F
First Cherub Due 16.6.10
Guest
Ok, so I'm trying to earn any money that I can. I'm 6 months pregnant, 16, and I've been bored because all my friends are going out, bored of me, etc etc, so I've taken up writing. I've nearly finished writing a novel. Please give me as much feedback as you can. Thanks.
A tall, thin, spiky shadow crept along the wall as what the people of the village called the “Dandy Man” made his way through the dim graveyard. The night was still young, but the winter evenings were cruel to the farmers and workers, not permitting them much light. The Dandy Man advanced yet further into the graveyard where nobody had worked for years, where nobody who was born before 1856 was buried and where everybody in the village was afraid to visit. This was because of the Dandy Man.
--
Meredith Suma sat down underneath the canopy of the fresh willow tree. It was strangely beautiful, and in the least likely of places. The church was decrepit, old and as unholy as a place could get, yet Meredith’s grandmother felt as if she was greatly contributing to the community and to God, doing some good, if she tended to it. Meredith’s father thought that his mother was stupid, doing something pointless, but his wife told him to let her be. It gave her a purpose, something to feel important about.
Meredith’s father was often grumpy, never even happy when she baked him food or danced for him, wrote him a story or drew him a picture. Even when she spent an hour each morning, especially rising from her slumber especially early in order to neatly braid her hair into millions of thin, tight plaits of her fair hair.
“Can I go and explore, Granny?” she asked with a sigh. Sitting on the step whilst her grandmother raked up the leaves was not remotely stimulating for an eight year old. Meredith’s grandmother looked up anxiously, and upon seeing her only grandchild’s downtrodden face, she pressed a smile across her pearly pink lips and nodded slowly.
“Be careful, sugar,” she warned her granddaughter as she trotted off, suddenly elated. Greta Suma watched her granddaughter anxiously, and continued to rake the leaves. “Don’t go too far, Merry...”
A tall, thin, spiky shadow crept along the wall as what the people of the village called the “Dandy Man” made his way through the dim graveyard. The night was still young, but the winter evenings were cruel to the farmers and workers, not permitting them much light. The Dandy Man advanced yet further into the graveyard where nobody had worked for years, where nobody who was born before 1856 was buried and where everybody in the village was afraid to visit. This was because of the Dandy Man.
--
Meredith Suma sat down underneath the canopy of the fresh willow tree. It was strangely beautiful, and in the least likely of places. The church was decrepit, old and as unholy as a place could get, yet Meredith’s grandmother felt as if she was greatly contributing to the community and to God, doing some good, if she tended to it. Meredith’s father thought that his mother was stupid, doing something pointless, but his wife told him to let her be. It gave her a purpose, something to feel important about.
Meredith’s father was often grumpy, never even happy when she baked him food or danced for him, wrote him a story or drew him a picture. Even when she spent an hour each morning, especially rising from her slumber especially early in order to neatly braid her hair into millions of thin, tight plaits of her fair hair.
“Can I go and explore, Granny?” she asked with a sigh. Sitting on the step whilst her grandmother raked up the leaves was not remotely stimulating for an eight year old. Meredith’s grandmother looked up anxiously, and upon seeing her only grandchild’s downtrodden face, she pressed a smile across her pearly pink lips and nodded slowly.
“Be careful, sugar,” she warned her granddaughter as she trotted off, suddenly elated. Greta Suma watched her granddaughter anxiously, and continued to rake the leaves. “Don’t go too far, Merry...”