This is my first writing venture

I tried to write 1 opening chapter please critique and any tips

What's the oldest memory you have? Most people will say something like, When I was a kid...

But if you ask them when that was, they'll often say, I don't know, just when I was a kid.

Well, I remember my first memory vividly. I was happy. It was a beautiful, warm day, a summer trip to Spain "the number one destination for potbellied Britons." I remember the stark contrast between the temperate weather of home and the overwhelming heat of a sunny day in Spain.

I was playing on the sand, happy.

It felt like a lifetime ago, yet as clear as yesterday, one memory leading directly into the next: my third birthday, then my fourth, then my fifth.

I was a daydreamer, weaving stories in the theatre of my mind, finding happiness within those self-created worlds.

I remember the joy of those early years, the boundless imagination that filled my days.

The years between five and eight were different, subtly but noticeably.

My demeanor shifted, an insatiable hunger driving me, even as the world around me began to sharpen, the edges no longer blurred by childhood's easy assumptions.

The questions started bubbling up, a sense of wonder mixed with a growing awareness of the complexities of the world.

Things weren't so simple anymore, not like they were when I was just playing on the beach in Spain.

I started seeing things, noticing the cracks in the facade.

And then, the laughter… it wasn't the same anymore.

It turned cold. It wasn't a warm, happy sound anymore. It was… sharp. One minute, the sound of kids playing, the easy joy… and then.

I knew it was about me And then… it started to disappear. Not with a bang, but with a whimper. Until it was just… nothing.

And I was… stiller. It was my fault. I know it was. The shift was gentle, almost imperceptible, but the chill… bone-deep.

One moment filled with the carefree joy of childhood, the next shrouded in a silence that has never truly left me.

It clings to me, a constant reminder. I can still hear it sometimes, that nothing. It's… empty.

The insistent rapping on my door dragged me from sleep. Not a gentle knock, but a sharp, demanding tattoo. "Up! Now!" Mom's voice was a furious hiss, a viper poised to strike.

"If I have to come in there and drag you out of bed myself—" I flinched, burrowing deeper under the covers.

The warmth of the bed was the only safe place in the world. Outside its confines lurked… them.

The doorknob rattled violently. "Don't test me!" My stomach churned. School. The word was a lead weight in my gut. The thought of facing those hallways, those eyes, those whispers…

"I'm up," I choked out, scrambling out of bed. "You'd better be," Mom snarled. "And make it quick. I'm already late for work because of you."

I winced, the accusation stinging like a slap.

Her footsteps retreated, the click of her heels on the hardwood floor a countdown to my doom. I peeled the covers back, the cold air a shock to my system. My reflection in the mirror was a stranger – pale, thin, with eyes wide with fear. I fumbled with my uniform, the scratchy wool a torment against my skin. "And don't forget your advent calendar!" Mom barked from the hallway. "Or you'll be sorry." Chocolate. A pathetic bribe. Like a tiny square of sweetness could make up for the hours of torture that awaited me. But I wouldn't argue. Any distraction was welcome. I snatched the calendar from my desk, ripping open the tiny door marked "12." The chocolate was a small comfort, melting on my tongue like a fleeting promise of escape. But the bitter taste of dread remained, a constant reminder of the inevitable. School.