Submissions Welcome. If you’d like a fresh look at your opening chapter or prologue, please email your submission to me re the directions at the bottom of this post.

The Flogometer challenge: can you craft a first page that compels me to turn to the next page? Caveat: Please keep in mind that this is entirely subjective.

Note: all the Flogometer posts are here.

What's a first page in publishingland? In a properly formatted novel manuscript (double-spaced, 1-inch margins, 12-point type, etc.) there should be about 16 or 17 lines on the first page (first pages of chapters/prologues start about 1/3 of the way down the page). Directions for submissions are below—they include a request to post the rest of the chapter, but that’s optional.

A word about the line-editing in these posts: it’s “one-pass” editing, and I don’t try to address everything, which is why I appreciate the comments from the FtQ tribe. In a paid edit, I go through each manuscript three times.

Before you rip into today’s submission, consider this checklist of first-page ingredients from my book, Mastering the Craft of Compelling Storytelling. While it's not a requirement that all of these elements must be on the first page, they can be, and I think you have the best chance of hooking a reader if they are.

Download a free PDF copy here.

Were I you, I'd examine my first page in the light of this list before submitting to the Flogometer. I use it on my own work.

A First-page Checklist

• It begins engaging the reader with the character
• Something is happening. On a first page, this does NOT include a character musing about whatever.
• The character desires something.
• The character does something.
• There’s enough of a setting to orient the reader as to where things are happening.
• It happens in the NOW of the story.
• Backstory? What backstory? We’re in the NOW of the story.
• Set-up? What set-up? We’re in the NOW of the story.
• What happens raises a story question.

Caveat: a strong first-person voice with the right content can raise powerful story questions and create page turns without doing all of the above. A recent submission worked wonderfully well and didn't deal with five of the things in the checklist.

Also, if you think about it, the same checklist should apply to the page where you introduce an antagonist.

Arielle sends the prologue and first chapter of The Flaw in Beautiful Things . The remainder of the chapter follows the break.

Please vote and comment. It helps the writer.

Prologue

To the aged eye Dante appeared to be standing alone in the orchard, a stout stick clutched firmly in his grubby fingers. In Dante’s mind though; he was swamped on all sides by a fearsome enemy. His gleaming sword poised perfectly in anticipation of the imminent attack. His dark eyes swung left right up down, calculating his plan of attack against the monsters he faced. Hulking night trolls with lightening crackling between their palms. Slavering jackals with poison dripping from their jowls. Deceptively fragile looking forest imps with enough strength in their spindly fingers to crush a man’s bones to dust. Worthy opponents indeed. With a ferocious battle cry Dante leapt into action, his mighty sword swirling around him in a dizzying blur, too fast for the feeble human eye to perceive. Down went the night trolls blood gushing from fatal gut slashes. The heads of the jackals flew far from their bodies. The tiny imps crushed into oblivion with a well-placed spinning kick. With a final flourish Dante sheathed his sharp sword and gazed around in satisfaction. Leaves drifted slowly back down to the ground and beheaded dandelions drifted away in the breeze. An irate squirrel chattered at him angrily from the safety of the apple trees. Worthy opponents indeed.

Satisfied that his realm was safe from invaders; for now at least; Dante turned on his heel smartly and began strolling out of the orchards, whistling a merry little tune of his own composition. As he walked out of the shade of the trees Dante began to ponder a question.

Chapter 1

“Hey will you take a picture with my baby?”

Quinn froze in the act of trying to discretely pull out her wedgie and smiled plastically at the man who had spoken. “Sure, hand ‘im over.” She answered as enthusiastically as she could manage. Taking the screaming child, she planted him on her hip and posing just so, smiled for the camera.  Once the pictures were taken to the satisfaction of the father, Quinn handed the still howling child back and waved cheerfully goodbye to the departing diners. As soon as they were out of sight she slumped against the bar with a sigh. Reaching back with both hands Quinn gave her shorts a mighty tug downward, freeing them from the crevice in which they had lodged themselves. Straightening Quinn wandered over to where the rest of the waitresses had congregated.

“Girl you are way too nice.” One of them commented as she approached. “There’s no way that I would have stood there and posed with that brat for as long as you did.”

“Yeah.” Another one chimed in. “I just checked their table. He didn’t even leave you a tip.”

Quinn laughed embarrassedly. “I felt bad for the kid.” She said sheepishly.  The other girls made noises of agreement. “Seriously, what kind of father keeps their baby out til closing time?” One of them griped. Quinn shrugged noncommittedly then turned to start the cleanup.

While the prologue has colorful fantasy things in it, there’s no real story question. Basically, it’s a boy at play. No jeopardy, nothing happening to make me wonder what will happen next. There are some clarity/punctuation issues, too. What is an “aged eye?”

I liked the character in the first chapter, and it was amusing to have her dealing with a wedgie. Her sympathy for the child also works to maker her an engaging and sympathetic character. But, again, there are no story questions raised.

I think both the prologue and the chapter need to start later. As it is, they begin with setup. Get closer to the inciting incident.

Also, you need to read up on how to use paragraphs. There is one in the prologue that is more than a page long (single-spaced) and amounts to more than 1200 words. You will guaranteed stop a reader in their tracks when they encounter a solid block of text like that. The “paragraph” has plenty of opportunities to insert paragraph breaks.

