Part Two- Take one and... action!

This is the first chapter in the story after the prologue. Hopefully you guys will enjoy this too.

Chapter 1
It was dark when I woke up. Images clouded my mind. I could still see my mother, streams of black from her smeared mascara running down her cheeks. The phone crashing to the floor, my mother’s dazed look as she fumbled towards the living room. I closed my eyes trying to shut the memories of my dream away, but the pictures only became more vivid. I took a deep breath, sitting up, realizing that I was soaked. My fingers brushed against my pillow, damp. I knew I had been crying again. I looked over at the alarm clock on my night stand. 5:30, school didn’t start for three hours.
Slowly I dragged myself towards the bathroom, decided that it was impossible to go back to sleep. I turned on the faucet, grateful for the noise as I tried to shut out the sound in my head of my mother choking on open sobs. As I waited for the tub to fill I stared at myself in the mirror. My hair, plastered to my face, was practically standing on end in some spots and there were streaks of black around my eyes as I had forgotten to remove my makeup the night before.
I suddenly realized I was freezing. Every inch of my body was drenched from sweat. It was as if I had slept in a pool of water, but rather than feeling refreshed I felt grimy and sticky as if my whole body had been layered in syrup. With a shudder I walked over to the tub and stuck my hand in the water to make certain that it was hot. It was. It was like a current of electricity as the heat from the water ran from the tips of my fingers to every end of my body.
Pressing the play button on my CD player I let the sounds of rock and roll pervade my ears and remove all memories of the dream. I then shut the water off and removing my drenched and sticky PJ’s, sank with gratitude into the warm water, its welcoming embrace enveloping me.
I opened my eyes to the sound of someone knocking. With a jolt I realized I had dozed off while in the water.
“Emma? Are you in there?” I paused, realizing that it was my aunt calling me. What time was it? I wondered to myself. How long had I been in the bath?
“Just a second” I called back. I got up reaching for a towel.
“It’s almost seven thirty.” Seven thirty I thought. Two hours? I had been sitting in the tub for two hours. “I have breakfast ready. Just wanted to make sure you were up and going.”
“Yeah…I’ll be down in a second.” I ran the towel through my damp hair. I hadn’t even shampooed it yet. Oh well… too late for that. I had a half hour to get ready. Wrapping myself in the towel I went back to my room and rummaged through my drawers trying to find something suitable to wear. I settled on a pair of dark blue jeans and a brown sweater. I looked out the window; it was raining again. What a surprise? I thought to myself sarcastically. That was one of the many things I hated about living in the state of Washington. It was green and pretty yes, but it never stopped raining. I longed for the sun. I wanted to go home, California. That was where I belonged and that was where I knew I would go back some day. As soon as I hit 18, the age I would officially become my own guardian, I was out of there.
I pulled my still slightly damp hair into a messy bun and stared at my reflection. As always, this was as good as it was going to get. I hurried back to my room. 7:55, the bus would be here any minute.
“Emma?” I heard my aunt call up the stairs. “Emma. You are going to miss the bus if you don’t get down here right now.” I grabbed my school bag and ran to the stairs taking them two at a time. “There you are. Here… eat this bagel on the way out.” I grabbed the bagel and began stuffing my face. “Hurry, your cousins just walked out the door.”
“Thanks Aunt Joanie.” I said as I ran for the door. I opened the door and ran out into the on pour of rain, pulling my hood up over my head as I did so. I rounded the corner and saw my cousins ahead getting on the bus. I ran, reaching the bus just as the doors were beginning to close. They stopped, opening for me. I climbed on, at the same time getting a rather stern look from the bus driver.
“I keep my stops to exactly five minutes. Not a second longer. Got it?” I nodded and began to make my way down the aisle.
“What took you so long?” I looked over at my cousin, Britnee, the youngest of my aunt’s three daughters.
“She probably overslept…again.” The oldest, Sherice, was looking at a portable mirror, touching up her make up as she always did. Sherice was a tall blonde, quite popular among the guys at school, who delighted in dolling herself up. She always had a mirror and some extra make up with her wherever she went and had a habit of often checking herself in the mirror. She looked up for a moment, a slight smirk on her face, and then turned back, rubbing some extra blush into her cheeks.
Britnee, seeming satisfied at the answer given by her older sister, turned back to her other sister, Leanne, my Aunt Joanie’s second daughter, and began complaining about a math assignment she had forgotten to do the night previous. I continued walking and noticing my friend Alyssa waving from the back went and sat next to her.
“Hi” she said. Her brown curls bobbing slightly as she did so. “You don’t look so good. You feeling ok?”
