Jack and Jill (novel preview)

Chapter One

(A/N): This is one of my oldest stories, but I've decided (since it's gotten a lot of attention on here) that I would go back into it and try to edit and expand it some. This is the first edited chapter, and I'll continue posting it until it's all been put back together again. I was going to wait until it was all finished, but I don't know how long that will take so I decided to do it this way. If you've read it before, let me know what you think.  If this is your first time, same to you. =))

Rating for abuse and self-harm, violence, brief rough language, hellish references and sexual themes.

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Text copyright Lani Lenore

All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be produced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

 

 

Jack and Jill

Go up the hill

To fetch a pail of water;

Jack’s a preacher’s handsome son

And Jill’s a drunkard’s daughter…

Chapter One

1

The day was dreary to Jill–a world of black and white, devoid of all color. This bleak vantage was her life, from the moment she rose from her uncomfortable bed until the curfew, when she went back to it. She was young. Her world should have been full of color, but her outlook couldn’t have been any more dismal, expecting nothing from the life that she often wished she’d never been born into.

Jill often thought that something about her eyes was different from the rest of them–that they were the eyes of a monster–and that somehow the villagers recognized it, even though she couldn’t see it herself. Maybe that was why they wouldn’t look her in the face.

Maybe that is why they hate me. But she knew that wasn’t true.

Her pale, thin fingers reached up to push a rebel strand of dark hair away from her eyes. The other hand tightened on the thick piece of rope that bound the wooden pail.

This was Jill.

Today was a new day, but no more significant than the last. The sun was trying to shine through the thick clouds, but this day was no brighter. The bruises she bore were lingering from a week ago, and fresh ones from yesterday were adding their violet pigment to her pale back and limbs. Her father’s markings had been placed, and would not soon cease to grace her frail body.