Love Without Love

So I started writing a book about a year or so ago and since its summer, I'd thought that I should work towards finishing. But, I want some input from my 'peers' (for lack of a better word) on the beginning of the book. Feel free to read and comment. Thanks!

I stood there in the unfamiliar bedroom, alone and somewhat afraid. A naughty female firefighter calender hangs on the wall with an uneasy feeling of disappointment and grief. The long, black, and mysterious curtains drape over a rod in the other side of the room with a darker sense. The abandoned room isn't much larger than a custodial closet. The closet has a few moth eaten sweaters and a mess of wire hangers. A firefighter must have dwelt here, hence the "fire" hat and a few other fireman necessities. There is a newer looking chest of drawers with nothing but a jar of coins on top. A small glass desk sits in the last corner available; it had been mounted with college books and papers. Only a few odd, out-of-place items are kept on that desk. The television on the edge of the desk was probably used for the mans days off, when he could just sit back and relax without a care. He'd probably watch MTV or TMZ to help him catch up on the latest celebrity gossip. The plain white walls are empty except for the calender and a photograph of some trees and a boy kneeling, Joseph Smith none the less. Sacred Grove. There was only one light in this bedroom; which rests on a small wicker night stand next to the twin sized bed. The light continually flickers and I presume that the man never had time to bother with it.

As I was pulling my pajamas out of my suitcase the smell and warmth of home, good ol' Arizona, filled the entire room. I became homesick. I want to just flop down on the ground and cry until my father comes to retrieve me and take me home. But of course, it only happens to the best of us; instead, I muster up some strength to hold back my tears. I hurried and dressed for bed and grabbed my toothbrush so I could just sleep this all off. As soon as I opened the door of the bedroom I didn't even bother to step out; everything was still and quiet. The only sounds are the muted snores of my uncle in the room across the hall. I closed the door once more and laid down on the what seemed to be sturdy bed. It wasn't bad; sort of comfortable but held that feel as if another body belonged here. This is where I am planning on spending most of my time in this unfamiliar house. Just me, alone and somewhat afraid.

I awoke the next morning fairly early, like always, but didn't want to wake my uncle, so I laid there thinking of how the next week would pan out. Then I heard the strangest noise come from down the stairs; I grabbed that jar that too was abandoned, just in case, and made my way down the narrow staircase. Quiet and scared beyond all senses. Being scared is good though; it gets my blood pumping and keeps me on my toes. When I turned the corner at the bottom of the staircase I dropped the jar, almost breaking it but I didn't care. There stood my uncle with an apron wrapped around his waist and a spatula in hand with a frightful sight surrounding his poor soul.

"Good morning Annabell! Want some pancakes?" I'm not used to waking up to the smell of...food in the morning. It's odd. I'm used to waking up around five in a quiet house where everyone sleeps till about noon. I don't want his hard work to go to waist. "Sure"

Thanks for your input, it is greatly appreciated! I hope you liked it, please feel free to comment1 Thanks again!