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Peasant Blurs

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Coat.
  • Coat.

    god bless the dead

  • The Connection
  • Joined: 21 May 2012
  • None

#31

Posted 30 August 2012 - 11:09 AM Edited by Coat., 01 July 2013 - 10:39 AM.

Six- Bottomless Abyss



The flamed danced as the last speck of fire crumbled to ash; there was a sigh. The room was dimmed down to darkness, and no ray of light entered the room. It was as if the house spoke, as it creaked and cracked. A plump boy sat cross-legged in front of the burning ash; his face alighted with bliss. The fire was the reason he woke up every morning, it was his pride and joy; His toy. Although, he never got up this morning… he was awake from the night before; anxiously waiting for his brother to return with any good news. The clock kept on ticking and there was no sign of his brother returning anytime soon.

The door knocked, Ross thought too quickly. He barged his way past the furniture to get to the front door. He opened it to see Ant, soaking wet in his drenched jacket. Ant didn’t want to explain the long and complex story of what happened the night before. Since he wasn’t allowed on any busses, because he had no money, and Sandra wasn’t going to drive him into the interstate of the city to meet a junkie underneath an unstable and dark overpass, he had no other choice but to walk for miles. Ant squeezed the water from his jacket and took of his wet, yet smelly shoes. On the upside, the guy who gave him the contact card to George was legit.

“Where were you all last night Ant?” asked Ross. He began pouring orange juice into his glass. Ant ignored Ross and dropped himself onto the lounge.

“Look, it was a long night. That’s all I’m going to say,” said Ant. He knew if he told him, he would just randomly blabber it to Sandra and Ant would be completely restricted. What did float in his mind though, was the Karva. He needed to know more about it and its origin before playing around with it. Ant was sure Ross knew what Karva was, as he had extra knowledge of flora and fauna.

“...What’s Karva, exactly?”

Ross stoped pouring his drink stared blankly, trying to think. Ant began to feel intimidated, like he said something he shouldn’t have. There was a long pause, and the only sound that covered the silence was the wind howling down the chimney. The clock ticked over and over and it filled the hollow silence which made him shrink cruelly. Ross’ memory clicked, “Ah, that’s right. I remember reading something about it a few years back,” Ant exhaled slowly, knowing he was still all clear. Ross continued, “Karva is a plant that originated from Fiji and other South-East Island. Australia grows it, Canada and even some in North Canada if I remember correctly,” he finished pouring his juice, “But that’s all I know,”

“What are the effects of it?”

Ross had to think once again. He was never familiar with the effects of any type of plant that could be used as a drug. He wasn’t dumb but curious why Ant was asking. Nonetheless, he just by past that thought, “Not sure the effects but it couldn’t be any good,” he replied. Somewhere in the very back of Ross’ mind, was the bubbling question about why Anthony was all of a sudden, overly curious. Over on the lounge, sat Ant, hoping his brother wouldn’t find out about what was happening. He stared drowsily at the clock, looking at every second that passed and wondered where the time went. The wooden carved out clock with a sharp pointed tip ticked over and over and over. His fingers taped up against the side of the lounge at a fast rate. He felt like he wanted to explode in flames, and wondered if it was guilt. The guilt that was losing Ringo’s licence, sneaking out late at night and not admitting to Ross what his ‘revenge’ plans were.

Ant felt as if he was overheating, he was getting hot. He couldn't let Ross see that he was hiding something but every time he would lie, Ant's face would blow up like a ripe tomato. I can't fail, I can't give in, I can't let him know! Ant stood up and raced out of the room towards the front door. "It's not even that hot in here Ant!" Ross' voice echoed from the kitchen. He breathed slowly and smoothly and coughed violently. It was as if he was suffocating in there, and cracking under the immense guilt. He pulled himself together, and viewed his front lawn. Not much to look at really. Some dead, brown grass and dirt that flowed down onto damaged pathway. Their house sat up on a small slope and their driveway was barely used. At least they had something to look at from their crummy house. Across the road opposite their ancient house, was a recreational park with a large fountain and properly cut hedges. Even though they had bought the most rundown house in the entire district, it didn't matter about what people thought about their house and how they viewed it, but the view Ross and Ant observed while living in it.

A car screech came flaming around the corner of a street a block away with music pumping loudly; it caught his attention. The car appeared from behind the oak trees; a 1991 Jeep Wagoneer. He just didn't admire planes but all around, different types of transport which included cars as well. The car was admiral green, with wooden doors and back. Ant smirked as the song played out of the speakers was 'I Want to Break Free' by Queen. When the war started the year before in 1990, all music was banned in Great Britain and Queen was at its peak at the time of the war. Most of the media shut down just before Freddy Mercury was said to have fallen ill; there had been no recent news.

The Jeep pulled up to slide three meters and run into the garbage bins. The man in the car hand winded down the windscreen, to be Sandra's boyfriend, 'Tyler'. He turned the radio down and called out, "Aye, is San here by chance?". Ant decided to wander over to this lost chap. He guessed that he lost his girlfriend at the party the night before. "I lost Sandra at the party," Tyler said. Ant rolled his eyes.

"She's not here,"

He slammed down on his car horn and cursed. He turned his head back to Ant with his drooping eyes, "Have you been in contact with her in the past twenty four hours?" he asked, "Or even this morning or something" Ant held himself up with his arms resting on the car window. He stared back at Tyler, looking straight down into his tucked away soul. You can just shut someone straight off discussion just be looking at correct way. Tyler was waiting for a reply but the silence was filled with dry maladroit silence. It wasn't Anthony's duty to look after Sandra, and it was rude that he uninterrupted arrived without greeting. Ant looked into his deaden eyes, and he stared back with a clueless and middle minded gaze. He looked like plain and simply slovenly, with an old red truckers hat, a half shaved face and to top it all off, a foul breath. Ant couldn't call less about his needs, but he knew that San might of been in trouble but brushed it off.