“Hmm…? Oh yeah. I am fine, just had a long night.”
“It wasn’t another night mare was it?” I stared back at my friend wondering if I should tell her the truth. I decided against it.
“No, I just couldn’t sleep for some reason.” I knew that she was unconvinced but she turned towards the front anyway. I wanted to keep talking to her, to shut out the memories that haunted me, and yet I had no idea what to say. What could I say? I had never been strong in my ability to trust people, no matter who they were. I had learned at a very young age that people, in general, could not be trusted; eventually they would stab you in the back. Companionship had never been one of my strong suits either. I had always lived in constant fear that the people I grew close to would either disappear or do something to hurt me. Such had been the story of my life. Everyone I had ever cared about had been lost to me; and so I had stopped trusting and I had stopped caring, that is until I met Alyssa. She was my best friend in the whole world and the most likely person on the planet who could understand me or who wouldn’t be taken aback by my….gift. And yet I could not trust her, not completely…
I couldn’t think straight. It was just so loud. I put my hands up to my head trying to shut it all out. I hated being in a location with lots of people, I preferred to be on my own. I had always been that way, only at first I had never understood why.
“Are you sure you are ok?” I realized that I had been clenching my jaw, and my hands were pressing against the side of my head, my fingers moving in slow circular motions, massaging my temples. I stopped, relaxing my jaw.
“Just a slight head ache, I will be fine.” It was one of the many things I loved about my friend. Alyssa was one of the most calm, relaxed people I had ever known. I think that was what had drawn me to her in the first place. She didn’t give me a head ache the way other people did. With her I didn’t hear the buzzing, the constant rage in my head that always occurred when I was around a group of people. It was part of my “gift.” Or curse, depending on how you looked at it.
I was different, unlike any other person on the face of the whole earth; or at least as I far as I knew. I had often wondered if there were others like me. I remembered when I was little, how I had hoped, how I had dreamed that Alyssa might be another of my kind. She and only she had managed to understand me better than any other person. And so I had hoped…
But the fact is there are only about .01% of the entire world populations, people who are like me. That is if they are still alive.
“Hey, did you finish that paper for English yet?” Alyssa pulled me out of my silent reverie, the buzzing less prominent.
“No, not quite; when is it due again?”
“I think this Friday. I am not entirely sure, I hope it is Friday. I finished mine but it would be nice to have a few more days… just to tie up the loose ends.” I smiled, that was my friend Alyssa. She had always wanted to be a writer and she took every English assignment very seriously as if it were going to be published. Everything had to be perfect. She had the highest grade of anybody in English and was praised and admired by everyone in the department. I had often used her to help me on my own assignments and papers. She was the only reason I was even passing English.
“How far have you gotten on yours?” She asked innocently. We had arrived at the school. We got to our feet, some of the younger ones pushing and shoving to get to the front.
“I…uh…got a page?” I said tentatively. Another thing about Alyssa, she was very mature for her age. She acted as a mother to most, getting after us for not doing assignments or for forgetting to wash our hands before lunch or whatever else she thought we could do better. But she was a friend to everyone and people looked up to and trusted her, even some of the seniors would come to her for advice.
“A page? Come on Em. We both know you are better than that. Don’t make me come over tonight. You do realize that the assignment is due in a few days and you need at least three to four pages.” She said it as a statement not a question. I smiled at her gentle chastisement. Some would find it annoying. I enjoyed it; it was another thing to distract me from the chaos that enveloped everywhere else. She was my one chance to escape.
“Come on or we’ll be late.” I suddenly realized that I hadn’t moved. I stared at Alyssa a few feet ahead. “Are you coming?” she asked.
“Yeah, sorry I was just thinking about something.” I turned and followed, the quiet peace gone. I frowned as we headed down the hall to geometry. I hated geometry, I hated math in general but there was something about shapes and angles that made everything far worse. We entered the classroom just as the bell rang.
“Ladies, thank you for joining us. Please take your seats.” Mr. Turner gestured to the class motioning for us to sit. I walked to my seat, sitting next to Alyssa.
“Alright settle down, you’re under my watch now. Let’s not waste my time or yours, especially not mine.” It was the way Mr. Turner always began class. “Now if you will please take out your homework from yesterday.” It had begun; I laid my head down on the desk, trying to ignore the buzzing.