Comments, please?

For what it’s worth.

Ray

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Submitting to the Flogometer:

Email the following in an attachment (.doc, .docx, or .rtf preferred, no PDFs):

1. your title
2. your complete 1st chapter or prologue plus 1st chapter
3. Please include in your email permission to post it on FtQ.
Note: I’m adding a copyright notice for the writer at the end of the post. I’ll use just the first name unless I’m told I can use the full name.
4. Also, please tell me if it’s okay to post the rest of the chapter so people can turn the page.
5. And, optionally, include your permission to use it as an example in a book on writing craft if that's okay.
6. If you’re in a hurry, I’ve done “private floggings,” $50 for a first chapter.
7. If you rewrite while you wait for your turn, it’s okay with me to update the submission.

Were I you, I'd examine my first page in the light of the first-page checklist before submitting to the Flogometer.

Flogging the Quill © 2015 Ray Rhamey, story © 2015 Arielle

Continued:

Where was the little princess? Usually when Dante was left on his own to romp through the castle grounds, young princess Tabitha managed to appear out of  seemingly no where. Dante was secretly convinced that she used cracks in the walls and holes in the ground to travel unnoticed. While Dante did not mind playing with Tabitha it was rare that he was left alone long enough to dispatch the monsters without having to rescue the princess from the evil clutches of the night trolls. Dante frowned, in fact the last time the princess had not come out to play was when she was being punished for being naughty. She had been locked up inside of her room for days and was forbidden visitors. (the exact nature of her crime warranting such punishment remained unclear to him) Did she get in trouble again? For all of being only four years old Tabitha seemed to get in trouble a lot.

It must be tough being a princess Dante mused. A princess is never allowed to have any fun it seemed. Maybe he should go pay her a visit. Dante grinned at the thought. Even though he was only eight years old Dante was wiser than most men. He knew that when visiting a potentially angry female it is always best to come bearing gifts. With this in mind he snuck to the castle garden. Being careful to avoid the attention of the gardeners Dante stealthily picked flowers that were in the princesses’ favorite colors and the ones that he thought smelled pretty. Giving them a quick shake to knock the dirt off of them Dante took off to find Tabitha. Her rooms were on the ground floor and she had a window that looked out towards the orchards. Tall and narrow, the window reached low enough to the ground that Dante could reached it. If he turned sideways and shimmied, Dante could just barely squeeze through the opening.

With a lot of grunting and a couple squeaks, Dante forced his way through the window and collapsed on the floor. Scrambling to his feet and flourishing the now slightly smushed flowers, he swept a low bow and then looked up; expecting the delighted laughter and applause that usually accompanied his comical entrances. Silence greeted him.  Dante surveyed the room uneasily. It was one thing to sneak in when the princess was there. It was another thing entirely to sneak in when she was gone. If he was found by her governess or one of the maids he would be in deep trouble. His father did not like him playing with the princess, claiming it wasn’t proper. If the son of the captain of the guard was discovered sneaking around in the princess’s bedroom, a sore bottom would be the least of his problems. Footsteps and voices began echoing out in the corridor, becoming increasingly louder as they came closer. Seized by panic Dante frantically cast about the room looking for a hiding place. He did not have time to go back through the window. The bed was too high off of the ground to conceal him. Dante’s panicked gaze paused on the wardrobe standing in the corner. If the people in the hall were maids coming to replace Tabitha’s clothes then hiding in the wardrobe was the worst thing he could do. Unfortunately he had no other choice. Dante crossed the room to the wardrobe on lightning fast tip toes and crawled inside, latching the doors behind him as best he could.  Just in the nick of time; for no sooner had he closed the doors behind him did the footsteps in the hallway enter the room. It was not the maids. Low, rough, voices drifted to him through the closed wardrobe doors.

“Gather up anything that the princess might be even remotely attached too.”

“Sir…. why are we doing this? It’s not right.” Came a timid response.

“Shut up.” Snarled the first voice. “It’s not your place to question the king.” 

Dante pressed himself further against the back of the wardrobe. He recognized the voice giving the commands. He heard it every morning when he woke up and again before he was sent to bed. Why was his father rifling through Tabitha’s things? A strange sensation was worming its way through Dante’s stomach; making him feel sick. Dante tried to breathe quietly through his mouth.

