So, I'm working on a new trilogy, and this first book built off the relationship between my MC, a blind girl, and her three-year-old brother Panda (Chase), a victim of cancer. I want my first scene with both characters to draw in readers and make them adore Panda, so that the story's tension becomes more real. Would some people mind reading this scene and giving feedback?
– Not five minutes had passed when the door opened again. I sat up to tell whoever they were to go away, but stopped mid breath. Rhythmic footsteps padded towards me, muffled by the thick carpet floor. I smiled, but how could I not? Baby feet make everyone smile, whether or not they can see.
“Panda!” I exclaimed, reaching out my hand. My little brother’s chubby fingers wrapped around mine, and he heaved himself onto the blankets beside me.
“Hi, Kitty,” he said. My smile widened at the sound of his voice. It was still too small for his age, too cute.
I felt for his cheek, then tapped it playfully. “Baby Feet, you’re pulling at my covers. Wanna come inside?” I lifted the blankets over my head, and his weight shifted from place to place as he crawled under them.
“Whatcha doing out of your room?” I asked. “It’s, like, ten in the morning! You should be asleep right now.”
“I woke up,” he said with a sarcastic tone. I couldn’t help but smirk. He was learning from me.
“You’ve got to take a nap, then, buddy-boy,” I scolded. “Otherwise, you’ll be crying all evening long. You’ll be sent to bed and miss desert.”
“Aw man!”
I laughed. His high-pitched giggles thudded in my ears, making me long for more.
“Are you gonna try and shepherd some sheep today?” He asked, reaching down and fiddling with my fingers.
“I don’t know. I won’t be of much help.”
“Sure you will!” He said, his voice cracking on the first word. “You’ll help Cain!”
“How’s that?”
He paused, and I could imagine him concentrating hard to think of something. “You can name the sheep!”
I burst out laughing. “Name the sheep? But I can’t see them!”
“But you can feel them!” He argued. “You can feel their faces and then be able to tell them apart by them, like you do to us! You can name al-l-l of them.”
I laughed again and reached out to touch his face. His face could have been a perfect circle, if not for his little stub of chin. He had unnaturally soft skin, softer than most of my family’s skin. His nose was small, and curved slightly upward. Mother called it a button nose, but I couldn’t see how it resembled a button. It more resembled the Hotwheel track ramps he would make than anything else. Father told me his eyes were light blue, a happier, more playful version of blue… but as much as I tried to imagine them, I simply couldn’t see the color on his face. It just didn’t match.
“Panda, what color are my eyes?” I asked.
It was a question he always gave an answer to, no matter how many times I asked. “Silver,” he said.
“What’s silver, again?”
“When you kick metal, the sound it makes is the color silver.”
“What does it smell like?”
“Pepper.”
“What does it taste like?”
“Ice cream!” He yelled, his voice rising so high it became more of a mouse’s chirp than a voice itself.
I rolled onto my back, unable to contain my laughter. Panda’s squeaky moments always brightened my mood.
“Why are you crying?” He asked.
“Those are laughing tears, buddy,” I reminded him, rubbing my hands across my cheeks to clean them. “They come when you laugh really, really hard.”
“Oh, yeah!”
I gently pushed him down on the bed, my lame attempt at a tackle. He squealed and kicked his feet, which collided with my chest. I sucked in a huge breath of air and jabbed his stomach to get him back. He yelped and shoved my hands back at my face. I felt his weight shift rapidly as he scrambled to get away, but I attacked his legs, accidentally falling right on top of him. He was slammed against the blankets, his squeaks suddenly muffled. I was about to get back up when one of his legs shot into my stomach.
“Whoa! Careful, there, Baby Feet.” I gasped, sitting back on my legs. “You knocked the air out of my lungs.”
“Sorry,” he said. His hands grazed my cheeks, his gesture of apology.
“Nah, you’re fine.” I went to touch his face, but missed, instead resting my hand on his head. The smoothness of his scalp startled me. There was no longer any trace of the tiny stubs of hair he had had before yesterday. They were all gone.
“Did Momma give you a shower last night?” I asked.
“Yeah. It got all the hair off my head,” he answered. “She says I look nice.”
“I bet you do.” But I still missed the thin, twistable hair he once had. He’s changed so much. –
© @EveningPrimRose
I really like this! I think you do a good job of making the reader like Panda (how could you not?)
You also use very good description and grammar so A+ on that :)
The one thing I would say is Panda seems just a bit too good at speaking for his age. I have a four year old cousin that doesn't speak as well as your three year old. Now, this could be because Panda is smart, or because having cancer has made him mature quicker, but it's just something to think about. Overall, awesome job!
You're a really good writer. I'd love to work on something with you sometime, and feel free to send me things to critique :)
Thank you! I haven’t really considered Panda’s intelligence yet, he is inspired from Charles Wallace from A Wrinkle In Time. I think his ability to speak fairly well fits his character.
I’ll consider sending more critiques. Just need to find a scene I know needs help on.
Oh, I can definitely see Charles Wallace in this :) Good job. And yeah, I'll be around when you find one