When should I end a chapter?

And:

(copied straight from Word, and not fully checked for grammar yet.)

Corrupted Eyes

By

Andrew Payn

2013

Death is such an evil, satanic thing. You never think much of it until it hits you, at which point the searing acid of pain makes no end to course through your body, weaving through bones and muscles, turning your very life force dark and cold. Well, so everyone told me but I’m yet to feel such feelings. Mind you I suppose you have to have some kind of emotional attachment to the person who left, well apart from hatred I guess.

Among the sea of black I could pick out a few faces I recognised. My mother who was with a large group of females, her head planted on someone’s shoulder, probably crying. She never could handle herself! And further through the sea I spotted my father, at the bar, with his friends raising a toast to someone with what looked like very expensive champagne in one hand.

Oh how I hate funerals, always so glum, always ‘remembering’ the dead. If they’re dead what does it matter if we hold such extravagant parties to remember them, as far as they’re concerned they’re in a cheap wooden box in a field somewhere. Or within a cheap vase, all ready to be littered on earth in the coming weeks. Whats so extravagant about that? If the disposing is so unimaginative why should the after party be? Who are we remembering as it looks like most people are remembering what the bottom of a pint glass looks like, and quickly trying to rectify.

But instead I have been dragged out here to speak to people I’ve never met, such people acting as though know me better than my parents, all because they saw me when I was rather small, ‘oh how you’ve grown’ they always say. I despise the lot of them, but at least leaving home to come to this ‘party’ gives me access to food. Oh how I love the smell of melting cheese, I was just worried that to get some, I would have to put my glass down. And in doing so the gentleman in the far corner will take it from me and I would have to get another.

But the smell was so enticing, dragging me out from my little corner. People milling in and out of that room like ants looking for fruit.

“Mother, where’s the cheese?”

“The little cubes with pineapple and ham are over there, but that’s all”

“But, I can smell melted cheese, mother where is the cheese?”

“How many times must I repeat myself to you. There is no melted cheese, there never was, and there won’t be today. Now why don’t you go back into your corner and stop bothering me.”

Stubborn old cow, she always preferred her to me. Was it because she did well in school, ‘my daughter, the Cambridge graduate’ I’m glad she killed herself. No matter what anyone else argues, she did kill herself; it was obvious that her marriage was breaking down. He always put 110% into the marriage and she just took. Oh how I feel for him.

As soon as I got into my little corner, I started peeking through the sea of black again, to try find people I know, again I saw my mother, who was still inside that group of females, still crying, still acting like she’s the victim. And I could see my father, who was now pouring himself another drink from the bar. Oh joy, tonight is going to be so fun getting home with these two I thought. I hoped that maybe George might join us. I hoped so, I liked George.

Speaking of the old devil I can see him on a wooden chair now, crying his eyes out. He loved her, that was evident enough, he couldn’t see past the wool she pulled over his eyes. Everyone else could, but she couldn’t. My father wobbled his way over to me, drink still in hand.

“That monster, he did it. You can tell by his behaviour”

“Dad! You can’t say that, would you be crying if mum killed herself?”

“Yes I would, that’s what makes this the most disgusting thing ever, and she didn’t kill herself she was killed, murdered in cold blood. T’was A true monster that ripped her soul out, in doing so denying us access to our… to our beautiful daughter. And your sister.”

“Believe what you want to believe dad, but your judgement is blinded by your losses, George has done no harm, look at him now. Are you still sure he did it? The man is at ends with himself and all you can do is judge. I’m going to the lavatory” As I walked past George he managed to crack a smile, I think I may have ended up smiling back to him. I did like George.

I bet it was the fact she excelled in everything that put her at the top of the pecking order. I was always last to be praised, but first to be scolded. Typical sibling rivalry my parents used to say. Well now I’ll be the one who will be praised I used to think. Oh hindsight is such a cruel being. Never giving what you want, in fact the exact opposite, but instead revealing what should be hidden and remain hidden.

“Are you O.K. dear”

“Yes mother, what do you want?”

“Nothing, just checking up on you.”

“Well, you’ve checked up on me now, can I go?”

“Yeah, yeah. Be safe.”

“The loo mum, I’m only going to the loo, what’s going to happen.”

As I walked past the table of food, I could hear someone calling my name, no one else seemed to react to it, but their voice boomed through the whole establishment. Ringing in my ears, calling me. Through the commotion of noise, I could feel my legs beneath me collapse slowly. The world around me shrinking to a single point. People mingling their way towards me. The voice still calling.

Thanks Laura.

I have been writing it on Microsoft Word, in size 11 Times New Roman. So it's about 1001 words long. Unfortunately in reading other books for inspiration they are all different paper sizes - and counting individual words can be a bit of an eye-sore.

But thanks for your help.

Regards

Andrew