Jenna

Ah. I see this is going to be one of those novels, the ones where the author couldn't come up with a title so they just name it after the main character. Yikes.

A shining moon turned Jenna’s bedroom into a constellation, the holes in her curtains creating stars on the floor.

Please tell me this isn’t going to be some shitty fluff novel. The poor girl rising up, some cliche plot like that...

The stars told the story of her anger, the violent outbursts that led to ripped cloth and bruises.

Well, I guess this isn’t about poor people. Maybe it is. Still could be a fluff novel, though. Man, I hate those...

The bruises decorated her thighs. The rips furnished everything else. Her clothes, her sheets, her curtains.

The bruises turned her into an oil painting, a canvas of anger.

Her father had made those. In retaliation, she had made his house look abandoned, ripping everything.

Her jeans were torn in several different places, and in others, sewn hastily back together. Her life was a quilt, and she was the seamstress. Or maybe Dad was. No way to tell.

Abusive parent. Yay. This is totally going to be a fluff novel.

I hate this already. But Maggie told me to read it, and I have to give her a plot summary tomorrow.

She’s worse than my english teacher.

The window fogged up. The mist crept along the edges at first, before churning across the whole thing. Soon the curtains no longer made murals on her floor. It was all just... dark.

"JENNA!!"

Ah yes. The confrontation. The one we've all been waiting for.

Jenna's steps trace a well-worn path down the rotting wood steps. Her pockmarked feet are grubby and scraped. Not because she doesn't have socks, but because he bought them. Why would she support his hate? Like paying for your least favorite candidate in an election.

(UNFINISHED)