"Did you leave her at the party by herself?" Anthony asked. He rolled his eye and slowly closed his eyes and licked is life; still half under the influence. He opened his eyes slowly and moved his head slightly with a straight face. Of course, Ant knew he left her there by herself while he pensively wandered off into the city, doing who knows what. He still couldn't believe he wanted Ant to continue the conversation some-how. Ant became totally oblivious from the tiredness with his mouth slightly open and eye focused on 'nothing'. He was reminiscing about the night before and the overpass. It wasn't a nice place, and wasn't a place anyone would want to be in at late hours. He still remembered the dryness of the air that rose from the road. Ant was like a zebra in a waterhole. He was incredibly illiterate in the streets.

"Ant... Anthony?" Tyler's voice boomed back to life, "I'm going to head over to where the party was. You mind coming?"

"Em, sure," he replied, still oblivious to the situation. How did Ant know Sandra was alright, and not stuck or hurt. He climbed into the Jeep and it soon vanished from site.

Coat.
  • Coat.

    god bless the dead

  • The Connection
  • Joined: 21 May 2012
  • None

#32

Posted 16 October 2012 - 06:38 AM Edited by Coat., 01 July 2013 - 10:40 AM.

Seven- Ain't no Grave


There is a light glow of red, and the sound of crackling. Black feathers... ash, floats around wildly. Sirens are heard from the distance, wailing, but white noise follows. The tarmac surrounding the area is melting to the flaming object. There is a picture in a frame which is burning quickly. Beside the frame, is a set of teeth... false teeth. Blood stains on the hot surface of the road...

---


He stared out into the dry fields; dirty fields... brown and never ending. They were heading out of town to find the missing and possibly hung-over, Sandra. The road kept on growing forward as Ant counted the telegraph poles. He had no clue in which direction they were heading but Anthony could see the frustration on Tyler’s face. She wasn't where he thought she was so, they decided to drive further.

“I’m doomed with these cassettes... they’re Sans,” Tyler said as he threw the 'Phil Collins' tape into the back seat.

Ant titled his head to the side with perspiration slowly running off. Dust that was catapulted from beneath the wheels hit his face, making his sweat muck and dirty; just like the fields, although there were once difference. The fields were spread far... dry but dirty, and his face was wet but dirty. The dirty and filth was not left from the equation, but put in. This filth was not just on the fields and on skin, but on society. You can wipe it, but it can never be removed.

“Just, uh....” Tyler gulped, “Just a few more miles,” it made Ants stomach drop. “We have been driving for hours now,” Ant yelled. The car slightly accelerated. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked Tyler. He winded down his windscreen, and poked his head outside the window. Staring straight down the never ending road.

“There ain’t no speed limits out here. No police, no laws... just you, the machine, and the road,”

Ant saw a small gas station up ahead, with a group of people gathered out the front. It seemed to be rendered into a house. Dressed in rags, but seemed to be drinking alcohol at early hours. He knew this was the place, “Stop,” said Ant. The car pulled to a jolted brake and a wave of dust tramped them as it lingered past them. Across the barren road, was a small gas station that seemed to be taken over by eager party goers. People out the front dazed around with unfitting music. The glass windows were smashed completely and rags of all sorts thrown everywhere.

Ant climbed out of the vehicle and slammed the door shut. He stared in the oppostite direction, out into the fields, which infested with yellow sunflower stalks. Not covering the entire terrain, but scatter here and there. Beyond that was an old barn house which the wood was stained from the rain, and the metal shards that had fell from it were rusted. He turned back to Tyler, “Go suss the place out,” he kicked his shoe in the dirt, “She’ll be in there,” Ant gave Tyler his hope to go venture the place.

Tyler walked across the lonesome road, only to be approached by two men. One stood largely built, with a cigar caped in his mouth. The other, shorter with a thin beard. "We rent our only house out to these kids, but they ruin the place," the smaller man said. He could hear Italian in their voices. He knew they were foolish foreigners but that wasn't on his mind at the time. The larger one removed the cigar from his mouth, "Are you the police or something," he said waving his hand around.

"No," replied Tyler.

The looks on both their faces changed dramatically. They began yelling at him in their language. Tyler worriedly dodged them and began staggering over to the group of dancers. Glassy eyed drunks, he thought. They could barley keep their eyes open, let alone gallop around the front lawn. The main part of the house was originally a gas station, but seemed to have an upstairs were a man was collapsed, laying his torso over the windows shelf. He was truly hoping she wasn't here, that his only half decent girlfriend was somewhere in this mish-mash of animals.

He shoved pasted another swarm of drinkers and leaned against the doorway, his eyes pined like a flying eagle. As he moved into the living room, the floor boards creaked from the pressure of his boots. Men, filthy, hunched over the table, sniffing. Tyler moved over slowly, recognizing one of them. The blonde wavy, dry hair and that distinctive tee shirt. The shirt was red, faded and torn. Disgusted, he stood behind the man and grabbed a handful of his hair; yanking it backwards away from the table.

"Who the..." the man yelled.

"What the f*ck, do you think you are doing here?" asked Tyler as he spun him around revealing the man in the red. White power surrounding his nostrils and glassy, red eyes. There was a long scar down the entire right side of his face. He looked a little stunned to Tyler's surprising, "Tell me why you are here," he shook him roughly. The other men surrounded around the table slowly lifted their heads, with anger on their face.

