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This is the first story I've ever posted anyway, or well, that I'm proud of.
I don't have a title, and this is only the prolouge.
I'd like opinions, construtive critism, etc, thanks. I'd really like to know what I should fix.
Also, this story is completely fictional.
Hello there. My name is Kristen. And I’d like to tell you my story.
You want to sit down, if your not already sitting, as I do not know how long it will take to tell my tale. Please, listen closely. I don’t enjoy repeating myself, and I’m sure you feel the same way.
I’m seventeen, nearly eighteen. I thought it was about time to tell me story, after covering it up for so long.
My mother left me with my father when I was an infant, claiming she was too young to raise a child, let alone learn. She was only partically right, however.
She had me at nineteen, quite young, but perhaps not ‘too young’ to have a child. After all, I was her ******** up. Everyone should have a constant reminder of their ********. But, moving on. Your never too young or old to learn something, I mean, she would have learned anyway, why not young?
I’ve simply taken the obvious as fact.
She wasn’t ‘too young’ to have children, and, as I mentioned, she certainly could have learned. She just didn’t want me, or any child, for that matter, to hold her down. She was young, unmarried, and had her whole life ahead of her. Until I came along. But then, I was easily forgotten. She just went on with her life, forgetting she had a daughter who would have given anything to know her. To talk to her. To see her.
Now, my father. He didn’t abandon me. Like my mother, he wasn’t too young. But, unlike my mother, he didn’t think he was too young. I’d have to hope not, he was far from ‘too young’ at twenty-five. He wanted a child more than anything, and in his mind, god had sent him a daughter. But, not a wife. He’d loved my mother, and was utterly heartbroken when she left.
He was positively estastic at the thought of raising a child, watching something so small, grow into a normal sized person. That he had taken part in creating a life.
I’ll start a year before the problems started.
I was fifteen.
My lifew as happy, filled with joy, sorrow, love, as most teenages lives are.
And now, we start.
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