Young Adult / On the Other Side: Part 2 (Analysis)
Ah, sunshine.
I blinked my eyes gingerly, not quite used to the light which radiated from the nearby window. The sun shined on, oblivious to my aching eyes or the fact which bothered me the most— I should have still been asleep. As I twisted my neck to the left, getting a reasonable crack as my neck popped in return, my eyes were cursed with the number’s 7:32 in lustrous burgundy. It was a Saturday, and Saturday’s were meant for resting and washing the filth from the mind caused by school.
As I kicked off my blankets, I noticed how cold the room was. My toes curled from lack of heat. I cursed softly as I as I pushed them back unto the warm confines of my comforter. Houses in the fall should have been heated, but my step-mother enjoyed the cold far too much for my liking. Vanessa Beltryn had a heart of ice, which was the only reason why I could even begin to fathom her love for a home under fifty degrees. I sat up, leaned against the headboard and shivered.
Just as my feet began to warm up the door to my room slammed open and my step-mother stomped in, a bottle of half-drained Boodle’s Gin faithfully at her side. My hands fumbled for the blanket which I quickly tore up to cover my body. Vanessa, whenever she had the chance, yelled at me for my lack of clothing while I slept. I always enjoyed the feeling of soft cloth brushing against my legs as I was cradled off to sleep by my own soft breathing. It had been years since someone had sung me a lullaby.
When she began her tirade, her voice echoed through the entire second floor.
“Get off of your lazy ass and get downstairs! I didn’t raise you to be a disrespectful little bum!” Vanessa stood at the foot of my bed, glaring at me from her alcohol-induced hazy eyes—they were murky shade of blue. Her hair was still bound in a vast sea of neon green curlers and she was clad in a lacy, pink thing. I clamped my eyes closed and wished for her figure to disappear from my mind. Lacy, pink things belonged in the trash, not on trash.
“Your father wants to talk with you,” and she continued to speak, but I drowned out her nagging voice.
The taste of bile rose from my throat, the sickly scent of curdled milk and rancid strawberries wafting from below my throat. I coughed before clamping my eyes further.
“Are you even listening to me?” Vanessa shrieked. I shook my head no in response. A vile scream of outrage rose from her mouth as I opened one eye sheepishly.
The bottle of alcohol lost another shot, the cap clenched in one bony white hand. The other held the neck of the bottle, and I idly thought of its human counterpart. Her hand would have crushed something vital— perhaps the trachea would have shattered under such brutal strength. Perhaps blood would have pooled from the victim’s mouth, dribbling down like the condensation on the bottle, like sweat formed from screaming and kicking before the untimely clock chimed twelve.
“Get up, get up, get up,” it was like a banshee, her voice could kill if one would hear it for too long. For a long time my friend Danny was convinced if he stayed too long at my house brain tumors would start to grow. My head gave a wicked throb— I agreed with him whole-heartedly.
I shut my eyes again and nodded my head once. The faster she exited my room the faster I would be able to get back to my much needed sleep.
“And don’t you dare go back to sleep!” with those last words the she stomped back out, the Medusa-like hair flying from behind her.
“Psycho,” I mumbled, but did what she wanted me to do. I got up from my bed and walked zombie-like into the bathroom and flipped the light switch. The artificial light filtered through the bathroom, too peach to be real. Before my eyes, staring into the mirror with a look of dull ignorance, was a boy with dark rings around his pale green eyes. His hair was the shade of burgundy and looked as though he had shoved his fingers in a light socket.
“I look like crap,” came my pitiful response. If someone was to visit me at the moment, they would have probably not been able to tell if I was alive or dead. I looked down and grabbed at the blue toothbrush on the counter, turning on the faucet with the unoccupied hand. I brushed my teeth in silence, listening to the faint tap water hit the marble sink.
Spitting the last of the toothpaste from my mouth, I grabbed hold of a nearby hand towel. It didn’t smell pleasant, per se, but it wasn’t dirty or anywhere near the ground. Once again I looked up, only to shake my head and push a portion of my hair from my face. No brush would tame my locks.
