the girls i fell in love with and how they broke my heart

Reads: 1033  | Likes: 9  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic

hey, this is the first draft of my novel: 'the girls i fell in love with and how they broke my heart.' this book means a lot to me so any advice, comments and critiques would be welcomed and

Chapter 1 (v.1) - prologue

Submitted: June 04, 2019

Reads: 568

A A A | A A A

Submitted: June 04, 2019






I was twelve years old the first time I loved a girl.

In my adolescent mind, this was the first and last time I looked at a girl and noticed how differently I felt about her; how her auburn hair curled in thick tendrils around her collarbones and how her grin danced along her miles of skin like sunlight.

Across the classroom, ten feet felt like a mile; children colouring outside the lines felt like tin soldiers. Something in the air shifted; and I saw her for the first time.

I’d seen her, of course; countless times, in fact. This was the very first time I laid my eyes upon her and felt my heart flutter; felt my eyes sting from staring; felt the heavens sing from above, her spotlight but a beacon of the angels.

Eventually, my classmates learned to colour inside the lines. They learned to think inside the box; and to overstep the line meant an extra lap. 

Oh, so many times I looked her way and saw constellations in her wake, but I pulled my eyes away and cursed her as if she were a crescent moon. Cowardice is a product of rejection.

I convinced myself that was the last of it, but it seldom ever is. Her belly was a hearth fire and her pupils oil lanterns. That girl’s orange glow was but a bad omen.

A bad omen indeed.

But it doesn’t end there; it seldom ever does.

I was twenty-one years old the first time I lost a girl.

Though my experience as a passenger felt like pure chance – I asked myself: who would be so cruel to force a girl to witness the love of her life slowly dying? Who would be so cruel as to end a life before it had ever truly started?

The clash and ignition of metal, oil and razor-sharp glass is a noise I know I will never forget no matter how hard I try. The freefall and drop within my gullet as the car tumbled through the air robbed all of the air from my lungs. The car dragged us with it as though we were less than rag dolls. Before my very eyes; my worst nightmare had unfolded; sleep paralysis was but a wish I held onto ferociously.

I could not help but watch as her head hit the steering wheel with an audible, blood-curdling crack. Her face became lopsided; punctured with incessant and inconsistent lesions – snippets of enamel peeking through broken flesh. Her hair became crudely dyed with scarlet; stained a red so deep and rich it was damn near black. And yet all I could do – was watch; watch as tendrils of thick blood pooled around the bonnet of the car; watch as her eyes wriggled in their sockets like larvae; watch idly by as whatever was left of her soul clung to life in a desperate bid to wrench itself away from Death.

And I watched. I didn’t move – simply allowed the smoke from our wreck to fill and bruise my lungs like salt-water. My body remained frozen in place; and whether it was stuck to my seat through blood or fear, I didn’t know.

I watched as the digital clock inside the car ticked by; watched as the sky turned a scornful shade of Tequila Sunrise.

And I watched as the unsteady lights inside of her brain slowly flickered out; one by one by one.



© Copyright 2019 beccamidmoores. All rights reserved.


Add Your Comments: