Hey!!
More often than not, my practice chapter tells me where I’m headed. But during the following’s writing, I was lost a few sentences in. Given this (and the fact that it was far past my bedtime for a work night), I halted and read it back, and it didn’t seem too bad. But the next day (after work – ha), I read it again, and it seemed sensational! Just then, a realized that despite the hour, I should’ve kept going; it was as though I’d seen a stop sign ten driveways ahead but mashed a brake pedal after five driveways. Nonetheless, please read the below, and see if you can see what I mean.
She kicked a stool across the cellar. “Sit.”
I glanced at my wrist. “Streetlights are about to flick on.” I swallowed. “And my mother said I have to—”
Her heavyset friend seized my shoulders and thrusted me onto the stool. “Comfy?”
I gnashed my teeth. “I’m of no use to either or you injured.”
She released her righthand, balled it, and positioned it beneath my chin. “Then don’t get injured.”
I sighed, glared at the other girl seated on a washing machine. “Want to call your goon off?”
“No, I don’t. Not off of someone who made me chase her up Cranston Road.”
“But Rose, I—”
“Shut it!” She scowled at me. “I don’t want to hear it.”
A thick hand grabbed my collar.
“Just once, Rose. Let me clock her just once.”
“Twila,” Rose said and then nodded toward the cellar stairs.
Twila shoved me away and then climbed the stairs.
Clack!!
“Door’s locked,” Twila said.