As I left the room I threw the towel to the ground and snapped the light off. My closet was nearby, but rather than attempting to fight with a coat hanger, I picked up a pair of old flannel pajama pants and a tee shirt which I had worn the day before. They were thrown on in haste; I did not want to give Vanessa another reason to yell at me. I was awake, out of bed, and on my way downstairs— I did not need to hear of how I needed to put on more than a pair of boxers.
She in her lingerie was enough to cause a stir with the maids. I did not need to add my own inappropriate dress to their worries.
I slipped out of the cold room and down the stairs, passing by several paintings depicting old families wrapped in luxurious jewels, landscapes of mountain ranges or vast seas of green. The youngest maid, Janie, stood near my step-mother’s rooms, a new set of pale pink sheets folded underneath her arm. She was a pretty girl, not much older than myself. She had moved from Hungary the year before and had found work with my parents. With her light brown hair and bright brown eyes I was not surprised; my father loved to look at pretty things.
“You okay?” I asked her as I walked closer.
Janie was nibbling on her lip, holding the sheets and staring at the door. In the depths of her eyes I saw a tinge of hesitancy.
“Everything is fine, good sir,” was her automatic response. This time though, her eyes stared blankly at the door. I looked again at the closed cherry wood before understanding.
“She’s downstairs, getting drunk. Don’t worry about it,”
A small smile crossed her face as she muttered a quick ‘thank you’.
I nodded my head and passed the girl, who had now braved to open the door. No yell came; I smiled— not even the maids wanted to be caught up in Vanessa’s drama.
I walked to the end of the hallway and then down the large, white-carpeted stairs. They were ‘artistically’ uneven. Since the day I had learned to walk, I tripped going up and down the stairs. It was one of the few things which my step-mother and I agreed on. No person, not matter how ‘artistic’ they promised they were, should have been allowed to create such a mess of stairs.
The kitchen was the first room I entered from the hallway, and I grabbed a pear from the small bowl of fruit on the counter. Mrs. Romana stood near the stove, her heavy frame jumbling to a Spanish song on the radio. She was the oldest woman on staff, being around from time my mother was still alive. I always thought her quirky ways would get her fired, but it never happened. Her hum raised an octave when she noticed me standing near the fruit bowl. I took a bite of my pear as she walked closer, a bounce in her step.
“No, no. You eat proper breakfast, not fruit!” she grabbed the bleeding pear from my hand and threw it into the trash compacter.
I sighed. “Why do I have to eat breakfast?”
The older woman looked at me for a moment before turning around back to the stove. “Because,” her heavily Hispanic voice explained, “you need to fatten up.”
“Why?”
“Because Thanksgiving turkey is you,” she answered.
I snorted. “So, your going to feed me to my father and his co-workers?”
She nodded her head and cracked an egg into the sizzling pan which I had not noticed on my first inspection. “You big enough. Too many people are coming and not enough turkey.”
I shook my head. “But I don’t taste very pleasant,”
Her eyebrow rose up.
“And anyway, I like living, thank you.” I gave a short nod to her and swung open the cabinet which housed all of the mugs. Being too short throughout all of my childhood, I was not ever able to reach past the first two, but I was lucky enough not to need assistance grabbing a blue mug on the second shelf. I had to stand on my tip-toes to manage it, but completed my task.
“These things are too high.” I placed my mug on the counter and shut the cabinet.
Mrs. Romana had filled it before I was even able to blink and I lifted it and took a large swig of the bitter concoction. The mug was nearly dropped on the floor.
“What the Hell?” I asked the woman as I dumped the strange liquid down the drain, watching the odd brown drink swivel down the pipes. The drink which had grazed down my throat was most certainly not my coffee.
A small smirk spread over the women’s face. “ Lavender tea,” she answered, which made me gag, “Doctors’ orders.”