 “Don’t check the wardrobe. Don’t check the wardrobe.” He begged silently. This single wish swirled through his mind in an endless loop. As long as he kept thinking that, the wardrobe would be ignored; enveloped in the bubble that was Dante’s prayer. Invisible to his father. Unfortunately Dante’s thoughts offered as much protection as a bubble, popping into oblivion the moment the wardrobe door creaked open. Dante stared wide eyed into the startled face of a guard; Mutely pleading for silence. “Sir, I think you need to see this.” The guard said in a bemused sort of fashion. He clearly did not expect to find a small boy cowering in a closet. Dante heard a low growl of annoyance come from just beyond his range of vision. In moments the scowling face of his father loomed in front of his eyes. Dante frantically considered his options, which were limited. He could feign ignorance, or plead innocence. Neither were very attractive. Plastering a wide smile in his face Dante decided to go with his standard fall back; bluffing. Launching himself from the back of the wardrobe, Dante wrapped himself around his father’s middle yelling “BOO!!” laughing manically he stepped back from his father and declared as loudly as possible “I SCARED YOU!” Then adopting a lecturing tone he said “Papa, I don’t think you’re very good at hide and seek.” Taking a deep breathe Dante fixed his grin on his face and looked up into his father’s face. He felt his grin slip. The look on his father’s face was not what he was expecting at all. Instead of being angry, or amused; the look on his face was… Considering. The captain of the Guard had the same contemplating look on his face that he wore when considering whether a risk was worth taking or not. Dante had never seen this expression directed at him before. The sick feeling in his stomach seemed to increase and was spreading. His legs felt like they were turning to water. Sometimes it was best to beg for forgiveness even when one had not actually done anything. “Papa I’m so-” Dante began, but his father cut him off. “Follow me Dante.” He said curtly, turning on his heel and striding past the guard. The other man opened his mouth as if to protest, then snapped his jaw shut with an audible click. Dante glanced up at the guard in confusion before scrambling to fall in step behind his father. The guard hesitated for a slight moment before following the captain after Dante. He stared straight ahead and did not so much as glance down at the child trotting in front of him, but every time Dante sneaked a peek behind him at the guard, the ill sensation in his stomach grew a little more. Finally Dante decided that looking behind him wasn’t helping matters any; so he kept his face forward and stared after his father; bewilderment growing with every step.  Where were they going?  Dante didn’t want to ask. The Captain of the Guard marched along the long, dimly lit corridors at a rapid pace; causing the tapestries hung at intervals to ripple in his wake. Finally he came to a halt in front of an imposing set of doors. He knocked on the doors twice, then strode in without waiting for a reply; trailing Dante behind him. The Guard was crossing the threshold into the room when the Captain suddenly spun around and barked “Stand outside and guard the doors. Nobody is allowed inside unless I instruct otherwise.” The guard glanced uneasily at Dante then retreated to his designated post outside; closing the doors firmly behind him. Dante gazed around the room he had been led into: the sickness that had started in his belly had now spread to his heart. It was beating faster than ever, yet somehow felt as if it were stuck in a vise. His father had brought him into the King’s study. Dante had never actually been inside but he had seen Tabitha being dragged in and out of it on numerous occasions. Tabitha hated that room. Sitting directly in front of an empty fireplace was a large desk. Describing this desk as ornate would have been generous. Dante thought it was as ugly as the business end of a swamp hag. It was not the desk that truly disturbed Dante though; it was the man who had taken up residence behind it on a matching and equally repulsive chair. The king who languished behind the desk was the personification of the word gaunt. His hollowed out cheeks and skeletal frame made a corpse seem well fed. The green eyes of the king flickered over to the Captain before settling on Dante. For reasons he could not explain Dante felt the sick feeling from his stomach suddenly surge over the rest of his body; leaving him cold and shivering. He did not like those eyes. It was a small wonder that Tabitha hated coming here. The king studied Dante for what seemed like an eternity before speaking. “Why did you bring me a child Judiah?” The Captain replied “This is my son Dante, your majesty. I know he spends a great amount of time in the company of the princess. I thought he might be of some use to you.”  Dante gave a slight start at his father’s reply. What use could he be to the king? Where was Tabitha? The king’s lips twitched upward in a ghost of a smile. His eyes never left Dante. “We shall see.” Was his soft reply. Suddenly the King picked up a paper weight from his desk and hurled it as hard as he could at the far wall. “BRING THEM IN!” He roared thunderously. Dante stared at the king in shock. He tried to hide behind his father but the Captain  roughly hauled him out from behind him and forced him back into the middle of the room. Dante turned to stare at the wall the king had assaulted; his trembling becoming more pronounced. Silence stretched……Finally the wall swung open silently on cleverly hidden, well-oiled hinges; revealing a dark stone passage. Four figures emerged from the gloom, one miniscule compared to the brutish guards escorting her. Tabitha shuffled into the room as slowly as possible, dragging her feet. Dante felt his bewilderment deepen to something far more sinister when he realized that the princess was wrapped in manacles. There was a second prisoner being dragged behind Tabitha. Dante’s already wide eyes stretched further in shock. His mother. Dante’s mother was a diminutive, exotic looking women. Her dark complexion, normally unblemished; was now a canvas covered in bruises, producing a startling array of colors. One of her eyes was swollen shut and lightly bleeding. The other half of her once beautiful face was covered by her tangled mass of dark hair. Despite the wretched condition of her face she apparently could still see. Her one good eye peered out through the curtain of her hair and locked onto Dante. Moments passed before recognition flickered in that pain glazed orb. When the woman realized that it was her son standing in the middle of the room she began shrieking hysterically. “NOT HIM! NOT HIM! NOT HIM! NOOOO!! PLEASE!!!”

