Freedom Road Chap 1-4

Hi all! Below are the first 4 chapters of Freedom Road. I hope you enjoy them. Feel free to comment and don't forget to vote if you like it!  :)

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, events, and incidents are fictitious and products of the writer’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental. Copyright © 2012 by T.M. Souders

CHAPTER ONE

Two days. That’s the length of a hospital stay after your father lops your finger off with a kitchen knife.

I remembered the morning clearly. Maybe I always would, or maybe with time the memory would fade and be one of unimportance as everyone wanted me to believe. The scent of rain and decaying leaves wafted through the open windows. Cool air whipped inside, diminishing the stench of burning oatmeal from the kitchen. I hurried into the room, my guitar case slung over my shoulder. I glanced up at the clock and grimaced. In twenty minutes my presence was expected in Mr. Neely’s classroom for one of our practices. Time is of the essence, he told me. And how could I argue with that when the single most important day of my life approached?

“Damn it!” my father cursed. He tore the pot of burning oatmeal from the burner and threw it in the sink with a bang. Waving a towel, he attempted to hasten the foul air out the window.

I brushed past him with my head down. When I opened the refrigerator door, I grabbed the first thing I saw. A carton of strawberry yogurt would have to suffice. There was no time to be choosy. Besides, the longer I stayed in the kitchen, the more I risked a confrontation with him or my mother.

The shattering of glass cut through the silence, followed by a low guttural moan. I gritted my teeth and rounded the corner into the living room to the sight of my mother splayed on the ground, the empty bottle of some form of spirit broken at her feet. She rolled over. Pieces of glass stuck to her robe. I covered my nose, trying not to gag at the sour smell of alcohol.

My father’s clipped stride resonated over the hardwood floor as he entered the room. He knelt down beside her and began to pick up the shards of glass off the floor. Oblivious, my mother stood up, gripping the wall for support, and stumbled her way to the couch. I took this as my chance for escape and started toward the door, hoping my exit would go unnoticed.

“Samantha, I need to speak with you for a moment. In the kitchen.”

Wincing, I turned. The plastic shopping bag in my father’s hand was heavy with glass. With his gaze still on me, he nodded toward the kitchen and left the room. For a moment I debated sneaking out anyway, but I followed him, saving myself the lecture later. I walked up to the counter. The strap over my shoulder dug into my skin, a reminder of the time—and how I didn’t have any. This had better be fast.

“What?” I chewed the inside of my cheek and glanced at the clock.

He tossed the bag of glass in the trash can and moved to a cutting board on the island. “I wanted to let you know that I’m signing you up for a class this summer at the American Banking Institute. It will be good for you to build up some knowledge before you start working for me.”

Heat rose to my cheeks. It was only October, yet he planned my summer. “I already told you I’m not doing it. I won’t work there, and I’m eighteen now. I can make my own decisions. You’re wasting your time.”

Taking a chopping knife out of a drawer, he sliced through the apple in front of him, halving it in one clean swoop. “This isn’t up for debate. You’ll have to get used to the idea.”

I shook my head. This argument could wait. All I wanted right now was to feel the smooth contours of my guitar in my hands, to feel the chords of the music as I played.