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Feedback on this rough draft of the first chapter of my story?
This is only a rough draft of my stories first chapter, and the beginning is not done yet. And the whole chapter isn’t done yet.The morning’s breeze flowed into my miniature bedroom through the open window, making my white curtains fly with the wind.I woke and stretched at dawn, and looked around my small messy bedroom; the walls were a vivid white with the small dried up bumps in the paint, my small closet with no door wasn’t used for anything except a place for keeping my old clothes I didn’t wear anymore.I got up out of the twin bed I had slept in, the covers blue, and turned the handle of my bedroom door. I walked down the hallway lazily, past the picture of my family hanging on a nail in the wall; I usually didn’t look at it, if I did look at it I would get disheartened.My father had died in a murder; I don’t remember him at all, not from anything, leather paint die no little trips to the park that my mother tells me about, and no first drink from a straw where my dad laughed so hard when I got a brain freeze. Nothing. I used to have a brother and a sister but they completely disappeared when I was six. None of the detectives found where they went and no one told me that they stopped looking five years before I was nine.I walked into the living room; it was cold in the house for some strange reason. I sat on my blue striped couch from the eighties, not something I actually wanted to sit on from it being so stiff, but I guess it was better then sitting on a cold leather modern chair that was positioned beside it. I turned on the small television that was in the front of the room, and started watching an old comedy I wasn’t very fond of.My mother came into the room gracefully; she was pale and looked like a teenager, even though she was forty-seven. She hid her unusual pointed ears with her cropped straight brown hair. “Good morning! What would you like for breakfast?” She asked in her musical voice, she sat on the other end of the eighties couch patiently.“I’m not very hungry right now, maybe later. Okay?” I said with a frown, my mother loved to cook and to turn her down made me intolerant. “It’s fine, well today I’m going out…to Davenport…so I’ll see you at five.” She said with tension. We lived by the Mississippi river, in a small town of Muscatine, Iowa.“That’s cool, well I’ll be in this room when you come back…” I said to her in boredom.“Beth, you should really go outside today instead of being cooped up in this house, you could hang out with some friends maybe.” She suggested casually.I sighed impatiently, “No, it’s Sunday. My friends are gone on the weekend…” She, of all people, should have remembered that. From her being so paranoid around them.
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This is only a rough draft of my stories first chapter, and the beginning is not done yet. And the whole chapter isn’t done yet.The morning’s breeze flowed into my miniature bedroom through the open window, making my white curtains fly with the wind.I woke and stretched at dawn, and looked around my small messy bedroom; the walls were a vivid white with the small dried up bumps in the paint, my small closet with no door wasn’t used for anything except a place for keeping my old clothes I didn’t wear anymore.I got up out of the twin bed I had slept in, the covers blue, and turned the handle of my bedroom door. I walked down the hallway lazily, past the picture of my family hanging on a nail in the wall; I usually didn’t look at it, if I did look at it I would get disheartened.My father had died in a murder; I don’t remember him at all, not from anything, leather paint die no little trips to the park that my mother tells me about, and no first drink from a straw where my dad laughed so hard when I got a brain freeze. Nothing. I used to have a brother and a sister but they completely disappeared when I was six. None of the detectives found where they went and no one told me that they stopped looking five years before I was nine.I walked into the living room; it was cold in the house for some strange reason. I sat on my blue striped couch from the eighties, not something I actually wanted to sit on from it being so stiff, but I guess it was better then sitting on a cold leather modern chair that was positioned beside it. I turned on the small television that was in the front of the room, and started watching an old comedy I wasn’t very fond of.My mother came into the room gracefully; she was pale and looked like a teenager, even though she was forty-seven. She hid her unusual pointed ears with her cropped straight brown hair. “Good morning! What would you like for breakfast?” She asked in her musical voice, she sat on the other end of the eighties couch patiently.“I’m not very hungry right now, maybe later. Okay?” I said with a frown, my mother loved to cook and to turn her down made me intolerant. “It’s fine, well today I’m going out…to Davenport…so I’ll see you at five.” She said with tension. We lived by the Mississippi river, in a small town of Muscatine, Iowa.“That’s cool, well I’ll be in this room when you come back…” I said to her in boredom.“Beth, you should really go outside today instead of being cooped up in this house, you could hang out with some friends maybe.” She suggested casually.I sighed impatiently, “No, it’s Sunday. My friends are gone on the weekend…” She, of all people, should have remembered that. From her being so paranoid around them.
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