"Don't make me ask you again,"

Tyler was yanked by the collar from behind and thrown across the room, slamming into the wall and knocking pots off a shelf. Everything happened so quickly; crash and burn. The man Tyler was harassing stood up and brushed his noise. "Just sit down Byron," another addict around the table said. Byron licked his lips, "Don't Armanno," Byron said to the man who grabbed Tyler, "He's a friend,"


Ant stood leaning at the front of the car, facing out towards the mountains; the tops, covered in snow. He turned to his right to look down the parallel highway but his head turned to the sound of arguing. A circle group formed outside where the two scumbags tossed and turned. His eyes widened when, smack-bang in the middle of the restless crows, was Tyler, pulling one of them off the other. He raced across the road to see what all the commotion was about.

"You stupidi' you," the large Italian man yelled, punching the other in the back of the head. There was no remorse and he climbed onto the back of the man and dragged him to the ground. "What's going on?" asked Anthony. Tyler pushed his way through the crowd to reply, "Things got a little messy inside," and when they both turned, they witnessed Byron holding the man's hair as a grip to absolutely wreck his face. There was a lot of screaming and confusion but they both barged through the moshpit to see Byron still beating his face.

Tyler moved into the scene and pulled Byron back, lifting him off his feet and onto his backside. The body of the beat man laid unconscious, and spread out, on the sandy ground. Pure blood dripped from his nose and his mouth. Ant was sure he broke his jaw and nose in fear. "Get a hang of yourself," Tyler dragged Byron away from the crowd. People witnessed in shock while Tyler yelled out, "It was the damn drugs that did it," but his calls weren't heard over the loud cries of Armmano's younger brother.

"What did you do to him," his sentenced cried out as knelled down beside him, "Why did you do this," he asked, but no one seemed to be worrying about his brother, only their safety. Anthony rushed over to the distressed man and stared down at him, with the sunlight glaring behind his head, the man looked up with tears in his eyes... he sniffed and quickly looked down at his brother again, crying.

"We have done nothing wrong in our lives, ever," the Italian cried. Ant saw an object beside the man, and it shinned back in his face in the light, as if it was meant for him to see it. He picked it up and rattled it in front of the man's face, "So you said you've never done anything wrong in your life," he looked up again and his facials were total shock. He tried to grab them with his dry hands, but Anthony pulled away, "They aren't yours, they are my cousins," he got to his feet, "You thief," his raised his voice, "This man is a thief," Tyler noticed the noise and walked over with the battered Byron.

Tyler asked, "He's not a thief. We don't even know who you are. He's never came in contact with you before," but the man tried to pick his next sentence, "He stole my wife's car keys," he said. Ant couldn't believe the lies that split out of this man's mouth, "You said it was your cousins a second ago," he looked at Ant, "Shut up you thief," he said with tears running from his face. A child stood at the doorway of the house, looking at the body of Armmano, "Go away Alrando," the man yelled. The child began to scream at the lop of his lungs.

"Hand the keys here Anthony," demanded Tyler. He passed the key chain over to him, with Byron staring over his shoulder. His face slowly shrunk and his lip quivered, his fist tightened and Byron looked at the side of Tyers head in oar. A little tag was written on the key chain with the name, 'Sandra'. He crunched the keys in his hand. You could see his veins come to the surface of his skin. Byron knew he was going to snap any minute, so he grabbed his shoulder and slowly moved him backwards; Tyler still staring at the Italian.

"Let's go," Byron said, moving Tyler backwards towards the pot hole filled road. Anthony could see in Tyler's eyes that he was completely crestfallen. He looked back at the man crouching over to his brother, clutching his chest. It was sympathy and disdain all at once. A dark storm grew in the very distance, where the summits grew from the ground. Ant didn't know who to free and who to blame. He sipped and supped his saliva, the heat on his head, staring over at Tyler threatening.

"Andare all'inferno!," the short brother pulled a M1911 pistol from his red vest.

Anthony dove towards an old gas pump as fires were heard in his peripheral. He peered around the corner of the pump to see a lengthy man in a white singlet, firing at 44. magnum pistol into the back of the Italian. This man had death in his eyes, and he turned to see Anthony, tucked in a fetal position. The hands on his back stood up, as he dashed towards him. To his surprise, he grabbed Ant's collar and dragged him behind a 7th generation, white Cadillac Eldorado. There was a shutter in the far distance, and this man reloaded his pistol.

Byron yelled out, "Zil, what are you doing?"

Zil grabbed Anthony again and moved him towards the road. Byron and Tyler climbed into the Jeep and started the ignition. The sweat tripped from the end of Zil's nose, from his hair, down past his black tinted glasses and off his nose. He stopped in his tracks and stood into the suns direction, waiting for something. It was the noise of thunder, and they beheld a Eurocopter AS365 Dauphin police helicopter.

The microphone from the helicopter blared, "Put your hands where we can see them Zane!"

Ant's hair waved in the wind... sand in his eyes, and he looked in confusion at this, 'Zil'.

"Kid, here's a mobile and $100. Tell Tyler...." the microphone blared again.

He snatched the money and phone from his hand and didn't even dare to turn around again. The sound of whirling wind was muted by the muddled events that occurred only in the last hour. Ant slammed the car door firmly behind him, before Byron hit the acceleration and they powered off down the narrow highway. Tyler looked into the side, rearview mirror to see Zil climb into a car and drive off into the opostite direction; the police on his tale. Byron, driving, called out, "What did he say to you?"... Anthony looked puzzled, "I couldn't hear what he said," he replied.

"Who are you any way?" Ant asked, flicking his fridge out of the way.

Tyler turned around slowly, "Sorry about not introducing. It's just... you know. Ant, Byron... Byron, Ant. Happy?"