Startled, Dante took a step back from the battered form of his mother. Never in his entire life had he heard such an animalistic sound come from a human being. Eyes wide Dante turned to see how his father would react to the wretched condition of his wife. The captain of the guard surveyed the battered form screeching at him coldly. Disgust lined his features. Dante felt himself grow cold. The vise on his heart seemed to tighten further. Why? Dante felt trapped. He wanted to rush forward and calm his terrified mother but his feet seemed to be glued to the floor. All he could do was stare helplessly at the pitiful human crawling on the floor in front of him; bargaining for something he didn’t understand. Movement in the corner caught his eye. With a stab of guilt Dante shifted his gaze and caught the eyes of Tabitha. Wide, frightened eyes stared back at him from a wan face. The shock of seeing his mother in such a dismal state had caused him to momentarily forget about the young princess. Studying her, Dante was relieved to see that she was not injured. A small blessing. SMASH!! Dante flinched away from the shards of yet another flying ornament. Shrieking ceased.

Silence fell.

The king lowered his catapulting arm slowly. An eerie grin stretched across his face making him appear even more skeletal. He was enjoying himself. Rising, he stepped around his ghastly desk and sauntered over to where Dante stood rooted. Smiling down at him the king clapped a hand down upon Dante’s shoulder and used it to steer him around the room. Dante had no choice but to follow the kings lead. The King towed Dante about in a long, slow circuit of the room for all the world as if they were strolling through a garden. Or a zoo.  They came to a stop in front of Dante’s mother. The king smiled at Dante again.

“Do you recognize this woman Dante?” The King asked in his quiet voice.

Dante swallowed hard. What kind of question was that? Surely the king knew who this woman was. Perhaps he had never met her before Dante thought nervously. Maybe this was all a huge misunderstanding. “If this was a misunderstanding,” replied an ugly little voice in his head. “Then why has your father done nothing to help?” Dante couldn’t answer.

 Pain splintered through the side of his head, causing his vision to streak black and red. His mother shrieked again. Dante would have fallen to the ground if it wasn’t for the iron grip the king kept on his shoulder. Eye’s watering, Dante looked up into the smiling face of the king.

 “I expect you to answer promptly Dante.” Said the king in a pleasant voice. “I am not a very patient man.”

Dante swallowed hard and whispered “She is my mother your Majesty.” The king smiled. “Do you know what happened to your mother?” Numbly Dante shook his head no; then fearing another blow, he answered aloud “No your Majesty.” The king gave Dante’s shoulder a tight squeeze, then replied “I punished her Dante. Do you know why?” Again Dante said he did not know. The king tutted then said in a mocking voice. “She Lied to me Dante.” Dante stared up at the king horrified. All of this for a lie? Staring at the king Dante realized that he was waiting for some sort of reply. Sweat trickling down his back he asked the only question he could think of. “what did she lie to you about?” The king’s smile broadened and suddenly his hand disappeared from Dante’s shoulder. Striding away the king answered in an airy tone. “It wasn’t just her who lied to me you know. It was my wife too. They both did. Together they concocted a nasty lie; Hoping to bamboozle their beloved king. It almost worked too. If my beautiful queen hadn’t died so suddenly I would have never found out the truth. How fortunate for me that her health was so poor.” At this the king paused and turned back to Dante. His grin was deranged now. “Imagine my surprise when the medical examiner came and informed me that my wife had managed a medical miracle by producing a child. According to him, it should have been physically impossible for her to bear children.” The king paused his narrative and narrowed his eyes maliciously. “Which begs the question; Where did THAT ONE come from?” The king swept his arms wide and pointed an accusing finger at Tabitha. Dante followed the king’s finger to stare at Tabitha. He didn’t want to admit it but he was very puzzled. If the Queen wasn’t Tabitha’s mother then who was?

