Heya,
This is an edit of work I've posted in the Advanced Critiques forum. I've taken people's advice and corrections into account, and hope that my work has improved accordingly! Still it can be improved, of course, so feel free to rip it apart as much as you like, because that will allow me to piece it back together in a better way 
XxxDo
-Chapter one-
An onslaught of rain poured down from grey, lurking clouds above me as lightning bolts stridently lit the sky. It was edging towards the surreal, my being so close to the terrible weather. On any other day I would have been sitting at my attic window, watching the storm rage through the city with a degree of fascination. But not today, for I’d made the worst mistake in my life.
The rapid flashes were followed by deafening thunder, which rolled in brutal lapses through the darkened sky. I always envisioned that dreadful events happen when the weather takes a turn for the worst; but now I reconsider. Perhaps I’ve been mistaken from the start, and, in fact, nature simply mirrors the hateful actions committed by us unruly human beings. Either way, the weather accurately reflected my life at this moment in time for what it was: a tumultuous and uncontainable pandemonium.
Feeble, rugged trees stood in the beating curtain of water, their few remaining leaves torn down by the falling rain, sent reeling to the ground to join the heaps that had already drifted to the sidewalk. I breathed in the autumn scents of putrid leaves and fresh rainfall, then kicked at the puddle that had formed beside me. The folded cuffs of my jeans were eager to soak up the water, and I watched silently as the moist discoloration climbed up my calf. The prevailing wind returned, to my dismay, and the loose leaves whirled around my feet. They were jerked upwards, carried high into the overcast ceiling of the city, at the mercy of the horrible weather.
The city had seen storms far worse, by all means, but all those times I’d been home, shielded by the large living room windows as I rested my arms around the shoulders of my little brother and sister. A tang of guilt swept through me as I wondered who would provide them with the comfort of a touch or a kind, soothing whisper of safety now that I wasn’t there to shelter them. Michael wouldn’t. I was on familiar terms with his severity, his cruelty, and his sordid lack of affection towards the children; he’d treated me in the exact same manner.
Jake and Katy would have to fend for themselves tonight, until fate reunited us. Remorseful, I distracted myself from my thoughts, following a plastic bag with my gaze. It danced through the air, occasionally jolted in another direction by a strong gust of wind. Air whistled through the bare trees, almost as though it acknowledged them as a hindering nuisance.
For the duration of this storm the streets of Semverton city were largely vacant, as people and animals alike sought shelter from the pelting rain. Forlorn cars, passing by at prolonging intervals, were the only signs of life that mended the bridge between me and the human race. I could tell that the neighbourhood wasn’t abandoned, but merely in hiding, retreating into itself until the bad weather passed.
The plastic bag vanished from my line of sight, disappearing behind the row of houses. The helpless toy of the wind. I kept my gaze trained on the spot where I’d last seen it, the frigid water assailing the numbing skin of my face. What if I were light as a feather? Would the wind carry me? Would I be raised high into the overcast ceiling of the world? It would lose it’s vigor as it swept me higher and higher, and gently set me down on the fluffy surface of the clouds. Maybe, I thought solemnly, maybe I’d be able to look down on the world and make sense of it.
I bit my lip, unshed tears prickling behind my eyes. My gaze dropped, and drifted across the unsoiled, slick cobblestones that formed the floor of the square I stood on. The nearby benches were made of wood, covered in a layer of chipped, green paint. They were dull in comparison to the white limestone seats one could find in the park near my house; a small feat that clearly set apart the richer and the less well-off districts of Semverton. Grateful to have found something to focus on I studied the lampposts. Comparing. Their plain metal stems and harsh lights were another indicator that informed me subtly that I wasn’t where I belonged. The house I’ve lived in all my life was set on a street with Victorian-style, ornamented lampposts in a dull, dyed black.
Resisting the brutal gusts of wind I drew humid air into my lungs, blinking rainwater out of my stinging eyes. My brown hair whipped across my face, and I brushed it away, tucking the loose strands behind my ears. Shivering at my own frigid touch I sniffed. The single shoulder strap of my bag dug into my skin. Fed up with the discomfort I set it down beside me, leaning it against the fence.
Only when I felt warm tears run down my cheeks, it dawned on me that I was crying. The intense brightness of the windows across the street, blurred around the edges by my moist vision, bit at me. I imagined them to house joyous families, who laughed and joked as they shared their daily experiences. To me the concentrated rectangles of light felt like a threat; shining with such hateful fervor that it could potentially swallow me whole.
