Status: Looking for meaningful critique on the first draft of my book :)
Finding Strength (Working Title)
Chapter 1
Stay quiet. Breathe. Don’t move.
Sarah repeated these things to herself silently as she curled up in her bed. Her father was tearing around their two-bedroom ranch style house again. Sarah knew interacting with her dad when he was like this made things worse. She just seemed to make him angrier when he drank.
Life had been easier before Sarah’s mother died. Not easy, but easier.
Sarah had known from an early age that her dad liked to drink; she would occasionally notice that in the evening he slurred his words or that his blue eyes, so similar to her own, looked glassy. As she got older and learned what alcohol was, Sarah realized the beers in the fridge (dubbed “Daddy juice” when she was a toddler) were the reason behind her dad’s odd behavior.
Things had spiraled after her mom passed away. Sarah’s mom had brought out her dad’s kinder, softer side. Sarah missed his kindness, missed his affection toward her, which he rarely showed anymore. He was lost in his grief, and she didn’t know how to help him out of it.
Sarah sat up stiffly, feeling hopeless. Hopelessness was an emotion that consumed her daily--hopelessness about her father and the life they lived, hopelessness about her lack of friends, hopelessness about life ever getting better.
Sarah brushed her slightly wavy, brown hair out of her face as her heartbeat sped up. Panic started to rise in her--another emotion she felt far too often--and she took a few deep breaths. Tears streamed silently down her face.
Things will get better. Things will get better, Sarah told herself, not really believing her silent words. Fear seemed to tear through her soul, overwhelming her. She slumped farther down, willing the sounds of her father’s destruction to go away, like so many other nights.
Sarah repeated these things to herself silently as she curled up in her bed. Her father was tearing around their two-bedroom ranch style house again. Sarah knew interacting with her dad when he was like this made things worse. She just seemed to make him angrier when he drank.
Life had been easier before Sarah’s mother died. Not easy, but easier.
Sarah had known from an early age that her dad liked to drink; she would occasionally notice that in the evening he slurred his words or that his blue eyes, so similar to her own, looked glassy. As she got older and learned what alcohol was, Sarah realized the beers in the fridge (dubbed “Daddy juice” when she was a toddler) were the reason behind her dad’s odd behavior.
Things had spiraled after her mom passed away. Sarah’s mom had brought out her dad’s kinder, softer side. Sarah missed his kindness, missed his affection toward her, which he rarely showed anymore. He was lost in his grief, and she didn’t know how to help him out of it.
Sarah sat up stiffly, feeling hopeless. Hopelessness was an emotion that consumed her daily--hopelessness about her father and the life they lived, hopelessness about her lack of friends, hopelessness about life ever getting better.
Sarah brushed her slightly wavy, brown hair out of her face as her heartbeat sped up. Panic started to rise in her--another emotion she felt far too often--and she took a few deep breaths. Tears streamed silently down her face.
Things will get better. Things will get better, Sarah told herself, not really believing her silent words. Fear seemed to tear through her soul, overwhelming her. She slumped farther down, willing the sounds of her father’s destruction to go away, like so many other nights.