Very slowly, the answer came to him. Dante turned back to his mother who was still huddled on the floor, then to his father behind him. Unwillingly he returned his gaze to the king. The king saw that the truth had dawned on Dante and his grin became even more ghastly. “Clever little whores aren’t they, eh Dante?” Dante flinched at the change of tone in the king’s voice. The King continued as though he hadn’t noticed. “It took some coaxing; but your mother is quite the storyteller once the proper motivation is given. She was very quick to defend her husband, swearing that he didn’t have a clue. Not that I would ever doubt my esteemed Captain of the Guard. Do you know why?” Dante shook his head numbly. The king seem to find this an acceptable form of answering because he replied “Kings are not above doing their own research Dante. I took a tour of the records room and discovered that your father was showing his loyalty to the throne by being on border patrol for exactly two years. Far far away from his darling little wife.” The king drifted into silence, staring at something only he could see. Dante fidgeted. The King’s silence bothered him more than his vicious conversation. He glanced over at Tabitha and saw that she was twitching too. Slowly, very slowly; Dante started shuffling towards her; trying his best not to disturb the dangerous atmosphere that lay heavy over them. No one else in the room moved. Finally after what seemed to be an eternity he made it over to Tabitha’s side. Reaching for her small hand, Dante gave her fingers what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze. Chains clinking softly Tabitha wrapped her arms around his waist and clung to him tightly. Now that he was closer Dante realized that the little princess was quivering from head to toe. He gave her head an awkward pat then shifted her so that she was standing behind him. Holding his breathe, Dante started inching towards the door. Maybe the king wouldn’t notice. Dante thought desperately. Dante was so focused on watching the king, he failed to notice his own father. His backwards retreat was suddenly halted when he collided with something hard and unyielding. Dante heard Tabitha whimper; she was sandwiched in between him and the hard place. Looking up Dante came face to face with his father’s scowl. “You’re not leaving until the king is through with you.” Said his father softly. “THAT’S RIGHT!!!” The king’s voice boomed out suddenly, causing Dante to jump. Every head in the room turned at once to look at the king. The king strode back to his desk and perched on top of it. The sight would have been comical if the king wasn’t so terrifying. “I have come to a decision.” announced the king grandly. “I want them both executed. Their crime; conspiring against the king.” Dante’s mother started howling, begging for mercy. The king ignored her. Tabitha’s trembling became even more pronounced until Dante thought that she was having fits. Dante stood rooted to the spot; stunned. Execution for his mother and the princess? Dante felt movement behind him and jerked his head to see. It was his father. Relief poured through Dante. His father would fix everything. He wouldn’t let the king kill his mother. Dante watched his father stride toward his mother confident that things were going to be set right. His relief and confidence melted away as his father drew his sword. Before Dante could process what was happening; his mother’s head was rolling on the floor. Dante and Tabitha both started screaming. The Captain turned to the king and saluted him with his sword before rounding on Dante and Tabitha. Both children were tripping over themselves in an effort to get away from the captains blade. Backed up against the door Dante vainly tried to hide Tabitha behind him. The captain was steadily bearing down on them. Dante no longer felt cold and quivery. He had gone beyond that and merely felt numb. This couldn’t be happening he thought as he stared up at the figure approaching him. The captain came to a stop in front of them. “Step aside Dante.” The Captain demanded. Dante tried his best to stare at his father defiantly. He didn’t move. Whether or not he wouldn’t or couldn’t was entirely beyond him. All he knew was that he couldn’t leave Tabitha alone. “Move boy.” Dante swallowed hard, looked his father square in the eye and said “no.” It barely came out as a whisper. The captain stared down at him for a moment longer then shrugged. He brought his sword up and slashed down hard. Dante screwed his eyes shut and braced himself, backing up as far away as possible. Suddenly the door opened behind him and a pair of hands snatched up Dante and Tabitha. They were a moment too slow though. For the second time that day pain stabbed through Dante’s head. This time it was accompanied by a rush of warmth and throbbing. Dante wasn’t aware of the events that followed. He dimly heard shouting and was aware that he was being passed from hands to hands. After what seemed like an eternity Dante was dumped on the ground. He gazed around blearily through a curtain of blood. Moments passed before he realized that he was outside of the castle.  And that someone was speaking to him. “Get up!” Small hands were tugging on his shirt. Looking up, he saw that Tabitha was desperately trying to drag him across the grass. Stumbling to his feet, Dante took her by the hand and started following her lead. It was getting harder to see. Squinting ahead he realized that Tabitha was leading him to the forest. And she was crying. Tears streamed down her face as she tried hard not to make a sound. When they had made it into the relative shelter of the trees, she collapsed. Still sobbing softly Tabitha brought her knees up to her chest and buried her head in them. Dante slumped to the ground and pulled his shirt off. Holding it up to his eye he sat still.

After what seemed like an eternity but was really only minutes, Dante asked “What happened?” In between spurts of tears Tabitha relayed the story of how the guard left to stand outside had burst in at the last minute to save them and then how they had been smuggled outside of the castle and left to fend for themselves. By the end of her story Tabitha had calmed down and Dante’s face was no longer bleeding. Tabitha stared at Dante for a moment then asked tentatively “Dante…..What do we do now?” Dante stared dully backed at her. How was he supposed to know? His face still throbbed but the pain was less. Studying the ground Dante tried to consider their options. They didn’t have families anymore. No food. No place to call home. He refused to go back. They had nothing except each other.  He could only think of one course of action. Putting on his best brave face he smiled at Tabitha, who gave him a small smile in return.

“We’ll run away and do the best we can. Together.” Tabitha’s face lit up at the mention of being together.  Bouncing up enthusiastically she answered “We can be a family by ourselves.” Nodding Dante said “that’s right. We’re a family; you’re my sister.”

…………………………………………………………………………………….

Six year old Quinn slumped at the bottom of the stair case, stuffed tiger in her lap; staring at the door. She was waiting for daddy to come home. Laughter drifted down the stairs; mommy was having fun. Quinn tightened her grip on her tiger. Leaning against the bannister she closed her eyes. She hated waiting. Quinn’s eyes sprang open as she heard a key in the lock. Bounding to her feet she rushed forward as the door swung open to admit the large figure framed in the doorway. When she was close enough Quinn took a running leap into the man’s waiting arms. Her daddy was a bear of a man. Huge with a beard, and tattoos up both arms he was known for his fearsome temper. But none of that mattered to Quinn. She was her daddy’s little princess, and she was his world. Spinning her around in a circle Quinn’s daddy brought her in close and squeezed her tight. Quinn snuggled in close as her daddy stroked her hair. He smelled like gasoline and far off places. Daddy smiled fondly down at her then whispered “why are you still up? It’s three in the morning.” Quinn burrowed even farther into her daddy’s beard and mumbled “I couldn’t sleep. Mommy’s too noisy.” Her daddy frowned. “Is she watching TV again? We’ve talked about this hundreds of times, she doesn-” he stopped talking at Quinn’s violent head shakes. She replied “It’s her friend she brought home. Daddy I don’t like him; He’s mean, he pinches me to make mom laugh.” the expression on her daddy’s face darkened. He carefully lowered Quinn to the ground and asked “Is this man still here?” Quinn nodded and mutely pointed up the stairs. He growled softly, making Quinn step back in alarm. Pointing to the kitchen he commanded Quinn to go stand in there. Once he was sure that Quinn was hiding, He stormed up the stairs. Quinn stuck her head out of the kitchen. Once she saw where her daddy had gone, she quietly trailed after him. Ghosting up the stairs, she followed him. At the top of the landing she stopped. Her father’s angry voice thundered down the hallway. Huddling close to the wall, Quinn approached the door to her parent’s bedroom.