"No. What the hell just happened. Who was that. Why are the police involved with this?" yelled Ant. Byron, looking paranoid said, "That was an ol' buddy of ours. Worked the occasional job at the timber mill here and there. Story says, he's been running from the law for twenty years," he looked down at his watch, "If we get to Robs before he leaves his house, we can tell him the news," he picked up speed. The scenery began to change as they headed back into the city. It became dark and cold, grey and windy. Before they knew it, they were in Capitol Hill, speeding through residential areas. Passing vans, cars and pedestrians and the entire time, Tyler just sat there with his head down... not paying attention what do ever. Byron flicked on his indicator, and swayed right onto the Veterans Memorial Highway. They must of been travelling at least 120km/ph, and he almost missed the turnoff that passed underneath an overpass and into West Jordan.

"Our friend," Byron sniffed, "Uhh, he lives here. He needs to know about Zil," he made a right off Temple Drive, into Twin Oaks Drive. Ant glimpsed at the corner, which two drives connected. A dark figure, hooded in a pale white jacket, power walked as if he had something to hide. Everything slowed down to a stand still, as everything else blurred out, expect that silent figure... its's presence descended below the overpass.

The car pulled into a small courtyard, out the front of brick laid apartment. Tyler and his friend climbed out of the car, "You coming?" asked Byron. Ant nodded and followed alongside the two, trying to avoid the smoke from the cigar Byron lite. They went to the upstairs section, and pushed past a few junkies. Tyler looked to his left, over the garden and into the cities crammed skyline; Sandra was someone out there. Ant noticed something strange on the ground in front of him, a small blood stain. Not just the ordinary blood stain, but a shoe print. Normal people don't just go around walking through puddles of thick ick, but they had just passed a group of addicts, and the place did seem shabby, so he brushed that off.

"...This is the place," said Byron, throwing his cigar over the balcony. They stood at the doorway of room six.

Cobwebs hung above the doors archway and the windows blinds were all mouldy... tangled and yellow. No one seemed to be home, the lights were off and it was dead silent. Byron stepped forward and loudly knocked on the door, "Robbie, we got some news," he paused, "Let us in," he knocked again. Tyler looked over the balcony, to see Robs bronze Honda Civic Sedan.

Tyler nudged Byron, "His cars still here,"

All three looked down back at the junkies, who just blankly stared before slowly walking away. The looks on their faces were as if they had seen a ghost; faces, pale. Byron knocked louder this time, "It's Zane. He's back," they waited for the door knob to shuffle before unlocking, but the only shuffling was an old man passing, dressed in his evening gown, his slippers shuffling against the concrete.

"He might be too late. He's probably got a lift with a co-worker or something," Tyler pulled his jumpers hoddie over his head. There was the sound of dripping, water. Loose plumbing maybe. Ant looked up at the PVC pipe that ran along the guttering and into room six. There was a leak. A water droplet feel onto Tyler's hat, that stuck out of his hood. The old man walked passed again and stopped for a second, chuckled to himself and shook his head.

"What's so funny?" asked Byron.

The man replied, "You just missed your friend... he left," he looked at Ant, "And tell him to have a bath, he smells bad. Not to mention he had dirty shoes," he walked off back to his room. They just all stood there for a few more minutes, trying to figure out how to get into the room, but they had no hope. Anthony looked towards the cities skyline, but something was blocking the view... a billboard: "Come visit our neighbour, Tooele for only $45.99" it read. There was a voice that appeared in Ant's head, 'There’s a couple of guys who have it, out near Tooele, I suggest you go there if you want to know more,' he continued looking at the advertisement, 'I wouldn’t bother, unless you’re interested in getting your head blown off...' but he didn't care what he had to do to find it. All he knew was that some piece of filth was lurking the city, drugging people... innocent people...

BOOM. There was an abrupt explosion a few blocks away, and sirens followed, "Sh*t, what was that?" Tyler yelled. The trio began running back towards the Jeep, and Byron pulled the keys out of his pocket. Ant raced towards the getaway vehicle but tripped on the uneven pavement. He tried to get up, but he had twisted his ankle. The sirens were getting even louder. He was trying to climb to all paws, but collapsed again. Black, arid smoke seeped over the neighbourhood.

"Ant, get in the car now!" Tyler yelled, grabbing him from the ground, and throwing him into the car. Byron pushed the metal to the pedal and they were off. There was all yelling and confusion in the car. They had no idea what to think. Ant clipped his seat belt in firmly before looking down at his foot... he was missing a shoe. That was just a piece of evidence left, for the police to scoop up nicely. He was too afraid to tell the other two, and he kept quiet in the back.

"Just another meth lab..." said Byron, "It wouldn't be the best if we stuck around any way,"

Tyler removed his hat and placed it on his lap, before lighting up a cigarette... "Speaking about drugs..." Tyler started, "What, and why were you doing cocaine at that run down bed and breakfast?" but silence followed. Anthony wasn't concerned about their dramas, but his own. He put his hand in his pocket to feel the mobile and the cash that Zil had given them. He knew what he was going to use it for.

"Just drop me off at the next bus stop..." said Ant, "I need to get some groceries for Ross and I..."

The vehicle pulled up at the bus stop and Anthony limped out in pain. Tyler poked his head out the window, "Take the clothes to a laundry and dry cleaners. After what happened today, we don't want no police on our tale," he put his head back into the car and it drove off. The night was young, and he checked the bus timetable. Next ride to Tooele was in 30 minutes, so he sat down next to a man and his daughter. Anthony looked down at his foot again, hoping it didn't get into any trouble. The bus braked and the gas backfire was released.The bus lowered and the doors opened; he barged in front of the two people, paying the money and taking a seat for the hours ride to the drug district... Tooele.

