My Fiction Fix #01

Writing Idea #03: The Death Of Alice 🔴

Writing Idea: The Death Of Alice

Trigger warnings:
Violent language.
Physical assault-but I will make clear now that the main character was not a victim of sexual assault. Only threatened.
Mention of harm.
Trauma.

Please, do not read further if this may be triggering.

CHAPTER 1:

The water was a silver green, moss moves and bubbles underneath as I overhear Dad's buckled laughter on the grill when friends of his and Mom's arrive. Six cars are first and my four older brothers-who were close friends with all those near their age, who arrived with their parents. It was this grand reunion of the popular kids. I'd never felt so left out. All of my parents' friends who had daughters my age were cautious about them. Strict on dating, strict with curfews, strict on wearing make-up or showing skin, dressing up.

I was the only one who could show my belly button if I wanted to. Mom and Dad weren't worried, and I knew why...because I preferred staying silent and alone and I was never the troublemaker in our family. All my brothers were.

"Mute, you want a drink? Whom I kidding, of course you do. Here, grape juice." Grape juice was my favourite in some cases. I trail my eyes to strange silver-grey ones. His Dad used to lead the team of hunched individuals sharing laughter behind the boy in front of me. He was my oldest brother's best friend. He'll likely be his best man too.

I straighten in my grey dress and stare at the cup more than him. The colouring was right and his mother was watching us with my Mom and their other friends. Dean Cauldron stood before me in all his masculine glory. I knew his sculpted body backwards, considering I've drawn him in ultra detail, his eyes were the hardest to draw, but when I got the hang of each crevice and crease, it was art in 3D. He smelt of rose-pine, probably from the mountains...until I scented soap when his hand moved closer to hold the cup out to me.

Dean Cauldron was a twenty-year old architectural designer. I knew he'd designed houses, before doing the grunt work on them, he had a project management style resume. I'd seen that on his website. Cauldron's Foundations. He'd even been in a few magazines.

I blink at the cup he lowers in closer to me, "Audrey?" He whispers.

I slowly cup the rim of the drink and move it closer to my lips. I saw my reflection in the drink. It was a deep purple that shyly showed it's colour around the edge of where the drink stopped.

Dean sighs and reaches around me, his hand moves to pull me from the edge of the lake. My eyes were too focused on the drink as my sandals brush light grass strands.

Dean guides me onto the porch where my oldest brother purses his lips, "Dean, just leave her be." He mutters, over it now. The look in his eyes was no longer of anger and regret, but cold-hearted beats in the air around him.

I stopped talking when I was six-years-old. No one could understand why, I'd been to twelve doctors before one took a body scan and freaked out when there had been internal damage done to me.

Just not the damage everyone thought had happened.

They all thought I had been mentally abused at school. I was pulled out and have been homeschooled since. Brain activity came up with no problems, and no internal damage was done. Except something was wrong, that had always changed everything. I stare at the drink. My oldest brother, Maxwell Vermont moves the cup from me.

Dean scowls, but he doesn't say anything when I stare at the cup. Maxwell squeezes my hand, "You're cold, Audrey. Go inside, warm up. Don't get too close to the fireplace." He whispers down to me. All their friends, the three other men and two girls watch with those pitiful expressions. The faces of external sadness for me, for Maxwell, for my other brothers. I see other adults, my dad's friends glance over, those closest to us and smile softly at me, saddened too. Maxwell opens the sliding door for me and helps me over the step before he closes the door behind him and turns away.