Dear little Devil

Chapter 1- Earths Thunder (Novel draft 1)

There was a loud screech from outside in the storm. Marla jumped up as if she was ready to face anything, but it was just the tree branches scraping against the glass of her window. With a frustrated sigh, she slumped back onto her bed where she had been dozing off and stared up at her empty white ceiling. She should really put something up there, stars or something.

This whole week had been so strange, not that anything "abnormal" was happening. It was just this feeling, like something terrible was going to happen or, like she was forgetting something, something important. Her head started to ache again like it always did when she tried to remember things she'd forgotten. It was probably just her imagination. She was just thinking too much; with exams coming up, this should be the least of her worries.
Marla glanced over at the books and scattered papers covering her desk, then over to her digital clock on her bedside table. 12:15 pm. She should really get some studying done before she passes out.
Marla's whole body was aching from her double shift at the cafe. 8 hours of running around taking orders and carrying 2 to 4 plates of food at a time will do that to a person. She swore if she had to say 'Welcome to Your Cup of Tea! May I take your order?' One more time she was going to throw a customer out the window.
With a loud and reluctant groan, she began to slowly pull herself out of her dream machine and made her way over to the desk to organise her work.

Suddenly there was a loud bang from downstairs that made her jump. She heard her mum scream followed by the sound of breaking glass, and sighed. Not tonight, please not tonight.
Marla slid on her slippers and made her way down the dirty, stained, carpeted stairs to the kitchen where she'd heard the yell.
Her mum was standing next to the kitchen bench her hand on her heart and her eyes closed. She was wearing a fluffy pink nightgown with fresh wine stains covering its front. A shattered wine glass lay at her feet, the pieces scattered across the kitchen floor. Red wine was splattered all over the white tiles making the shards of glass glint in an almost dangerously beautiful way.
"Mum," Marla said calmly trying to keep her cool. "What's wrong?"
"Oh, hi sweetie, I was just... grabbing a of wine when that stupid painting in the lounge room fell off the wall again!"
Marla looked over her mum's shoulder. There was a newly opened bottle of wine on the bench behind her, it was already half empty. Marla sighed and turned back to her mum's guilty expression.
"How many...?" Marla's mum dropped her eyes down to the red tiles.
"Not- not that many, just a few."
"You're a terrible liar." Marla sighed again and scanned the kitchen floor.
"Ok. You go lay down, I'll clean this up." Her mum's eyes widened.
"No, no, no, I'll do it! Just give me a minute."
"Mum sit down."
"Don't worry, you go back upstairs!"
"Amanda!" Marla's mum froze at the sound of her name.
"You don't call me that; you call me mum," Amanda said quietly, swaying slowly, holding onto the bench to keep her balance.
"Mum please..." Marla walked over, carefully avoiding the pieces of glass and put a hand on her mum's shoulder.
"Go lay down in the lounge room, for me?"
Amanda sighed.
"Ok, sweetheart, just be careful not to cut yourself."
"I will mummy." Amanda gave a small smile and then stumbled into the other room. Marla watched her flop down onto the couch, then made her way to the closet to get a dustpan and broom.
Her mum had been like this ever since they'd lost Marla's dad, which was most of her life. She was only 5 when the earthquakes took him. Even before she was born her town had been plagued by earthquakes. They usually had a few a month, but recently, they'd been more frequent. Maybe that's why Marla has been feeling so off.

Marla fumbled around in the closet for a minute, looking for the mini broom before she pulled it out, the dustpan shortly following with her other hand.
The broom's bristles were stained red from previous occasions, and most of them had fallen out. But if it works, it works; no point wasting money on a new one.
After the broom served its use the mop followed, also stained a pail red from previous occasions. In the splash of red wine, she could see her distorted reflection.