Adler
  • Adler

    Hello, Smith. ( ´-`)ノ

  • Leone Family Mafia
  • Joined: 25 Jul 2009
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#33

Posted 19 October 2012 - 08:23 PM

Good story so far. I felt that the beginning was a bit slow but the pace seems to be picking up, and this last chapter left me interested in what Anthony is planning to do next. I'll have to admit that Ant's head is full of bad ideas though e.g. talking to a junkie on an overpass to investigate about drugs and now heading into the drug district with money and a mobile from a man he's never met before that's on the run from the law (and who he clearly saw was being chased by a police helicopter). The end of this last chapter had me thinking he knew what he was doing since he was so confident in going to the drug district yet all the actions he's taken so far have me wondering what trouble he'll get himself into next time. tounge.gif

Dialogue is superb as previously mentioned, and feels very genuine. The details are vivid, and paints a clear picture in my head oftentimes. Also previously mentioned though, some proofreading couldn't hurt. Little things like "expect" in places where "except" should be used really detracts from the experience that you and AceRay paint so well with your imagery.

Also a gripe I have with the dialogue is that you place quotes from two or more people in the same paragraph, and that makes it very confusing and difficult to know who is currently speaking. Narrative writing convention would have each character speak in different paragraphs, allowing the reader to be able to easily discern the current speaker.

Coat.
  • Coat.

    god bless the dead

  • The Connection
  • Joined: 21 May 2012
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#34

Posted 23 October 2012 - 04:47 AM Edited by Coat., 13 April 2013 - 09:49 AM.

---

TenEightyOne
  • TenEightyOne

    We're bouncing now?

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#35

Posted 23 November 2012 - 12:49 AM

QUOTE (Coat. @ Tuesday, Oct 23 2012, 04:47)
Peasant Blurs has been planned to be a fairly long story with quite a lot of chapters. Aceray has suggested that I'd take Peasant Blurs down off the forums to write independently and hopefully, in the future, to get it published as a small novel of some sort. ...

Pleased to hear that you're carrying on with this - I've really enjoyed it!

There's been some good feedback already that I can't really add to, I hope you take it all under consideration but continue to develop your work in your style... it's fun to read - you can't really do any better than that smile.gif icon14.gif

Coat.
  • Coat.

    god bless the dead

  • The Connection
  • Joined: 21 May 2012
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#36

Posted 10 December 2012 - 05:23 AM Edited by Coat., 02 January 2013 - 08:37 AM.

---

Coat.
  • Coat.

    god bless the dead

  • The Connection
  • Joined: 21 May 2012
  • None

#37

Posted 14 April 2013 - 09:36 AM Edited by Coat., 01 July 2013 - 10:41 AM.

Chapter Eight- L. Smith


The eeriness of the evening crept up onto his back. It grappled to his waist and heaved its way up the torso. Anthony placed the asthma puffer in his mouth and squeezed the nozzle. He inhaled the stale taste and shoved the puffer back into his coat. He hadn’t changed his clothes in few days, and the stench was noticeable. The suspension of the bus screeched and jolted up and down. His eyes laid still and flat on the dark horizon of what was to be his unavoidable future. He could barley keep his eyelids open.

“So where you heading, son?” a voice came from the very front of the bus.

Anthony held his ticket tightly in his hand, slowly breathing. The dim lights of Tooele glowed in the very distance. Far and faint, but it was distinct. He was positive and confident on what his outcomes where going to be. He pulled a black beanie over his scalp; pushing his hair back and gazing tiredly, “Tooele”. He wasn’t worried. He wasn’t worried on that fact that he was entering someone else’s ‘turf’. No, he didn’t either ponder on the thought. Anthony knew he was going to get what he wanted; whether the cartel cared or not. He pushed himself up from his seat and stood in the aisle of the bus. Light headed and gazing into the distance.

There is a tug on his jacket... he looks down. A young African American girl stands there, holding a straw doll. Her eyes where strangely large, like she was startled at the sight of Anthony, but her father called from the very back of the bus, “Eve, come here,” and she ran back to her father, to jump into his lap. Anthony turned around the scan the man, head to toe. He guessed he was in his mid thirties, and was from African American descent. Although, Ant was uneasy about this man; as he stared him down. His nostrils open and closed, like a bulls nose. In fact, he had a nose piercing just like a bulls; an ugly, chunky piece of metal pulling from one side of his nose to the other. Anthony turned back towards to front, and began walking to the door as they approached the bus station sitting underneath one lonesome street light.

The doors flapped open and the bus driver nodded, giving Anthony a tilt of good luck. His bare feet touched the grounds of this wasteland, as he folded his collars covering his shy face. The small county was about as bright as the bottom of a wishing well. Faint sounds of bass booms and loud talking curled in the air and around the neighborhood. The town wasn't as he expected, with a very nice vibe to the place. He looked far left then right before heading East and down the street. A street sign was placed up on the corner - he squinted to get a vision of it. Before he knew it, dark ghostly beings surrounded him. The darkness swallowed over him. His pulse slowly picked up. Eyes darting left to right. Fists clenching. The shuffling of footsteps moved closer into the boy, pushing him slightly.

Shlick, Ant looked down to see a switch blade. He was sitting in complete disgust. A hand reached out slowly and grabbed his wrist, but Anthony pushed away, slightly jabbing himself with the pointed blade. "How much do you have on you?" one of the voices spoke, "Nothing, I uh... got nothing," Ant lied. Anthony pushed the people away and took a long stride out of there. He broke into a cold sweat and made it about a few blocks down before stopping, taking break at a phone booth. He leaned up against the wall of the booth and felt the sweat dripple down his face before wiping the muck and dirt from his forehead; shaken from the experience. He took a breath and put his hands on his hips, panting like a dog. Anthony looks around and notices a thick phonebook; every page almost torn. He flicks through it and thinks for a little before flicking through it once more. The light in the phone booth is very dim; a light yellow.

