A Short-Lived Death Of A Book, Resurrected

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Today, I announced the end of the first draft of my original book Jenna. Do not fret, dear readers, for my muse for this book has been resurrected by @ZayZe...in the form of a competition. Inspired by NaNoWriMo, Zay and I will be racing to see who can type up the most words for our individual threads (here is Zay's thread) until the end of November. December 1st is the absolute deadline. There are no distinct prizes, just the pride and accomplishment of doing something better than your friend.

As for my book, it is getting a complete re-write. In fact, if you read the original thread, you may feel as if you are reading a completely different story when you read this one.

Happy writing!

@ZayZe, this thread will go toward my word count.

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Chapter One

Vera Woods was only thirteen years old when her mother, Becca, shot and killed her father in the middle of the night. The young, blonde girl was stirred from her fitful sleep by the sounds of her parents arguing.

She’d lain in her bed across the room from her little sister’s for quite a while before she heard the sound of a gun being fired once. Motionless, she barely dared to breathe. She looked in the direction of Penelope, her sister, and saw two blue eyes staring back at her through the thin film of darkness. Both sisters jumped, startled, when a second gunshot broke the eerie silence.

At the end of the room, the oldest son, Matthew, had long since woken and was now descending the top bunk of the bed that he shared with his little brother, who was just a year older than Vera. As he passed the girls’ beds, he stopped when he saw that they were not asleep either.

“You two stay in here. Vera, don’t let Penny come out,” he whispered.

Vera nodded, sliding out of bed and crawling quietly across the floor over to Penelope’s bed. The seven year old girl was trembling with fear, and so Vera wrapped her arms tightly around her. Matthew opened the door softly, then disappeared into the living room. The sisters waited for their brother’s return. It was quiet in the house. The kind of quiet that makes a person’s stomach twist with knots of fear. The sisters, holding each other, jumped when Matthew came back into the bedroom.

He seemed to ignore Penelope and Vera both, instead walking straight to the bed that he came from. He shook his younger brother, Dillon, until he woke up. Dillon was only a year older than Vera, but seemed much more mature for his age. He woke with a grumble, and Vera wondered how he’d slept through such a violent cacophony of noise.

“What’s wrong?” asked he, looking up at Matthew.

The eldest Woods child bent down and spoke in a hushed voice to his brother while Vera tried to listen to what he was saying. She caught words like, “dead,” “neighbors,” and “phone.” What she was almost positive had happened was something that she wanted to escape her thoughts. As she held her sister tighter, her mind began thinking at a thousand words per second. Matthew passed by the bed again, exiting the room, and Vera looked in Dillon’s direction for answers. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at his hands.