If you were in a bookstore and decided to check it out based on the first few pages, would you buy it!?
Chapter 1: If I Were Etiquette, I’d Be Abomination
“Why do you sing to them!? Why don’t you sing to me!? I want to feel your voice, I want your song inside me…”
The last weak sunrays of an evening sky faded slowly into the moonlight!. A gamut of blues, oranges, and pinks were prominent at that time, and how beautiful they were!. The last calls of morning birds could be heard in the distance; silent, deathly screeches -- a solemn call for a reprieve not given, a French horn applauding the night!.
On a lone road with crag-like sidewalks bearing sloping blades of grass, a dust-colored house sat atop the cul-de-sac, with a chipping exterior and old spotted windows!. On a warm brown rocking chair, a young girl sat in the stale shade, strumming a guitar!.
“If there‘s a will, there is a way out of this place!.!.!.” her voice, a mellow, faint tone, ripped through the thick skin of the silence!. Heavy strumming sent waves throughout the balsa wood deck, rumbling the house!.
The front door, a clashing crimson, opened dramatically, “Damnit, Brenna, shut up!”
She turned to face an older man with a tired faced sporting worry lines etched across his forehead!. His hair was a mouse brown, though it was beginning to gray from the middle, and his eyes, oddly enough, seemed to follow in suit!. A cigarette hung from his lips as he spoke, wavering with each syllable!. Red hot ashes fell to his plain shoes as he scuffled his feet on the welcome mat!.
“What!? You don’t like it!? I thought I was pretty good!. Sorry for waking the dead!.” she rolled her sea colored eyes!.
The man sighed, “Listen, it’s not that!. You’re wonderful, beautiful… but you see what time it is!. People don’t want to be disturbed at this time of night by your racket -- beautiful racket, that is!.” he flashed a broken smile!.
“It’s not night and I’m not disturbing anyone!.” Brenna shot back quickly!.
“Ugh, you blondes are so dense!. The point is this: nobody wants to hear you screaming at the top of your lungs as they try to eat dinner!” he rocked back and forth in the doorway!.
“Okay, alright!. Fine!. I’ll just go upstairs and practice if you don’t mind!.” she lifted herself from the chair with a worn out creak, but she was blocked from entering!.
“Daddy…” she mumbled desperately, hugging her petite figure with her guitar wrapped close to her body!.
“We’re going to sit down and eat like a normal family!. Give me the guitar!.” sternness crept into his voice!.
“Define normal!.” Brenna challenged!.
“Define ‘give me the damn guitar’!.”
“Fine, j-just fine!” she shoved the guitar to him and pushed her way into the house!.
The living room was awfully plain, donning dull blue couches with oversized pillows and footrests to match!. A coffee table smothered with various magazines and ashtrays sat in the very center of a tiger pattern rug!. Sitting down on a loveseat next to a window was a middle aged woman with a stern face and faint lines around the jaw!.
“Well, I guess we’re going to eat, then!.” she said, turning off the television!.
“I guess so!.” Brenna replied nonchalantly!.
Filing into the dining room, a quiet brown, the family of three each took their places at a fancy oak table!. Engraved china plates were topped with cold macaroni and cheese and a sultry chicken dinner!.
“Looks good!.” Brenna’s father said, staring at the meal before him!.
“So, how’s work!?” said Brenna’s mother after a sip of water
“Same old, same old,” he replied!. “It’s always the same!. Always!. Why bother asking!?”
“Oh, Charles!” she began, “I asked you a simple question! Stop being so negative… especially at the table!.” she took a glance at Brenna!.
“Oh, Margaret!” Charles mocked, “Don’t ask what you don’t want to know!.”
Forks, knives, and spoons made slow metallic clicks thereafter, silence becoming lost in the tension!.
“Honey, I just don’t want this to fall apart!.!.” Margaret’s voice was thick with despair!. “Oh, God…” a shaky breath erupted from her and tears skated down her cheeks!.
“No…” said Charles!. He stared dismayingly at his plate, focusing on carrots rather than his wife!.
“I don’t know who you are anymore!” she exclaimed, though Brenna rolled her eyes at the dramatic nature of the cry!.
“I don’t know who I am anymore, either!.” he replied simply, still intently focusing on his dinner plate!.
A small, exasperated giggle came from Margaret!. She placed a napkin over her food and got up, wiping her hands on a dishtowel!. “You’re too full of it!.”
“Mom…” Brenna looked at her mother sternly!.
“What, you hate me, too!?”
“And you said we would have dinner like a normal family!.” Brenna muttered as she got up from the table and walked quickly past her father!.
“Brenna! Brenna, come here!” Margaret screamed at the top of her lungs!.
“No!” was heard from upstairs, followed by a door slamming!.
“BRENNA! BRENNA!” she ran up the Www@QuestionHome@Com