He looked at his wrist watch, barley visible; 11:01PM. Midnight was almost ready to peak, but Ant wasn't ready to move just yet. He just looked around for something in the booth... something, anything. A sign, just a simple sign. It didn't have to be a noticeable one, but just a clear light to lead him in the direction he wanted to go. Then, suddenly he noticed letters engraved on the plastic material that surrounded the enclosed booth. He quickly rushed to put his hands in his pockets to snag out his mobile phone and shine the light onto the letters which turned out to be 'L.Smith'. He paused for a minute before flipping through the phone book again, searching for an L.Smith. Pages over pages, business over businesses but not what he was looking for. He read the name over and over in his head before something clicked. Something in the depths of his mind, like a seed sown in his consciousness sprouted and rose to the surface. He anxiously pulled off his wrist watched and squinted his eyes to look at the written engraved on the back.

---


"And now to the headlines," A neatly dressed news reported speaks, "A boat has been intervened by U.S military, stealing goods from a shipping container that was heading to Europe from China," the women continues, "This has stirred up the Chinese government officials and has been seen as a threat towards them. This has lead to the ongoing effect after the UN has spit after the United Kingdom had joined forces with the Chinese government as to be a communist nation,' the news reported continues speaking as men and women work behind the cameras in the control room. Two of these workers are discussing what had just been mentioned on the television, "I can't trust our military anymore," the older one says, plugging in cables. The other person scuffs, "After we split from the UK, things are looking up for the world," the conversation ends abrupt when breaking news rushes in.

---


Anthony stood on the corner of an avenue, looking over at a large warehouse. Probably empty. Word through the grapevine was that L.Smith was a watch-making company that shut down due to bankruptcy. He had a feeling that, that wasn't the reason for it's closure as gangs of people stood out of the sides of the large complex. He guessed there was about fifty people on the outside patrolling the joint. He looked down at the time again; 11:42. Almost midnight, and Anthony had a plan. Hit them when it's lights out. He thought his plan was bulletproof - a master piece. A vibration came from his left pocket, and then it stopped before he could get to the phone. A missed call from a private number. He shrugged it off and cuffed his hands, to blow into his hands to warm himself. The snow covered mountains in the distance gave Anthony a sense of his home; England. He began slowly walking towards the side fence of the warehouse - it was covered in a thick vine and he sat crouched in the overgrown field.

Voices quietly chattered in the very depth of the night. Ant slightly smiled in anticipation of shooting a piece of lead through that dry's pr*ck's skull. The phone vibrated again, playing a little tune over and over. The shadows that swayed on the dull brick walls of the warehouse moved slowly. Anthony anxiously tried to turn the phone off. No, it wasn't working. The sound of a guard dog barked in the very silence of this cold game of hide and seek. Anthony crept through the thick vine of the fence, hoping not to spook the fifty-odd henchmen surrounding the drug ring. A small stream lead beside the vine fence, leading him into a very muddy situation.

"Yo', what you talking bout man? They ain't no one out here,"

His stomach dropped for a moment, when hearing that voice only a few feet away. A flash torch light skimmed across the layer of the fence, like a spotlight. Anthony rolled into the stream and slid onto his back, hearing the thudding footsteps slowly quiet until a complete silence. The silence was almost unbearable. It was like the guards were plotting their plans - make no noise and let the intruder fall into his own trap. It was a good ten minutes before he began slowly rising from the small stream, trying to keep as quiet as possible. The lights on the outside of the warehouse shut off followed by a few vans leaving the yard and taking a right to the freeway that flowed into the cold desert of the night. Noises echoed inside the warehouse, meaning someone important was still there... waiting, working. The vine covered fence seemed to be never ending. Anthony slowly crawled along through the thick weeds and roots before feeling for the fence. As a child, he and his brother would break into the local junkyard and steal scrap metal to sell for profit. Every time they lurked the boundaries of the scrap yard, every time they wanted to sneak in they would use a simple trick. There is always a weak spot in a wired fence, which is usually just before the start and end of it where the pattern of the wiring is very thin and usually rusted - depending on the condition. Anthony brushed his fingertips lightly along the boundary, to feel the rust peel off onto his fingers; bingo!

"Lights on!"

A boom of a switch and the entire yard was lit up again like a Christmas tree. He felt his body become numb. His throat became dry. Tonight wasn't his night to die just yet. Ding-a-ling-a-ling, his phone called again. Anthony prayed that he would live through this nightmare. Ding-a-ling-a-ling, he answered the call. There was a moments silence, as if the caller knew Ant was in deep sh*t. Guards began patrolling the area again; searching high and low. A voice spoke into the phone quietly, "I know you want to be a hero and all, but don't risk it, leave," and the call suddenly ended. He held the phone to his head in shock, not knowing what do to. This could of been very well a set up. A guard dog barked and gun shots were fired. Anthony darted to the road as he heard the yelps and cry of a man. He didn't know if he was being watched... followed, but the only thing he was sure of, was that he had to leave - fast. He turned around to see a man, about seven foot tall covered in blood - from head to toe, screaming over and over, "Oh, mother marry, help me," in a foreign accent. Several other rounds were fired.

Anthony felt as if he was gliding along the pavement of the shady streets. Past dozens and dozens of houses, with all thoughts at the back of his mind and survival at the very front. His face; pale and his pulse running high. Every few seconds he passed underneath a streetlight and that was his drive. Stay in the light and everything will be alright. Follow the light, and everything will be alright. Don't turn around, don't turn. His feet pounded against pavement hard. To his left, was paddocks over acres and to his right was the seemingly innocent neighborhood. The place was dead; it was a ghost town. The streetlights vanished, until they were a distant glow in the wind. The cold air blew in his face.

