\"Writing.Com
*Magnify*
SPONSORED LINKS
BY ONLINE AUTHORS
Printed from https://shop.writing.com/main/books/item_id/1785504-Start-of-my-first-book
Item Icon
\"Reading Printer Friendly Page Tell A Friend
(11)
by Cassie Author IconMail Icon
Rated: E · Book · Dark · #1785504
This is the start of my first novel. Any feedback you could give would be appreciated.
Chapter 1



The stillness of a calm winter’s night was interrupted as the expensive, car pulled to a sudden halt in front of my house. A tall, athletically young man stepped out and effortlessly made his way up the copper pebbled path. He wore dark jeans and shoved his pale white hands into his black double breasted coat. His broad shoulders filled every inch of the material, making him appear smart, in casual attire. It was obvious he was very attractive and confident, grabbing the attention of any girl who was lucky enough to catch a glimpse of him. He was so handsome in fact, that when he wanted something, he could normally get it without a second’s hesitation. Especially if he threw the unsuspecting victim a heart throbbing smile. 



The path led him past the white picket fence, round the towering trees and toward the magnificent building. The Tudor styled house was a carbon copy of every other structure on that street and mimicked the rest of the working class suburban areas on the outskirts of London. The grass bordering the path was perfectly cut and intensely green. At this time of year it was a miracle and the only thing that made it stand out from the rest of the street. Neighbours always glanced at my family’s house jealously because through rain and snow, our home always looked clean and classy. But this stranger wasn’t like all the other neighbours. He didn’t even glance at the garden as his smooth long strides quickly covered the distance to the black front door. The mysterious man slowed as he reached it, but surprisingly it opened with ease, welcoming him in. He didn’t even take his hands out of his pockets as his black converse trainers stepped into the darkness. The door gently shut behind him, blocking out the icy wind and the silent unaware street.



Clenching his chiselled jaw, he casually walked down the corridor. His bright green eyes taking in the creamy magnolia walls. Breathing in, he stole the sweet lavender scent that floated through my home. He flicked his straight hazel brown hair from his face, making it easier for him to see the black framed photographs that travelled down the wall. In each picture was one of my family members, love beaming from each smiling face into the heart of anyone who bothered to look. The photographs presented my single mother who supported my brother and I. We both had warm blonde hair like hers and the same thin body frames. The stranger realised he was wavering and broke away from the pictures. He promptly made his way across the rich white carpet reaching the staircase.



He could have walked into the living room. The door was wide open and at an arms length. If he glanced in he could have seen the big plasma television against a the bright red wall. It sat defenceless on its stand, with a Sky box and a fairly new DVD player below it, lit up like a Christmas tree. If he didn’t want to do any heavy lifting he could have ignored the electrical devices and moved on to the kitchen just down the hall. It was easy to see in the dark with the help of the white moon reflected off the black marble counters. At the back of the kitchen were French double doors that opened up into a reasonable sized garden, cornered off by a huge monster of a fence. The now bare soil was usually filled with array of beautiful flowers during the summer. My mother and I would spend our weekends just before spring planting all the different types of plants and somehow with my mum’s special touch, they would grow perfectly. 



He could have glanced in the cookie jar on the island in the middle of the room and pocketed a reasonable sum of money. But he wasn’t looking for money. He just stood at the bottom of the stairs gazing up to the landing. The narrow corridor held three white doors that sat firmly shut and a fourth, open and exposing the toilet. My mothers, brothers and my room were equal distance apart and there was no way of telling them apart. There were no sounds that made any room stand out. No label saying ‘keep out’ or our names with a cheesy sign attached showing the intruder which room to avoid or enter. But he didn’t need visual aids to help him find what he was looking for; he could already sense where it was. For the first time since he began this mission, he hesitated. Closing his eyes and swallowing the lump in his throat he began to get second thoughts about what he was going to do. They had never asked him to do anything like this before and after he did, there was no going back.

This book is currently empty.
Printed from https://shop.writing.com/main/books/item_id/1785504-Start-of-my-first-book