Framed in the doorway Quinn watched the grisly scene unfold before her wide eyes. Her father stood at the foot of the bed bellowing at her mother and the man. Her mother cowered against the head board but the man sat up defiantly and yelled insults back at her father. Quinn watched in mounting horror as her father snatched the strange man out of the bed by his throat and, with animalistic rage, smashed his face down into the bedside table. Quinn’s mother shrieked and scrambled out of the bed as her husband began repeatedly bashing the man’s face against the table. The man struggled to get away from the iron grip on his head but with each sickening crunch his struggles lessened.

Quinn’s father had ceased his yelling; instead focusing all of his attention on the grim task he had set for himself. All Quinn could hear was the grunts of her father and rhythmic crunch of face against table when a different sound echoed through the room. CRTCH. Quinn’s father dropped the man; His face a bloody unrecognizable pulp, his head twisted at an unnatural angle. Straightening Quinn’s father rounded on her mother who had plastered herself against the far wall. Her mother began screeching hysterically. As her husband approached to deal out his judgment she scuttled all along the wall searching for an escape. She came to the doorway in which Quinn was still silently stood in. She tried to push around her but Quinn was rooted to the spot, gaping at the murderous man who was her father. He was right on top of them at this point. In desperation Quinn’s mother snatched her up and held her in front of her like a human shield. Quinn gazed up in terror at the stone face of her father. He bore down on them then paused. Time stopped.

Quinn saw tears sliding down her daddy’s face. She felt her mothers’ trembling and bony hands biting into her arms.  Her daddy reached for Quinn. Out in the hallway police stormed onto the landing.

 Chapter one

Life Sucks…….

“Hey will you take a picture with my baby?”

Quinn froze in the act of trying to discretely pull out her wedgie and smiled plastically at the man who had spoken. “Sure, hand ‘im over.” She answered as enthusiastically as she could manage. Taking the screaming child, she planted him on her hip and posing just so, smiled for the camera.  Once the pictures were taken to the satisfaction of the father, Quinn handed the still howling child back and waved cheerfully goodbye to the departing diners. As soon as they were out of sight she slumped against the bar with a sigh. Reaching back with both hands Quinn gave her shorts a mighty tug downward, freeing them from the crevice in which they had lodged themselves. Straightening Quinn wandered over to where the rest of the waitresses had congregated.

“Girl you are way too nice.” One of them commented as she approached. “There’s no way that I would have stood there and posed with that brat for as long as you did.”

“Yeah.” Another one chimed in. “I just checked their table. He didn’t even leave you a tip.”

Quinn laughed embarrassedly. “I felt bad for the kid.” She said sheepishly.  The other girls made noises of agreement. “Seriously, what kind of father keeps their baby out til closing time?” One of them griped. Quinn shrugged noncommittedly then turned to start the cleanup.

One by one the girls dispersed and began their own closing shift routine.  As soon as she was finished, Quinn hurried out the door and down to the bus stop at the end of the street. It was late. Quinn hated the bus stop. She just knew that it was only a matter of time before she was mugged for her tip money. Quinn stood under the street light, trying hard not to bounce on the balls of her feet. Quinn had long since given up on constantly pulling up her shirt but she was still uncomfortable in her stretchy, low slung T-shirt, and tacky orange shorts. Bright headlights appeared at the end of the street and Quinn let out a sigh of relief. Most nights the bus was late.  Quinn boarded the bus, giving her customary greeting to the driver and sat down in her usual seat. Turning to look out the window, Quinn began mentally tabulating this month’s tips. As the numbers added up she smiled slightly. “Even though tonight sucked for tips; I still have enough to the electric and water bill.  It was a good month.” She thought.  Humming to herself quietly, Quinn disembarked the bus and started down the street to her house. When she reached the edge of her driveway she stopped.

She surveyed the scene warily. Only one car in the drive way. That was good. Lights in the living room were on. That could be bad. Reaching a decision Quinn crept towards the tree in her front yard. Looking around her again to be sure no one was looking, Quinn shimmied up the tree. Years ago she had discovered a hollow area near the top. As a child she had hid all of her treasures in it. Now at nineteen years old, she hid an entirely different kind of treasure in it. Quinn took off her small book bag and stashed it in the tree. Checking that the way was still clear, she lowered herself to the ground then approached the back of the house. Opening the back door just a hair Quinn peeked into the house. No one to be seen. That was good. Opening it a little wider, Quinn slid in and closed it behind her. Holding her breath she tiptoed across the kitchen floor; taking care to avoid every squeaky patch. She paused at the doorway and leaned in a little to take in the living room. No one was visible. That was good. She crept past the door way and angled towards her room. Walking faster now Quinn was almost to her door when she heard a crash. Freezing, Quinn turned towards the bathroom. The door slammed open and her mother staggered out; shrieking about spiders. The tiniest of whimpers escaped Quinn, causing her mother to look up and spot her. Snarling she charged forward swinging a nail file wildly. 

