This is just the very first few paragraphs of a novel I am writing, just wanted some opinions.
I held it tightly in my hand. Of everything grandmother had bequeathed to me this was the most intriguing. A simple, brass key.
It was an interesting symbol of my relationship with grandmother. She was always grandmother, never a more familiar form, even though she was the closest thing to a mother I had. She liked to keep herself private, locking away both her treasured possessions and the parts of her emotions she did not permit anyone to share.
Now her possessions were also mine, as her only living relative. Yet it felt wrong that I should now be able to root through her things, uncover what had always been kept so guarded.
The house looked different to when I had seen it last. The garden was filled with overgrown foliage, dandelions stretching out along the gravelled drive. The windows, once gleaming, were dingy and dark. Empty crisp wrappers, beer cans and cigarette ends littered the pavement outside. The grandmother I knew would never have allowed such chaos to reign outside her manicured lawn. A pang of something caused my stomach to wrench and tighten, like a hand clenching into a fist. The baby kicked and squirmed against my ribs. Gasping with the sudden immediacy of it, I paused before opening the door of grandmother?s house: my house.
The interior of the house was not quite so altered; it still bore some resemblance to the austere and pin-neat house of my childhood. Everything was in its place, but with an extra layer of dust now, giving it an ethereal quality. The mantelpiece was filled with tiny china dogs of various shapes and sizes. Photographs of me as a toddler smiled eerily down. The heavy damson curtains swung from the double-fronted bay windows, shrouding the inner sanctum in gloomy darkness. In front of the old fireplace was a familiar circular rug, cream fabric looped round and back on itself, an endlessly repetitive cycle. I still clutched the key in my fist, barely daring to unclench my fingers and examine it once more. I was sure the imprint of the key would be embedded into my flesh. My hands felt clammy and cold.
Venturing up the long staircase, every stair creaked in anticipation. The locked cabinet called to me: 'open , open.' Trembling, I clutched the key still tighter.
Please or to access all these features
Please
or
to access all these features
Whether you enjoy writing sci-fi, fantasy or fiction, join our Creative Writing forum to meet others who love to write.
Creative writing
What do you think of this?
10 replies
dontcallmehon · 03/01/2009 21:06
OP posts:
Please create an account
To comment on this thread you need to create a Mumsnet account.