Wisdom Teeth: Where's the Wisdom in that?

So there I was, waiting for my mouth to go numb and suddenly I had the sudden realization that I was not really in control of my situation anymore. I was afraid to move, almost afraid to even breathe for fear that I might swallow my own tongue. It was a very weird experience as I had not had my mouth numbed for quite some time. I couldn't help the thought that I wasn't the one in control anymore. There was no going back and I had no choice but to trust the dentist as he dug into my gums to retrieve the unwanted tooth. I had been worried all night before that something might go wrong. How did I know for sure that they weren't making a mistake and that the tooth was even in there? It had never bothered me before and I could feel nothing to signify that the tooth was even trying to come up. I started to doubt that it was there and I hoped and prayed that the dentist had been right and that I wouldn't have to undergo such an ordeal for no reason.
Such were my thoughts all that morning as I anticipated the inevitable. I told myself that it wouldn't be so bad, I only had one wisdom tooth and very soon it would all be over. It wasn't so bad at first, and I remember thinking after it was over, how fast it had been. I could hardly talk as half of my face was out of commission, but it was over! I bit onto the gauze as it soaked up the remains of the still oozing blood, hoping that I was biting onto that rather than my own cheek. How could I tell the difference? My cheek had no feeling.
Then the numbing started to wear off and I decided that, as annoying as it was to be numb, I would rather not feel anymore. That was when I first felt the pain of what I had just gone through and I wanted to cry. I took some medicine and held the ice pack to my cheek. How lucky I was to have only one wisdom tooth. Eventually the pain began to sooth and I was able to drink some orange juice through the left corner of my mouth.
Eventually I could actually start eating some food and I began to feel slightly better although it still hurt to move my mouth up and down. Hopefully I never have to go through that again. This will hopefully be the last time I have to tell this story...
I used to hate doctors, dentists, whatever. They were all associated with one thing, shots. Very unpleasant. I think a part of me hated going to the doctor or the dentist because I didn't really know or understand what they were going to do with me. It's just that when you do go to the doctor you sort of just have to trust that they know what they are doing. It's sort of like saying..."OK take care of me but please don't mess up. This is my body we are talking about."
Well, I am very pleased to say that everything is fine. There was definitely a tooth back there and it is now out. The dentist didn't mess up and I am great, despite a little trauma to the mouth. Or at least I hope so...

Is this any good?

OK so I am working on starting a book, so far I have the prologue. I would appreciate any comments that you might have on whether or not it grabs the attention and if you felt like it was worth reading. Thanks :)

Prologue
The sun shone down, baking the city of Las Angeles with its heated rays. The hustle and bustle of the large city had quieted in the late, July afternoon, as the temperature had reached a scorching 115 degrees. A large granite building occupied a good portion of the street, its 100 foot walls towering to the sky, casting a large shadow in all directions. In front of the building lay a large square. In the exact center of the square was a fountain; the gurgling water the only sound that disrupted the still afternoon. A large arch encased the glass doors at the entrance. The label on the façade of the building, lining the arch, read in gold lettering: Harrington Enterprises.
A single man stood in front of the square. The man’s face was weather beaten and worn with age. He wore a dark blue suit, his shoes polished with care as if they were brand new. He turned his eyes, squinting, to look at the sun, mopping the back of his neck with a handkerchief as he did so. Sweat beaded down the man’s face in large drops as he anticipated the task ahead. He was used to the scorching heat having been born and raised in LA. On any other day he would hardly have noticed the temperature; but today was different, and he couldn’t help the nervous knot that was beginning to tie up his stomach. Pulling the handkerchief out once again he wiped his face and licked his dry lips turning to face the doors on the opposite end of the square. Taking a deep breath he walked toward the doors pulling from the back of his trousers a shiny revolver.

Is English just about Grammar?

An interesting point was brought up in a discussion that I read on face book. One individual seemed to think that English was all about grammar and vocabulary and nothing else. He basically said that it's ok to read books that are not grammatically correct as long as it's not for an English class. What?... Ok slow down and back up. Who says that literature that doesn't have perfect grammar and big words is not worth anything in the English classroom? What about the style of writing? Since when did English become all about structure? What happened to expressing yourself and learning to see the way others express themselves? In my English class, my senior year of high school we focused primarily on reading different pieces of literature and then analyzing those works. We did occasionally focus on expanding the vocabulary and learning the correct grammar because that part is just as important, but it is not all of it.
My favorite part about English is being able to write and express myself. Part of that love came from reading and seeing how other people expressed themselves. I know that writing is not for everyone but at least for me, it sparked something that made me want to be a writer. I had a voice and I wanted to share it. I am sharing it right now and nothing gives me greater pleasure.
I am not saying that grammar is useless and should be thrown at the window. I don't think it should. Grammar is essential to making a writer sound credible. However I don't feel that English should be all about grammar. If the only reason we read in English is to better our grammatical skills and anything else is out, then I think there is a slight problem. You can accomplish just as much for an English class with reading and analyzing a person's voice and opinion as you can memorizing rules and structure.