Quinn turned and sprinted for her door. Luckily it was open. She slammed the door shut behind her and threw the deadbolt that she had installed years before. Shaking like mad she collapsed to the floor and crawled over to her bed. This was bad. Quinn huddled into a ball and considered her options.

Should I call the police? She thought to herself. No. She decided. She had done that before and nothing had changed. Her mother was still a meth addict. She hadn’t even tried to recover. As soon as she was released the last time she had wasted no time in finding her dealer. So the police was out. A small voice in the back if her mind asked a single question; run away? Quinn snorted at this thought. And go where? She thought sarcastically. That silenced the voice. It was not the first time she had thought of running away. The problem, as Quinn saw it; was that there was no place to run too. She had no other relatives. She couldn’t afford college. Heck, she could barely feed herself.

THUD.

Quinn flinched at the sound. Her mother had started throwing herself against the door. In her current state she could keep at it for hours. Quinn grabbed her pillow and blanket and hauled them over to the closet. She had long since given up being embarrassed over hiding in the closet when her mother was high. Oddly enough it was the one place her mother never looked when hunting for her. Quinn tucked herself behind the hanging clothes. Settling in, Quinn listening to the rhythmic thumping of her mother against the door and waited for sleep to come. At least that night she had one comfort. Tomorrow is visiting day she realized; as she turned over on her side. I can go see daddy.

 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Good morning Miss. Debauche.”

Quinn grinned at the guard sitting behind the glass wall. “Mornin Stan.”

Stan returned her smile and beckoned her forward. “You know the drill, I don’t need to tell you.” Quinn obligingly slid her possessions through and stepped through the metal detector. She did indeed know the drill. Starting on her sixteenth birthday Quinn had visited her father in prison once a month every month. Four years later the security at the prison treated as a part of the family. Even her visitors badge was personalized. Quinn followed her escort to the visiting room. There, her father was waiting. He was still a bear of a man whose presence naturally dwarfed everyone else in the room. His beard was still bright red, skull still bald. He was bulkier as a result of endless hours in the weight room. In Quinn’s eyes the changes in her daddy were small. But even the smallest changes can have dramatic results. The change that shocked Quinn every time she saw her daddy was in his eyes. The love of life had completely left them. Quinn had spent four years watching her daddy’s spirit waste away and it made her want to howl in grief.  Quinn braced herself internally as she took a seat in front of her daddy. Looking up into his face she couldn’t help wincing. He was completely defeated.

Noticing his daughter’s flinch her daddy chuckled sadly. He knew that if he looked anything like he felt, then he was sorry looking indeed. Remy Debauche leaned back in his chair and surveyed his daughter. She was a tiny little thing he mused to himself. Definitely his daughter though; that head of fiery curls couldn’t have come from anyone else. Remy had no idea what he had done to deserve such a beautiful daughter but he thanked God every day for her. Remy hated himself for what he was about to do. Leaning back closer to Quinn he asked softly “How’s life on the outside?” Quinn beamed at him and began prattling on about her life; her new job, her friends, college. As she spoke Remy surveyed her. He knew that she was lying about her life. He knew perfectly well that his ex was making his daughters life a living nightmare. He doubted that Quinn actually had friends or went with them every Thursday night. He knew that Quinn couldn’t afford to go to college. He knew all of this and more; but there wasn’t a bloody thing he could do about it. Except for one thing.

          Quinn’s voice died away as she realized that her daddy was not actually listening. He nodded at her and made noises when she asked him a question but it was clear that his brain had engaged the auto pilot. Quinn frowned at him. Her daddy very rarely ignored her when she came to visit. She didn’t blame him for doing so exactly; Quinn was fully aware that her daddy knew that she lied to him habitually about her life. (Neither of them were strangers to her mother after all.)

Remy closed his eyes and took and deep breathe. Opening them he looked his daughter square in the eye. Quinn figeted nervously as he held her gaze. What was going on? He stared at her for a moment longer before speaking. “I don’t want you to come visit here anymore.” Quinn rolled her eyes at him. “We’ve been over this a dozen times already. I don’t mind coming by every month. I like visiting you, it’s no trouble on my part. Did I miss anything?” She smiled at him. He didn’t smile back; just kept his gaze steady on her. Quinn felt the first quiver of fear slide down her spine. “You’re not serious?” She blurted. Remy didn’t flinch.

“I don’t want to see you anymore.” He reiterated. Quinn felt that her breathes were coming in shorter gasps. Trying to steady her breathing Quinn forced out “Why?”

This was it. The point of no return. Steeling himself Remy replied as tonelessly as possible “I’m tired of you coming here. You’re as bad as your mother. She did nothing but lie to me as well.” Quinn felt as if the floor had opened up underneath her. She stared at her father in horror. He thought she was like her mother? Tears gathered in her eyes. “No daddy.” She whispered. “Please don’t do this.”

