OKAY PEOPLE. I need GOOD constructive criticism and critique on this one, PLEASE.
Also, it's boring cuz I JUST STARTED IT.
≈ CHAPTER ONE ≈
I shivered, pulling my coat closer around me as I did so. The night was cool, and a slight breeze was ruffling up my hair. I pushed a hand back in an effort to control it, but immediately yanked my hand under the coat again. I looked down into my palm. There, resting in a fold of my hand, lay a raindrop, falling from my hand so quickly I couldn’t get a close look.
‘Great,’ I muttered. ‘I’m going to get rained on.’ I kicked a pebble in my anger, and it skidded off the sidewalk. I expected to hear the soft, muffled sound of rock hitting grass, but instead I heard a clatter. Like . . . metal, maybe? I stumbled to my feet and hung my coat on a tree branch. Now shivering, I made my way between two large oaks, and my fingers pried apart some prickly shrubbery, a bit of blood already oozing from my hand.
I swore, with a certain four-letter-word that would have gotten me hit over the head – if I still lived Ms. Cornwall. But luckily for me, I didn’t. Unluckily for me, I lived with Mr. Harv.
Pushing the ‘happy’ thoughts (yeah, right) from my head, I dropped to my hands and knees and began to crawl. I came to a small sort of hedge, and I pulled apart some of it to see through.
There, on the ground, in broad daylight, in the middle of a field, lay a piece of gold. And beside it, looking quite innocent, sat the small, rounded, black rock.
Hooting with joy, I grabbed both the gold and rock and darted back up the hill as quickly as possible. When I reached the sidewalk, I pulled my coat on. Until then, I hadn’t realized one: how absolutely soaked I was, and two: that it had stopped raining. Overjoyed, I sat on a bench and pulled the gold from my pocket, where I had put it.
‘Wow,’ I whispered under my breath. The gold was about the size of my fist, and it was shaped like a wolf, running, with a bone in its mouth. But the things that bugged me most were the eyes.
I had the oddest eyes in all of my high school. Probably in the entire world! They were electrifying, and all my friends – well, actually, acquaintances, I don’t have friends, say that they are scared of my eyes. Here’s the thing: my eyes are neon green. Neon. Have you ever met a person with neon green eyes? Eyes like a traffic light, or if someone covered a light bulb with ‘hyper’ green paper.
The thing about this particular wolf’s eyes was the fact that they were the exact same color as mine. It bugged me; oddly it made me feel like I wasn’t unique anymore. But then I felt something totally different. Like I had a friend.
I shook my head, trying to push the thought away. My frozen fingers fumbled with the statue as I put boh it and the rock into my pocket. A quick glance at the sun told me the truth: it was very late, and Mr. Harv was going to be angry. Sighing, I started to walk home, my footsteps dragging slightly and upon my face a subtle frown. How had the creator done that color of eyes? I mean, it couldn’t have been a coincidence, either – whoever had made that statue was meaning to get it to me. I was sure of it. But why?
Also, it's boring cuz I JUST STARTED IT.
≈ CHAPTER ONE ≈
I shivered, pulling my coat closer around me as I did so. The night was cool, and a slight breeze was ruffling up my hair. I pushed a hand back in an effort to control it, but immediately yanked my hand under the coat again. I looked down into my palm. There, resting in a fold of my hand, lay a raindrop, falling from my hand so quickly I couldn’t get a close look.
‘Great,’ I muttered. ‘I’m going to get rained on.’ I kicked a pebble in my anger, and it skidded off the sidewalk. I expected to hear the soft, muffled sound of rock hitting grass, but instead I heard a clatter. Like . . . metal, maybe? I stumbled to my feet and hung my coat on a tree branch. Now shivering, I made my way between two large oaks, and my fingers pried apart some prickly shrubbery, a bit of blood already oozing from my hand.
I swore, with a certain four-letter-word that would have gotten me hit over the head – if I still lived Ms. Cornwall. But luckily for me, I didn’t. Unluckily for me, I lived with Mr. Harv.
Pushing the ‘happy’ thoughts (yeah, right) from my head, I dropped to my hands and knees and began to crawl. I came to a small sort of hedge, and I pulled apart some of it to see through.
There, on the ground, in broad daylight, in the middle of a field, lay a piece of gold. And beside it, looking quite innocent, sat the small, rounded, black rock.
Hooting with joy, I grabbed both the gold and rock and darted back up the hill as quickly as possible. When I reached the sidewalk, I pulled my coat on. Until then, I hadn’t realized one: how absolutely soaked I was, and two: that it had stopped raining. Overjoyed, I sat on a bench and pulled the gold from my pocket, where I had put it.
‘Wow,’ I whispered under my breath. The gold was about the size of my fist, and it was shaped like a wolf, running, with a bone in its mouth. But the things that bugged me most were the eyes.
I had the oddest eyes in all of my high school. Probably in the entire world! They were electrifying, and all my friends – well, actually, acquaintances, I don’t have friends, say that they are scared of my eyes. Here’s the thing: my eyes are neon green. Neon. Have you ever met a person with neon green eyes? Eyes like a traffic light, or if someone covered a light bulb with ‘hyper’ green paper.
The thing about this particular wolf’s eyes was the fact that they were the exact same color as mine. It bugged me; oddly it made me feel like I wasn’t unique anymore. But then I felt something totally different. Like I had a friend.
I shook my head, trying to push the thought away. My frozen fingers fumbled with the statue as I put boh it and the rock into my pocket. A quick glance at the sun told me the truth: it was very late, and Mr. Harv was going to be angry. Sighing, I started to walk home, my footsteps dragging slightly and upon my face a subtle frown. How had the creator done that color of eyes? I mean, it couldn’t have been a coincidence, either – whoever had made that statue was meaning to get it to me. I was sure of it. But why?
