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Well, I got a new WIP for the contest. How does this look to y'all? The ZZZ is going from one page to another.

ZZZ

February 12th, 2010.

The young woman stands still. Her brown hair flows freely in the wind. Most would shiver in the freezing cold, but she does not. She got used to the cold long ago.

Snowflakes fall and sit on top her head for a moment before melting. Thousands of tiny pins drop all around you. Each snowflake plays a note in this melody.

She sighs. Her wispy breath comes out like a fog before dissipating into the morning air. The graves say nothing to her. They’re all dead, markers for dozens who should remain in the past. The woman trudges foreword crunching the snow beneath her boots with each step. She stops at a grave.

“Hey,” she mutters. She crosses her arms, folding into herself. “I’m back.”

The grave says nothing. Even though the occupant lives on, she knows that life exists only metaphorically. She’s talking to a grave. It does not hear her. It will not reply. Maybe this’s just an excuse to talk to herself. She doesn’t know for sure.

“What happened in the last year? It’s been three hundred and sixty-six days this time around. Zoe got to celebrate her birthday on the right day this time around. The poor kid’ll have to wait another four years for that to happen. Oh, I almost forgot. She and Ezekiel insisted my cake have twenty-seven candles on it. Ain’t that the sweetest thing?”

The grey stone lies there as it always has and always will. The consistency warms the woman’s heart. She raises her hand and looks at the lilacs she carried all this way.

“I don’t think you were into flowers. Well, this’s a white lilac. I like the meaning of this little guy, so I grew it in my greenhouse just for this occasion. I’d like the imagery more if you would take it from me, but you’re dead. Not much you can do, so I’ll just put it here.”

She sets the flowers down. For a moment, her eyes flash red. She clutches her temple and blinks. They revert back to their normal brown.

She smiles. “I’m still in control. Ain’t that nice?”

ZZZ

January 14th, 1994.

You walk home from a long day at work. People complain about long work days, but they got nothing. You put in ten thankless hours making next to nothing. The wind blows through the holes in your jacket. One day, you’ll patch it up. Shivering, you quicken your pace.

The path back is harder than the morning. You shrug. It’s the price to pay for living up top of the hill. The mound has some sorta official name, but all in this sleepy little town just call it that. You like living there. No neighbors. No loud noises. No lights. Darkness. Just darkness and silence.

Your feet hurt. Maybe the charity store has a better shoe size now. Looking down, you see two worn out tennis shoes that are a half a size too small. Each step shoots a minor jab starting from your feet and ending at your hips. You’ll get to rests soon.

Spying your house, a smile comes across your lips. The heater will warm your bones again this February night. You’ll make something to satisfy your hunger. “No,” you mutter under your huffing breath. “Paycheck comes tomorrow.” What do you have in the fridge and pantry? Four, maybe five slices of bread. There’s some peanut butter too. That’ll do. A feast for two.

You clench your fists. Why can’t you do better? Is this all life will give to you? Damn life. Damn him. You can make it on your own. You’re good enough to do it.

Your house sits in front of you. Each step causes it to look less and less small. You’ve kept it looking nice. It could use some paint, and that railing needs fixing. The window still got that board over it. It could be worse… though it could be better as well.

You unlock the door and step inside. “I’m home,” you say. No one replies, as always. She never gets here after school ends. At the earliest, she arrives at evening. “Lazy and unappreciative.” You lock the door behind you. “She could at least dust the place.”

You turn on the heater and set about to cleaning. You’ve been asking her for almost a week, but she won’t get off her ass to do it. You feed her, clothe her, and give her shelter. It’s all the minimum essentials, but that’s all you got. Would expressing thanks be too much to ask?

The sun sets in the grey winter sky. Yellow lights pop up in the town below, signs of life. Humans are a funny bunch. By turning on lights, they fight back against the darkness, yet nothing really changes. It’s like how you used to hide your face as a child. The big scary monster wouldn’t hurt you if you hid your eyes. To them, the big scary monsters won’t hurt them if they see all with their eyes. You chuckle. “A different side to the same coin.”

Of course, the monster hurt you anyway, regardless of whether you saw it or not.