Remy felt his resolve crack. He gathered himself for the finishing blow. Coming to his feet he towered over Quinn. “GET OUT!!!” He bellowed at her at the top of his lungs. Quinn burst into hysterical sobs and ran out of the room as the security guards leapt forward. Remy stared after her for a moment then collapsed back onto his chair much to the confusion of the guard. Cradling his head in his hands he finally let the tears loose.  It’s better this way. He thought. Stumbling to his feet, Remy followed the guard out of the visitor’s room.

Quinn stood outside of her house in a daze. She didn’t know how she got there. Probably took the bus. It didn’t matter. She stared at the driveway. There were cars parked in it. Crap. Today must be delivery day. Quinn knew better than to try and sneak inside. If she did that she would be a part of the “payment”’ too. She also knew better than to try and recover the book bag that she had stashed in the tree. Anyone could be watching. Especially her mother. Turning she trudged up the street. She had to go work. It was a good thing she had worn her work clothes under her street clothes. She had a long wait at the bus stop. Eventually she made to the restaurant. Quinn smiled and nodded at her coworkers as prepared for her shift but she must not have looked very convincing because everyone steered clear. The night passed by in a blur. She had no idea how much if anything she made in tips.  Nothing stood out in the haze that was her mind until it was closing time. As she and the other girls were cleaning up the manager stepped out and beckoned to her. “Quinn! I need to see you in my office.” For the first time that night Quinn felt something lance through the fog of her brain. Apprehension. It was not a pleasant change. Fidgeting with her clothes, Quinn followed the manager and closed the door behind her. The manager flashed her an apologetic smile at her and; after some hmmming and hawing started speaking. “Now Quinn I want to first tell you that you have been an excellent employee; always on time, you never complain, always willing to help out. But, and it breaks my heart to have to tell you this.” By this point Quinn’s apprehension had morphed into dread. “I’m sorry Quinn, but I’ve been ordered to reduce staff here. We’re not able to support so many employees. Since you are the newest addition I’m afraid that you are the first on the list of people I have to let go. This wasn’t an easy decision and I’m sorry that it has to be this way. But you’re a bright kid and a hard worker so I have no doubt that you’ll be able to find another job in no time. I will be more than happy to give my recommendation for you to future employers but I’m afraid that we just can’t keep you here.” The manager finished his speech by exhaling gustily and smiling bracingly at Quinn again. Quinn stared dully back at him. It was official. This was the second worst day of her life. The manager looked at Quinn nervously. “Are you ok?” he asked timidly. Quinn blinked at him slowly. Taking a deep breath, she stood up straighter and said “Thank you for taking care of me.” With that she turned around and walked out. The restaurant had already emptied. She was the last one. Without even bothering to grab her street clothes Quinn wandered out into the parking lot. Standing at the bus stop Quinn waited. And waited…………………….. When it became clear that the bus was not coming she started trudging down the road. Quinn stared at the ground as she walked her sneakers blurring as the tears she had fought all night came rushing out. Life shouldn’t be this hard. She thought bitterly. Train tracks loomed in front of her. As she approached them, the caution arms descended, blocking her path. Quinn watched the blinking lights of the arms and listened for the train. She could hear it rattling down the rails. You could take a nap on the rails. Whispered a voice inside her head. This was not the first time this voice had spoken to Quinn. Tonight though; she was having a hard time disagreeing. Two steps and I wouldn’t have to worry about what’s at home. Honestly, she thought to herself bitterly; why bother going back? Quinn sucked her breathe in sharply and collapsed to the ground. Wrapping her arms around her knees, she let the storm out. Howling, Quinn rocked back and forth, tears and snot gushing down her face. Her daddy didn’t love her anymore. He thought she was just like her mother. A lying whore. Why???? She screamed at the train as it thundered passed her.

Quinn didn’t know how long she sat huddled on the asphalt of the dark street. Eventually the torrent of tears dried up. Sniffling, Quinn watched the train tracks. When is the next one coming by? She wondered dully.  As Quinn had sat on the cold ground she had purposed in her heart that she wasn’t going home. There was nothing for her there.  Who said you had to go home? Inquired a previously unheard voice inside her head. Quinn stilled at this new thought. She was surprised that she had never considered this before. Mulling over this new idea; she considered her options. She had four hundred dollars stashed away in her tree hollow; and another two hundred in the bank. Was this enough to live off of. Not even close. But it could buy her a bus ticket out of town. Maybe a cheap hotel. She had her uniform. She could get a job at another restaurant. Maybe shack up with another waitress. She could save her money and get an apartment. Maybe go to college. With student loans she could live in a dorm.

Quinn sat up and smiled, drying her face off. I’m getting out of this hellhole, she thought with satisfaction. Climbing to her feet, Quinn leaned forward and started dusting herself off. No need to look homeless just yet.

BLRRRTTTT!!!! Quinn’s head snapped up at the sound of a horn and stared transfixed at the headlights bearing down on her. She only had time to think “I’ve always hated the trucks with teeth.”

SCRRRRRCKKKK!!!!