Tragic Temptations

This is going to be my first novel, and I want to see who will read what I have posted so far. I have written more than is posted, and if I have a good turnout, I will post more. I am aiming for 3,000 words a day, so that'll be a lot to post if everyone reads it. It gets real tragic in the part of Chapter 1 that I haven't yet posted.

Chapter 1

Off to a Bad Start

She started creeping closer and closer to me, and all I did was watch. I could have screamed for help. I could have stood up and ran away. But I knew she’d find me. And then I could never get away.
“You just too scared o’ me, little baby Sydney?” Abigail said as she stalked me.
I shook my head. “N-no,” I whispered. I was scared, just not of her. I was scared of what would happen to me after my parents find out that she’d been bullying me for nine years. Because if they knew I’d done nothing about it, they sure would. To show me that I shouldn’t be afraid. And that’s what I’m afraid of: them knowing I’m afraid.
“Sure you are,” Abigail said as she crept even closer. We were sharing just about everything, now. Eye contact, breath, I could even taste how bad her breath smelled. And it was really bad. But the only thing we didn’t share was something that was all mine, something that no one else has access to. My thoughts. “What should I do to you today?” she asked in her deep, loud voice, then laughed at her own un-humorous joke.
I shook my head again. “Nothing. Y-you should l-let me g-go.” She stopped looking into my eyes and started circling around my small, trembling, and dormant body. She shook her own head to my request.
“Why would I do that?” she scoffed. “That would mean that I’d have to let you go, and you can go off and tell all your little friends that I let you escape. That Abigail ain’t the boss no more.” She laughed again at her own nonsense joke. The one that wasn’t funny. I don’t know why she liked to scare me. I’d never done anything to her. I just wish that was something that could change. But something was about to change. And I can guarantee that it would be the way my face was arranged.
“Hey, Sydney! Watch out. I got you a present.” I knew it wouldn’t be something I’d get to unwrap and stare at in awe like on Christmas morning. A bully wouldn’t do that. “I bought it especially for you.” She pulled back her fist, then let it swing. I didn’t have time to think about how much it hurt, if she would leave me here, and if she did, would someone find me, take me to the hospital, and call my parents, or if she took me with her wherever she was going. No. All I had time to think was, I hope I get a good night’s sleep.

I woke up right where I was forced to sleep: next to the big, stinky dumpster next to Wal-Mart three miles from my house. I stood up but nearly tumbled over. Both legs and my neck were stiff. It would take me hours to get home from here. I sat back down. I took my phone out of my back pocket and turned it on. Three unread messages. Two texts and one call. The call was from my utterly desperate and control freak mom. One text was from my best friend Kendra. Come to my house at 7. Ur mom said that u could eat over here 2nite. U can sleepovr, 2. Just hurry. Bye, Kendra. The other was from my Science Project partner, which said: Hey, Sydney. R we going 2 work on the project @ ur house or mine 2moro? I replied to Kendra’s text first. Hey, Kendra. I will b there soon. Have a great story 2 tell u, tho not so interesting on my part. I’ll come 2 ur house 1st, and we can get my stuff 2 sleepovr after dinner. K?
I thought, and decided not to call my mom. She’d just tell me to come home. And then she’d ask me what I have been doing, and how I got my clothes all dirty—which they really weren’t. I just had some grass stains on the knees of my poor, worn out blue jeans, and a rip in helm. And my light pink colored shirt had a faded red and orange spaghetti stain covering it…Okay, so maybe my clothes are a little messier than I thought. And that’s why I’m not going home.
Even though Kendra’s house was about seven blocks from the abandoned dumpster next to Wal-Mart, I ran the whole way. When I got there, I walked up to her front door and flipped up the placemat on her front door. I grabbed the big silver key that yelled ‘Open the door! I’ve been lonely, and you’re here to rescue me!’ I opened the door and placed the key under the mat where I retrieved it from. It is the most basic place to put your key, I don’t know why they even put it there. I’m surprised they haven’t gotten robbed. And if they have, Kendra hasn’t mentioned anything about it. I mean, best friends are supposed to tell each other that stuff. It’s just mandatory.
I walked right into the house. “Hello! Anyone here?” I went straight to Kendra room and looked around. There was a small figure on her bed. It was under her big, fluffy, and bright pink comforter. I went up to reveal what the small thing was. I yanked her blanket on to the ground and looked at her bed in awe.
“Oh, my gosh!” I screeched. “Some help! Call 911!” That’s when I realized—me being dumb ole’ me—that there was no one to call 911. I was the only person in the house. Because the figure on her bed surely wasn’t my best friend, or even alive—it was my best friend’s sister, Justine. And I was pretty sure I was about to throw up—all over Justine’s body, all over Kendra’s floor and comforter, all over my pre-messied clothes. Too late—I already knew I was going to be sick. I threw up all over the ground knowing that if I got vomit on her body—it killed me to say that (not literally, obviously)—then Kendra would kill me. And I don’t think they want another death in the house.
But right here in my best friend’s house, the worst thing I could have possibly imagined happened. It’s a lot worse than something basic. I mean, it’s a lot worse than the T.V. robbery that I had expected. I had no time to think about what would be the fate of this poor dead girl—shudder—or the fate of her family. Only time to hope that someone would find us both. I knew I wouldn’t want to be on the ground forever. I fainted right on my wet and sloppy vomit.
I woke up to hear Kendra sobbing. I dare not move, knowing that if she saw me, she would have asked me questions. So I just lie still, soaked in puke, waiting for someone to realize that I was here, too.

No one did notice that I was there. They all mourned over their lost relative, well I just watched and listen to their terror. I could have talked to Kendra, told her about when I came to her house after I got her text, and that I saw something on her bed, and the explanation of why there was vomit on the ground. She probably thought that it was Justine’s vomit. Maybe that’s why she was dead. But typically, people that vomited before their death usually don’t have a big bright red bloodstain on their shirt.

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