This is the first chapter of my novel, The White King.

The night before, I stuck the alarm clock under my pillow so only I would hear it ring and Mother wouldn’t wake up, but as it turned out I was awake even before it went off, that’s how wound up I was for the surprise. After taking my extra-special nickel-plated Chinese flashlight off the table, I pulled the clock from under the pillow and lit it up, it was quarter to five. I pressed the button so it wouldn’t go off, and then I took the clothes I had put on the back of my chair the night before and dressed in a hurry, careful not to make a sound. While pulling on my pants I accidentally kicked the chair, which luckily didn’t topple over but only thumped against the table beside it. Carefully I opened the door to my room, but I knew it wouldn’t creak because the day before I’d rubbed the hinges with grease. I went over to the cupboard and slowly pulled out the middle drawer and removed the big tailor’s shears Mother always used to cut my hair, and then I opened the lock on our apartment door and slipped out, quiet as could be, not even hurrying until I reached the first turn in the stairwell, where I broke into a run. By the time I reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped outside our apartment block, I was warm all over, and that’s how I went toward the little park, whose flower bed, next to the iron spout where people went for spring water, had the most beautiful tulips in town.
By then we’d been without Father for more than half a year, Read the rest of this entry »