Something made Anthony stop running, but he couldn't exactly help it. Thud, he clumsily tripped over his shoe laces before sliding into the gutter of the road. He just laid there, knowing he was okay and that he got away. It was just another obstacle. His face was smeared against the gravel - pebbles fell from his mouth. Anthony felt a sharp pain shoot up through his noise to his eyes. Blood slowly leaked from his nose. He pushed himself up and felt his grazed face; bleeding tremendously. He looked to his left and right, before crossing the road into a small lane. He dragged his feet behind him before cornering himself in the lane and unzipping his pants. Not only was what he experienced terrifying, it scared his bladder as well. The yellow liquid gushed onto the fence; a sigh of relief followed. He smiled to himself in pleasure. He was coming back to Tooele in the next weeks, and needed plot his next few plans on the chest board.


"Hey buddy, what makes you can so far from home?"

Anthony paused. This was it, he knew it was. He just gazed in front of him, knowing his time was up.

"Gimme' what you got now!" the harsh male voice screamed. A piece of metal was felt on the side of his head. The criminal was scared, and he knew it. The piece of metal; the barrel of the pistol shook. Anthony placed his hands in his pocket and pulled out the phone before dropping it in front of him and placing his hands on his head.

"Turn around now!"

A bag was placed over Anthony's head to hide the mans' identity. This was a cowardly act, he thought to himself. The barrel of the pistol was pointed into his stomach. The man knelt down to pick the phone up and slowly chuckle. His laugh slowly built more and more until he almost cried. This guy was a nut, "Is this all you got, seriously. A phone? That's all. Really kid, what are you doing out here? Go home..."


The noise of faint screams and noise scuffled. He seemed to be floating in a black void of nothing. The most gruesome of all sounds played as loud as anything into his eardrum. Old memories, feelings, emotions were brought to attention. His life literally flashed before his blinded eyes. A song played in his head, something he had heard before but couldn't remember. Pink Floyd or something. The beat of the song banged to the white light that slowly pulsated in front of his eyes. A bright, very bright tunnel came into view... so bright, so very bright and hollow. So hollow that the wind slowly howled through it. A piercing sound arose for what seemed to be forever, until it abruptly ended. The sounds of the hell screamed to him, cursing and taunting him. The sound of a murder of crows squawked - rar, rar, rar... over and over. And dead silence followed. Indeed it was dead.

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#38

Posted 15 April 2013 - 10:52 AM

I'm seeing some tense problems. The first paragraph is in past tense - The eeriness of the evening crept up onto his back. It grappled. crept, grappled....

Then the next paragraph jumps to present: "There is a tug on his jacket... he looks down. A young African American girl stands there, holding a straw doll. Her eyes where strangely large" (Also you've written WHERE, instead of WERE!!)

This is a fundamental thing, and it says to me like you're unsure of your tense. Pick one and stick to it, unless you're doing flashbacks or something - not something i'm feeling here.

QUOTE
"And now to the headlines," A neatly...

I'm not 100% but i think the "A" shouldn't be capitalized here, as it's a "continuation" of the sentence. In a previous line you did not capitalize in this instance. I think, with the comma at the end of the speech, there shouldnt be a capital after unless it's a name.

QUOTE
His stomach dropped for a moment, when hearing that voice only a few feet away

i think perhaps upon would be better here, "when" does not make sense.

One last thing i thought - when the bag is placed on his head, you're telling us in a detached way. If you had a bag put over your head, it'd be quite traumatic i think, and i'm getting absolutely no reaction from Ant. Would he not panic? Be scared? Find it hard to breath? Also with the bag over your head it'd be harder to breath and that might make you pass out. I'm getting none of that.
Put yourself in your character's shoes. REALLY put yourself there. BECOME Ant, and tell me, what are you feeling in this situation?

A few spelling errors and very minor things, but overall it's not bad. I like the language used, theres some pleasing descriptions in here, so good work smile.gif



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#39

Posted 26 May 2013 - 10:26 AM

Are you continuing this? If you need a critique of anything or some pointers, PM me. I like this story, and it'd be cool to see it continue.

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#40

Posted 26 May 2013 - 09:50 PM

QUOTE (Ziggy455 @ Sunday, May 26 2013, 10:26)
Are you continuing this? If you need a critique of anything or some pointers, PM me. I like this story, and it'd be cool to see it continue.

Yes, I'm continuing this story. I've been busy schooling and studying lately but there will be another chapter. I'll PM you some time for pointers. It's always nice to know what the viewers are thinking.

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#41

Posted 02 June 2013 - 10:44 AM

Cool story, Coat. I've seen it around and I'm not really sure why I didn't take the time to give a response earlier, so for that I apologize. Anyway, you've got some interesting characters that tend to shine the most when they're interacting with one another. I have some issue with your designating dialogue changes. I think it'd work better if you cut a lot of the descriptions in those instances and kept the meat of those segments- the dialogue - nice and separate from your prose.

The story is interesting, the narrative is definitely narrative of a nostalgic look into the past so I think the title is a good choice. Can' knock a good title. Here's some things I caught while reading:



QUOTE
Better yet, he was anxiously nervous with negative thoughts.


Way too many descriptors here, man.

QUOTE
“Nice to meet you boyo, what’s the name,” the instructor asked, with a strong American accent.


