MY FIRST TIME TRYING TO WRITE A STORE (WHAT DO YA THINK?)

this is the first time ive tried to write a story so don’t judge me too hard but always be honest as that as the only way I will get better

(not finished yet)

BROKEN MIRROR / SHATTERD DREAM
by Christopher Raymond Hurley

Tommy sat looking into the water at his reflection wondering were his life had gone so wrong trying so hard to think back to them carefree days when he was 12 and life seemed so easy and the summers seemed to stretch on forever before the world even knew the words “terrorist” “9/11” or “Taliban” and when evil was just something you would read about in comic books or would see in the Saturday morning cartoon shows, life had seemed good back in them days before the fear and the nightmares, before farther and mother split up, before his baby sister died in that tragic house fire.

Tommy is now 17 but already them days seem so far behind every time he shuts his eyes he sees marys little face looking back at him her blue eyes shinning in the dark her chubby checks and blond hair, this is something he knows deep down that he will always see, sometimes he thinks he can still hear her asking him to read her a bed time story, three little pigs was always her favourite and she so loved the way he would do the voice of the big bad wolf “little pig little pig let me in” them words now echoed around his head as it started to rain, the puddle he was looking at himself in started to distort with every drop of rain that fell

Tommy got up knowing that he should start the long journey home to his fathers small 2 bedroom apartment all the time praying softly in his head that farther would be sober this time “please god this time let him be sober I honestly don’t know how much more of this I can take I know that people handle losing someone special in different ways but I cant go on like this” he kicks an old can on the dusty road just then a large 1975 pickup truck speeds past splashing him with dark mud filled water, its all Tommy can do to stop himself from crying right there on the side of the road but he keeps going looking down at his Casco watch and seeing that its now 5pm he starts to speed up a little knowing how mad his father gets if his dinners not on the table 6pm on the dot

Shaking with the cold damp air Tommy slides the brass slender key into the lock and turns it to see his father pasted out on the sofa, hand still holding the cheap half empty bottle of Asdas own brand brown ale, the air is rantsid with the smell of rotting fish and week old beer, Tommy sets his key down on the dark oak coffee table and picks up two large black bin bags from under the sink and fills them with empty cans and bottles “no point cooking now” Tommy thinks looking down at his father with utter contempt, just then the phone rings reaching under the piles of last months newspapers and his copy of TIME magazine Tommy answers “hello?” “hi dear” says his mom in that soft voice she always has, “is charley there?” Tommy still looking down at his father lies “sorry mom his not here right now” Tommy hears a low click in her throat “but I will get him to call you back when he comes home” “ok dear make sure you do” with that the line go’s dead

Tommy picks up his March 03 copy of TIME and looks at the front cover at a photo of a young John Lennon with the still iconic “LET IT BE” song title written in dark red print with a heavy bold front and thinks to himself “that’s easy for you to say Johnny boy” and with that makes his way to his bedroom, the only place he really feels safe, everything has its own place in his room his posters hung on the wall, one of a woman wearing a pink bikini with cut away jean shorts laying down on top of a Honda super bike, the other a film poster for “the hills have eyes” his shirts neatly folded on his shelf his model RAF planes hanging from the celling and his desk with his now 10years old puke gray computer and his pens lined up the reds with the reds the blues with the blues and the blacks with the blacks, yes this is Tommy’s idea of heaven and here he truly feels at home, switching on his Compaq he hears the same old windows 95 start up sound and quickly hit’s the mute key so as not to wake his father up who is now snoring loudly in the other room, and opens his email, “nothing” Tommy mutters and lays down on his single bed looking up at the RAF planes and slow drifts off to sleep…..

Its dark and icey cold, he can feel hands around his waste pulling him down, down into the pitch black water he knows his dreaming but he feels trapped unable to wake himself from this nightmare its as if his world is closing in on him and his lungs are screaming for air, in the darkness he can hear a thousand whispering voices, he can make some of them out “let it beeeee” “ok dearrrrrr” he sees the ford pickup truck floating below him covered in dark brown rust with bits of seaweed hanging off the side mirrors, the can he kicked on the way home now with the words “let it be“ on the side in the same dark red font as his TIME magazine, the voices are no longer whispers but cry’s of pain or maybe hate, he can feel his lungs filling with salt water, sees his sisters face her eyes sunken in, then nothing for along time….

Tommy sits bolt up right sticky swet all over his body and tears in his eyes, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness in his room he thinks to himself over and over again “it was only a dream it was only a dream” slowly rocking back and fourth his knees pushed up to his chest, looking down at his watch he sees that its 2.35am but there’s no way Tommy is going back to sleep tonight, he gets up and heads for the kitchen passing his still sleeping father on the sofa and gets himself a cold glass of OJ

"one ring to bind them all"