British dress with sailor-chick buttons on the top, and white tights with knee-high high heel boots.
'' Here,'' I order, placing them on the bed as she reluctantly peels off her robe. ''I'm getting ready too.''
    I walk out of the room and close the door. I needed to get out of the house. Wait a minute, where's my journal?
   I start to panick. My journal was the thing that holds my secrets, my past, the thing that if it was discovered it would hold everything you'd need in a biography. And now I had lost it!
 I started turning the house upside down. Tears sprung to my eyes. I couldn't say why that journal meant so much to me. Not in front of my mom, it would strike her as mean ; The reason was that my dad had written a letter in it, and he said not to look at it until Christmas Eve. I would never find out what it had said!
''I'm ready,'' My mom said, stumbling down the stairs. I grabbed her hand and walked out the door with her, although now I was the one who didn't want to go anywhere.
She delicately taps the sidewalk with the tip of her heels, now glazed with snow.  We get there soon, and I swing the door open, walking into a place with the smell of heaven.
While my mom went to go order, I sat down and looked through pictures and checked twitter.  She came back and sat across from me, looking more relaxed. She got whipped cream on her coffee, and she hides a big smile behind the mountain of it.
'' You know, this place brings me good memories,'' She said, eyes twinkling. ''When I was in college my girlfriends used to take me here to cheer me up.'' This earns a smile from me, but it disappears when I look over her shoulder. I freeze. My blood freezes. Time stops.  I'm sure my puils turn twice as small.Tears spring to my eyes. I look away, but I have to look back.
''Is there something wronge, Liv?" My mom asks, starting to turn around.
''NO!" I say loudly, grabbing her arm and pulling her out of her seat. ''We're going.''
My mom is so broken she doesn't notice how much I boss her around lately.
''Come ON.'' I say, pulling her. It looks immature but I don't care.
I run ahead of her, grabbing my keys out of my pocket and letting myself in. I run upstairs to my room, and slam my door. I throw myself on the bed and curl up into a ball.
My mom must've run, too, because only a few minutes later there's a knock on my door. I don't say come in, but she lets herself in anyway.
''I found your journal,'' She says softly, and something tells me she read the Christmas Eve letter.
''Thanks.'' I grumble, grabbing it away from her.
''Liv, you can tell me what happened just now. I promise I won't tell if you don't want me to.''
 But I can't tell her, I can't. Because what I had just seen wasn't able to magically erase itself. I was traumatized.
 Five little words can explain everything.
I just saw my father.

Jane here. These are irish names. Pronounced?
Caoihme: Kee-va
Ashling: (self explanatory)
Brana: Brah nah .
  Look up the meanings :) They're really cool.
Co = Ke

Ashling

I stared in the mirror. I didn't recall having so many freckles. Frowning, I take the soap and scrub at them.
'' ASHLING!" My six year old sister sings. I swiftly hide the soap behind my back, irritated. The soap bubbles up in the space between my fingers and I almost cringe. I HATE that feeling.
'' Caoihme,'' I say, embarrassed and annoyed.
'' Mammy wants you to hurry up for dinner,'' She replies matter of factly.
'' Okay, okay,'' I say. ''I'll be there in a moment.''
She skips out of the room and I shut the door, not bothering to keep it ajar. I know I'm a little too old to be trying to scrub off freckles, but....It seemed to work in the book I read. You see, this is my monthly ritual.
I do it every month and do a freckle count.
'' ASHLING!" My father calls me, his Irish accent coming out a bit. He hates to wait for dinner.
 Reluctantly, I put the soap back and wipe my face off. I slip out the door and forget to shut off the light.
 We hold hands as our father softly says grace, then we raise our heads to see what my mother will bring out.
 My sister struts in with the drinks, and the tip of my drink sloshes over.
'' Here, Ash. Sorry you don't have enough.'' She tells me and sets my drink down.
''It's fine, Co.''
Sometimes having a sister can be really annoying but every now and then she's just an angel.
 We sit in silence and eat our food. Well, my father tries to eat and bounce my sister on his knee. She eats up her mashed potatoes, too.
 After, I push back from the table. I bring my dishes to the sink sink and with a satisfying clang they fall in.