I felt chills run down my spine, suddenly uncomfortable. I let out an elongated sigh. Though four roads led away from the square on which I stood, none appeared to be sufficiently inviting, let alone worth the walk. Streetlamps formed circular puddles of light on the sidewalk, though in between them night resided; ominous and indistinct. At least here, as I rested beside a bare metal fence that encircled a rather petite, unfilled fountain, there was enough illumination.
A fleeting scan of my surrounding allowed me to exhale in relief. There was no one to be seen, no one approaching me asking questions I knew I would barely be able to answer. My only company was the rain, the pitiless and powerful streams of water rushing down from above. My gaze darted in the direction of sharp bang as I ducked behind the fence, my knees cracking to protest the impulsive movement.
My heart raced in my throat, and I exhaled in relief when I found it had been the backfiring of a car. The grey minivan drove past, its occupants unaware that they were being watched. The engine puffed and creaked, and I caught myself wondering how long it would last before giving out. The windshield wipers swooshed at regular intervals, engaged in a fruitless battle against the rain. The car rounded a corner, turning away from me, the red backlights vanishing unhurriedly into the distance.
It had been only a year and a half since the day that my perfect existence was ripped to shreds before my eyes. Literally. I’d grown up with a family who loved me, and in a home that I called my sanctuary, but I’d never realized that the tables can turn in the blink of an eye, and that your happy-go-lucky way of life can easily crumble.
Look at me now, Michael. Look what you’ve done. A bitter taste rose in the back of my throat, and I drew moist air deep into my lungs to eliminate the nauseating flavour of defeat. Is this what you wanted, you bastard? Were your intentions towards me, personally, malicious all along, or is making my life miserable merely a side effect of your need to control my mother?
I became conscious of the fact that I was still crouching, and rested my cheek against my arm, my hands continuing to encircle the metal railing. The sheer coldness of my skin made me quiver, and I sucked in air, watching my exhalation cloud before my face. The outdoor temperatures were dropping, and with it my body cooled. There are limitations to the capabilities of the human body, and keeping warm under circumstances like these was definitely one of them.
Unclenching my hands from their spot on the fence I lowered them to my face, rubbing the life back into my numb cheeks. It was my own fault that I was stranded; it was by my own accord that I threw open my front door and made a run for freedom. Despite the original cause, which was Michael’s cruelty, coldness, and lose hands, in the end it came down to my personal, split-second decision. I trembled, my teeth clicking together softly. God, what the hell have I done?
I found the strength to haul myself back to my feet as my saturated jeans, sweater and jacket stuck uncomfortably to my skin like hulking additions to my body. What do people think when they see me? Can they peer through the mask of fear and misery, and locate the girl I once was? Michael, you’ll never know how much you’ve taken from me, and how much I wish you were dead.
Taking a step backwards I puckered my brow as a cold, wet sensation spread across my feet. I glanced down. I’d planted my shoes in the center of a deep puddle; a reservoir of water formed in the crevice between uneven cobblestones. My shoes were made out of a type of fabric that was anything but impermeable, and were about as waterlogged as the Titanic.
“Goddamn it!” I hissed, retreating out of the puddle. Better late than never, I suppose. Sulking in my ghastly mood I felt goose bumps ripple across my skin as the cold grew increasingly prominent. Raindrops dribbled from the ends of my short hair, trailing a cold path down the length of my spine.
“My name is Jess Madison Parker.” I whispered, finding comfort in the sound of my own voice. It was stronger than I’d expected, and I couldn’t help but feel somewhat proud. It was amazingly good to hear something other than the whistling of the wind, and the roar of rainwater. I opened my mouth to speak again, and non-verbalized words lingered on the tip of my tongue.
What else is there to say, Jess? That I’m a weakling? A coward who left Jake and Katy in the hands of that motherfucking maniac? My teeth pressed down on my lip, nearly breaking the thin layer of skin. My nervous habits were flourishing today, I noted, as I found myself cracking my numb knuckles. To my relief I realized that the rain was diminishing and that the clouds were becoming less ominous and looming. The wind, though, appeared to only be increasing in strength.
Whipping strands of my hair into my face, and transforming the final droplets of precipitation into painful projectiles, it made its presence known. The tender, make-up covered bruise on my cheek stung sharply under the assault. It was the brutal result of a heated argument, one that had rooted from something so stupid that it hardly sounded credible, even though I knew my memory was correct. Michael’s deranged, he’s a psychopath on the loose. You don’t deserve to live, you fucking bastard. I hope hell has a special corner for spineless child-abusers like you. I hung my head low, the memory replaying in my mind. The second I’d drifted to the surface of consciousness, early this morning, my fate for the day had been sealed.