You look down. Your fists clench the dinner table, knuckles turning white from the grip. You let go. Grabbing an ax, you head outside to cut wood. Fire’s are cheaper to run than the heater. You found it’s a good way to blow off steam anyway.

You aren’t one of those muscled women. It’s hard work, more hard work. Too bad she’s too young to help with this… You imagine the situation for a moment. It wouldn’t be a good idea. Knowing her, someone would get hurt if she had to chop wood.

At least nature provides. If it wasn’t for the several fallen trees on your land, then you’d have to buy it. There’s always a silver lining. The house sits around being a piece of shit, but at least the trees got some use. Well, they get squirrels too. Those chattering rats provide some cheap food too, just some time and a bullet.

As you pile up the wood in your wood shed, you hear a creak from the front porch, then another. Setting down the ax, you head back inside. She’s home.

The girl carries her backpack and chatters her teeth together. She gives that blank stare you’ve grown accustomed to over the past few years. Glancing at the clock, it shows a few minutes before nine.

“You’re later than normal,” you deadpan. “Any explanation?”
She shakes her head.
You clench your fists. “I dusted the house. Any reason why you couldn’t at least do that?”
She shakes her head again.

Well shit. Now, you’re irked.

You unclench your hands. She flinches. You slap her. She stumbles back a step or two before a tear cascades down her face. A red handprint forms on her left check.

She never stops giving that blank expression. “Don’t hurt me again, Mother.”

You right hand morphs back to human form, losing the claws and the darkness. It’ll rear its true form soon enough.

ZZZ

Then, I'd have the first choices here, probably something like "Have Dinner", "Physical", or "Verbal". Seem alright? I'm not quite sure where this'd be going category-wise. Either Modern or Horror. Oh, and I had this idea before IAP posted his story. Any similarities are by chance. Heck, no one will notice a month from now anyway.

The writing seems good, the only problem is that at first reading I found it a bit confusing because of all the pronouns referring to unknown characters. That's probably because I'm knackered right now though lol. When I reread it I understood it better even if there's still the small issue of the "you" in the second paragraph of the first page. Don't worry about similarities with IAP's story, it's a different genre and as you said no one will notice a month from now. Besides, "all happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way" right?

I can't say much more because I don't know the synopsis or where you want to take this, the only advice I could give you is to make the introduction slightly more idiot-proof by limiting the references to unknown characters/situations. Keep working on it, I'm curious!

I clarrified the pronouns up, so that (hopefully) won't be a problem anymore. Thanks for the comment!

Your ability to draw me into the setting was extremely well done. I'm unsure exactly what creature the main character is (my initial thought was werewolf). If it's an undead-type, the beginning is an excellent fit: "She got used to the cold long ago".
Despite the main character's attempt to live a normal life, I love seeing the internal struggle and character flaws that are quite evident. Nothing warms the heart quite like an anti-hero. It was interesting to see how quickly my perceptions of the main character changed. First, it was pity due to the grave visit, poverty, and horrible living conditions. Then she's seemingly unjustifiably bitter towards her daughter. However, we don't know too much about her daughter from this excerpt. Maybe it is justified.

There was one part I think could flow better. Specifically, this section (I had to re-read it before I understood she was continuously talking): You unlock the door and step inside. “I’m home,” you say. No one replies, as always. She never gets here after school ends. At the earliest, she arrives at evening. “Lazy and unappreciative.” You lock the door behind you. “She could at least dust the place."

Admittedly, my own grammar skills aren't great. On a scale of lordkarstark to a German newspaper editor in 1939, I fall in the middle, but I think the punctuation (or spacing) is the issue.

The amount of suspense you created here is wonderful. There are tons of things I want to know about the main character, her daughter, who the monster is, what happened to their father, etc. I think you did an exceptional job giving the reader a "flashlight under the blanket" experience and I would gladly stay up late (against mommy's wishes) to read more.

To answer your initial question: Looks great.

The character at the first page is 27 (hence the candle part). Since that was in 2010 and the story takes place in 1994, then the character from the start isn't the (2nd person pov) narrator for the rest of the story. I tidied up that paragraph as well. Thank you for your reply!

Ah, makes sense. I was thinking whatever non-human entity she was caused her not to age.