I'm interested in some feedback on this piece.
It's first draft and I'm dyslexic, feel free to point out spelling if you wish, but I'm most interested in the tone of it. How it makes you feel. Where you think it might be going. It's the opening for a new WIP, so I'm looking to set the mood quite quickly.
All opinions on anything gratefully received.
I watch the houses whiz by and my eyes flick from one to the next. I was told once not to do that as it will give me a headache, but it hasn’t yet. We’ve been driving a long time, but that could just be because this worker is more boring than most of the others.
Her car is the same as everyone else’s, it has the feeling of beige. I look away from the houses and down to my feet. They dangle in the air because of this stupid child seat she’d made me sit on. Beneath them the typical uncared for mess dotting the floor. A half crushed dried leaf, bits and pieces of various foods, a single bright blue thread snaking its self into a contorted pattern.
The bag beside me rustles as the car moves. I’ve lost count of the times my things have been stuffed into a bag that, other than for moving me, is only ever used to throw out rubbish. The suitcase I’d started with, one home said was theirs when I was told to leave, and kept it. Since then it’s been the bin bag. The sum total of my life being worthy of being rubbish.
“You’re lucky I was free today or you would have been in real trouble.” She says in a voice like I should be thankful.
I look at her eyes in the mirror as they try and bore into me for appreciation, then go back to looking at the houses going past. Will this be the type of house I’ll be staying in? Probably not, these seem too nice for the kinds of people that take us in.
It’s not long before the car comes to a stop, and she turns round awkwardly to look at me while she talks at me. The angle she’s put herself is making the collar of her shirt dig into the fat of her neck, it’s being absorbed by the folds of her flesh.
I’ve heard most of it before. Try and not get into trouble this time. Be nice to your hosts. Don’t swear. Say thank you, and please. This house has a new part though, this is emergency accommodation, “Because you’re running out of options.” It’s not always me, but it’s always me that gets the blame. The son of the last place had banged his head so hard off the door frame that the blood actually splattered across the wall. He was angry after catching me watch him get dressed, he wanted the baby faggot out of his room. He was twice my size, but I was still blamed for the injuries and the social worker was called to come and collect me. I asked the worker what a faggot was, she just told me it’s a bad word and I shouldn’t say it.
This house doesn’t normally take boys. They have two girls, so they only take girls. Because of the short notice it’s all that’s available, the girls will stay in a room together and I will stay in the smaller of their rooms.
“Hopefully we’ll find you somewhere you don’t want to cause problems soon.”
I look up at the house as we go through the garden gate, normally houses this size are group homes. “Try to look thankful for being here. They are good to have let you stay.” She speaks to the air as we snake down the broken slabs towards the front door. I don’t feel thankful though, I don’t see why this house will be any different. Kids that don’t want me there, parents that are more interested in the cheque they get for hosting me. Maybe they’ll be a dog, I can be friends with the dog.
The two girls inspect me from the safety of a doorway. Their eyes roam over me and my bin bag with no hint of subtlety, pure assessment. The Mum greats me with an uncomfortable smile and welcomes me in an unwelcoming way. The Dad though, the Dad seems nice. Friendly, dressed in sports wear that he apologises for, he didn’t have time to change from his run before I got there. He’s funny, he makes a joke about he couldn’t welcome me properly while in the shower, and punches my shoulder while chuckling.