I screwed my eyes up and sighed. Vanessa had finally taken a step too far. My beloved coffee was the only way of waking me up enough to guarantee I wouldn’t drive my Mercedes into a pole, or another human being. The doctor, the one which Vanessa made me frequent, even when I was not sick, was insane. Like my step-mother, Doctor Lisa Baft loved to see me squirm. The last meeting I had with her she suggested taking my coffee away. I had point blank told her to go to Hell, but apparently she had managed to tell my step-mother. At the last appointment as well, Baft had handed me several prescription notes for drugs which I couldn’t even pronounce. Once I handed them over, I never saw anything else besides Vanessa’s glazed eyes.
“Come on Mrs. Romana, you know that doctor is out of her mind.” There were very few options. So, I pleaded to the woman, hoping she would see things through my eyes. She didn’t though, and poured me another cup of the lavender mixture. Rather than handing the cup to me, she took a sip. A grimace creased her face. The cup, as well as the rest of the pot of boiled flower water, was dumped down the sink.
“Flower not food,” she said shortly, pouring me a wonderful cup of the steaming coffee. I took the cup from Mrs. Romana gratefully, taking a small sip from the mug gingerly. It was a slightly watered-down version of the coffee I normally drank, but it was better than nothing. The cup was held like one would hold a newborn infant, with enough tenderness a child could have been present in my arms. The older maid noticed and gave a small smile. “Now go sit in dining room. Breakfast will be ready soon.”
I rolled my eyes, but followed her wishes.
There was a time to fight, which was not present then. “Thanks,” I stated before heading off in the direction of the dining room.
The room was not empty, to my displeasure. James Beltryn sat on a polished mahogany chair, reading a copy of ‘The New York Times’. He looked up from an article on a court case that had taken place the day before.
Dressed impeccably, my father stood out from many attorneys of lesser power. A small streak of gray in his full head of black was the only thing which showed even the slightest of age, besides a few faint crows feet at the corners of his eyes. His eyes were a startling shade of brown and held conviction, one thing which every attorney needed more of. My father was a charismatic man who charmed women and judges, which often led to ‘not guilty’s.
I sat down in a chair; it creaked below my weight. The room was silent for a moment— these odd moments never lasted for long around my father, because he always had to attempt conversation. I was the one who started it up, however.
“So, how’s work?” It was a bland topic which my father loved. He would go on and on about some case or another, and I only had to pay attention where I needed to say something. He gave a small smirk.
“Yesterday I got Timothy Shen off. The court even gave their full apologies to him as they said the verdict.” He chuckled.
“What was he charged with?” I asked nonplussed.
“Rape. First degree.”
My teeth ground together. “Did he do it?”
My father shook his head. “It isn’t my job to know if they did it or not. I just have to get them off.”
My head nodded without my permission. “Well, do you think he was guilty?”
The answer which floated from his mouth was not something I enjoyed. “Yes,” And with the simple word our conversation came to a screeching halt. He looked back down at his paper and I started to twiddle my thumbs.
Mrs. Romana came in not too long after, depositing several different foods onto the mahogany table. The overpowering smell of eggs, bacon, sausage and pancakes wafted through my nose and I smiled. The meal before me was much more pleasing than a pear.
“Fancs,” I said as I shoved a slice of bacon into my mouth.
My father glanced at me before snapping a quick “Manners,”
My lack of manners had always bothered him. He was refined while I still snorted juice out of my nose on occasion.
We ate in silence; the only sound in the room was the crinkle of pages turning and the grandfather clock chime proclaiming the time to be eight o’clock.
As I began to stand up, my father looked at me expectingly. My eyebrows rose. “Um, did I do something wrong?”
He shook his head. “No, Vincent, but we need to have a rather serious chat.”
My legs, on their own accord, dropped me back into the chair. ‘Oh grant me a swift death, please.’ I thought as he folded the newspaper back into its original form. “Sure, what’s up?”
My father gave me a small look, his eyes reprimanding me for my terrible grammar. He did not say anything on the matter. My grammar never changed, and it annoyed him to no end, but he could not prevent me from speaking.
His voice was brisk, almost business-like. “We will have two children from England staying with us. They are one of my old colleague’s children, and because of their situation their custody has transferred to me. I need you to go and pick them up later this morning from the airport.”
My mouth dropped several inches.
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This 79 word review has not been unlocked.
-’Saturday’s were meant..’ No need for the apostrophe here.
-I loved your description of the sun not caring about how your eyes felt against it’s harsh rays. Well done.
-I also enjoyed your comparison between the poor bottle of alcohol and a person being strangled, squeezed to death.
-Overall, I really enjoyed your writing. You have a good voice, and it made for a quick read. My only complaint is that the story did not really go anywhere. I mean there was, of course, the twist or bit of action at the end, but other than that, it was just a descriptive piece. Which, as part of a whole, is a good thing. I think this will fit nicely in with the rest of the story that I’m sure is in your head. Hope to read more!
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I like the style and the wording, and I have no objection to the characters, but it is not something I personally would read or publish. I just don’t like the plot and the dialog could use some work. On page four the conversation with the youngest maid (I’ve forgotten her name) is pretty cheesy and needs some tweaking. On page six, the main character’s discussing the height of the mugs is not doing anybody any good. I have to leave now. Sorry. It’s good though. *Pats you on the head * Of coourse it is.
Vincent Beltyrn seems like a typical rich man`s son. A bit more troubled but that`s to be expected with his dislike for his drunken step-mother. A bit labored in spots but overall pretty good. I am not sure how to tighten it up but I`m sure if you gave this to be critiqued by one of the other urbis members they would be able to help you. Thank you.
I’m never a fan of first person storywriting. I prefer second person unless its written in a style as though the character were TELLING you this.
However, this is an intriguing story. I think you should better define who the father is when he first appears. I thought he was just a guy that the main char’s mom lived with instead of his father.
HOWEVer, well written and well done. KEep it up!
You have a good story idea. I like the plot thus far and am eager to read more. However, the chapter would be better if you toned it up a bit. Sometimes you are too descriptive. For example, when he is in the bathroom you go into great detail about what he is doing. The reader would be more interested in his thoughts and what he is feeling. Another example is “taking a small sip from the mug gingerly.” is better to say gingerly sipping from the mug. I would also like to know more about the doc and what he goes thru cause kids today are given so many drugs (or are taking illegal ones) that this subject woud hit home.
keep writing.
Good character building so far. Be careful not to use possessives (’s) for plurals, and watch your word use (“expectingly” instead of “expectantly”). You might want to do some research on how lawyers speak of cases and actual names of charges. I found the introduction of the parents by their full names to be odd: you might try having a member of staff introduce them by speaking to them; to the child, they would simply be “Father” and “Vanessa.” Be aware that if Father likes beauty so much, you will have to explain why he’s married to a harridan.
I dont want to sound corny, but this is rather awesome. I’m being honest…I like the story and the characters. You took something I wish I could write and made it perfect. When most stories reach past part 5 on Urbis, most people dont read them. Just to let you know though..I’m adding this to my favs and will read all that you post. I’m going to message you something, because I dont want to waste anymore of your creds.
Nice work here.
Changes:
“light which radiated from the nearby window.” – technically it shone through the window. The window wasn’t the source.
“shined” -> shone
’s indicates possession, not plural. You do this several times: “number’s”, “Saturday’s”, etc.
“-unto- the warm confines” -> into
“which I quickly tore up” you tore up the blanket?
“since someone -had sung-” -> sang
The story flows well, and you do a great job making the characters seem real. The interactions and dialog are very realistic as well> I particularly liked the exchange between the protagonist and Romana. This is good writing, though the presentation needs work. spelling/grammar/punctuation mistakes detract from the quality of the work. Best of luck. :)
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