Finding Alana: Chapter 1 Page 1

Hello, all! Carrying on with first page posts, here’s the first page of chapter 1 from Finding Alana. 

*Copyright: This material is protected by copyright owned by Meg Farrell, Farrell Writes LLC. 2016

1 Death

Oh, God! I suck in a quick deep breath. My chest aches as it heaves, and my head is spinning. I feel nauseated as I rub at the headache behind my eyes. Oh, my God! Pain crawls through my body. Taking a mental assessment, I note that everything hurts. Something large and heavy hit me. For some reason, I can’t get my head around it. What was I doing? I run my hand down to my stomach because it’s burning like I’m on fire. My hand comes away sticky and wet. Oh, God!

Struggling to sit up, I try to open my eyes. There are light trails keeping me from seeing clearly, but I can tell it’s blood. My hand is covered in it. Blinking over and over, I try to clear my eyes, and I see it. My stomach is also covered in blood. Recollection floods my mind—the fight. We had a huge fight. Oh, God! He tore through me. He hit me so hard I flew into the bookcase and it shattered against the wall. Then there was the noise. It was loud and thundering. It echoes in my mind. At that moment, I remember… I’ve been shot.

As the realization moves on, tears well in my eyes, fear fills every fiber of my being, and my breathing stutters. I test my legs to see if they’ll move. My knees protest, but give way to movement. I kick at a pile of rubble and try to make room to get up. A low grumble comes from beside me and I freeze.

Cautiously, I look around and see my husband is asleep on the couch. I can tell by his snore that he’s sleeping off his drunk. The empties piled on the coffee table confirm my suspicions. As silently as possible, I pull myself up gingerly and begin to move toward the back of the house. I hold the wall for support and grab my purse off our dresser. There’s no time to take anything else. Mentally, I begin thanking God that Ethan is at my sister’s, and I’m not dead.

Tears are spilling down my cheeks, but I try to remain quiet as I make my way to the door. I don’t even close it behind me because it would make too much noise. I need to get away without waking him. I stumble down the steps of our trailer, trying to think of a plan. I start for the car, but then I think of the noise the engine would make. Think, think, think. I look around.

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