Being a very hearty American myself, I can assure you we never say the word "boyo." Also, there's quite a few different dialects in this country, same as any other. If you're looking for the traditional idea of American accents circa mid-20th century, that'd be the transatlantic. If you're going for a hearty or strong accent, you're probably looking at a Texan one. I'd be happy to go on with these if you're ever interested smile.gif

QUOTE
Ant followed the orders. His hands began to quiver. Shake. His palms began to perspire. He leant back, using his entire mite to keep the grip. What if I fail to hold the controls until flight? Ants’ heart raced and jumped out of sync. His adrenal glands released a load of adrenaline into his system. He began to feel light headed. Ringo, sitting behind him couldn’t help, but noticed his students’ abnormal behaviour.


Couple things here. The thing about adrenaline sounded totally unnatural and took me out of it- same with using "perspire." Also, for future reference the word you were using should be, 'might' not, 'mite'. And, to be honest, these kinds of scenes work best when you cut as much as you can without detracting from the scene. Short, brief descriptions ramp up the intensity of a situation better than the description of glands and whatnot.

QUOTE
Tyler said as he threw the 'Phil Collins' tape into the back seat.


Not really pertinent to the story but I'm glad you knew that all Tylers universally love Phil Collins and own his stuff.


This isn't everything I found issue with. There's various proofreading errors but you and others have discussed that before so I won't retread. Overall I'm excited to see where you take it, though I wish you'd keep it on the forums for now and not worry about publishing until the entire thing is done. Thanks to timestamps and whatnot there's no way for someone to steal your work, so you shouldn't worry about that anyhow.

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#42

Posted 22 June 2013 - 02:11 AM Edited by Coat., 01 July 2013 - 10:41 AM.

Chapter 9 - It Takes Two to Tango



It had been a tense and eventful twenty-four hours and those hours of darkness almost lasted eternity. In some sense, it worried Anthony in a way that life had never been looked at before. He felt Death at his side; slowly swaying. The long and thick black ripples of his gown brushed up against Ants' leg. Death's long and bone-looking finger slowly rose and pointed into the mist and musk of the morning sun. There, they stood on a small hill which looked into a large mountain range. The stars of the night quietly died out before the bright and powerful sunlight eased into there vicinity. Above them was the branches of a mango tree that spread it's arms in all directions. In his hand, Anthony held to a mango. But why; why was he holding this fruit? He stood dazed for a moment and upon looking to his left, a gust of wind blew past him. That dark and shadowy grim figure had left... descending back to the pits - waiting to feed off the next dying sucker.

-



"That comes to $10," a man behind a cash register speaks. Dev looks around and fiddles through his pockets. The man behind the counter holds his hand out, waiting for the money. Dev speaks, "Kid, give me five minutes. I think I left my wallet in my car," and the doors of the gas station slide open as the middle aged man darts to the pavement and assimilates himself into the crowd. Dev was in town to visit an associate. He had flew in from St Louis and needed to speak with his business partner about future regards. That man was Robert Chucks - a 25 year old, living off the filth of the city. Dev crosses the bustling street before pushing the door of a pawn shop open. The door bell jingles and he removes his top hat, before moving over to the counter.

"Chomper, how's it been?" says a tall Indonesian looking man. He is dressed in a red pollo shirt and grey shorts. His oily hair is slicked back. In his mouth, a toothpick rolls around.

Dev shakes his head with a slight grin, before scuffing, "Pawl, let's cut the crap. You got the painting?"

Pawls' eyes sharpen, before replying with a "Yeah," and making his way into the back room. The sound of shuffling is heard... followed by a few crashes and bangs and cusses. Dev hears the door of the store swing open - he turns in fright. He is high on his heels. A chubby little kid waddles in with a hand full of cash and pushes himself up against the glass of a viewing stand. He clenches his fist and focuses back on what he wants. This deal was really going to screw the Galladis over big time, he thought.

"Here," Pawl drops the framed oil painting on the counter and clears his throat, "Yang told me to give it to you with no cost,"

Dev keeps a poker face, "Hey, while you're at it ... I need $20 - $10 for the tobacco, $5 for a few gas cans and that other $5 is because I just want it. And what I say, goes,"

"Look, Dev. My business is going broke,"

"Does it look like I give a sh*t. Seriously?" he yells, before snatching the money for Pawl and taking the painting.

He bursts the doors open before taking a quick stroll across the street and throwing a few gas cans into the back of his SUV. He slams the back door of the car shut and holds the painting tight under his arm. The doors of the gas station slide open and he throws the money on the counter before running back to his car and pressing his central locking key to unlock the vehicle. The car goes up in a boom and Dev his thrown meters away. He hits the gravel hard, breaking his skull and scattering almost every bone in his body. His false teeth slip from his mouth and land not too far from his body. As for the oil painting, it sits almost perfectly without any mark. Ash fills the air and soon enough, sirens are heard. Things happen for a reason.


-


The ground is cold. The walls seep a thick, black substance. If you walk in this side of town, you better be wearing something nice because most likely, It would be want you'd be buried in your coffin with - six feet under. Anthony opens his eyes and stares up at the towering back-street balcony's. Hip hop music thumps quietly on the corner of the alley, as a crack head walks in circles; quietly muttering to himself. He sits up and feels a sharp pain coming from his stomach. He pulls his shirt back to see his stomach had been stitched. It was like the night before had been a long, restless dream. Ant pushes his hands into his pocket to find his phone smashed; realizing the SIM card was missing. He forces himself up and felt very light headed, before slowly walking up the backstreet onto the main road of this neighborhood. The roads seem empty. Anthony wanders up the street until he got to the corner where in a shop window, breaking news is shown.

"And if you have just tuned in this morning, a disaster has just occurred today. President George Bush senior was shot and killed on in his farmhouse in Texas. The White House is on high alert. We don't know the gunman, as no name has been given but all we know is this could be related to the conflicting war against the UK breaking from the United Nations...."


-

Officer Ramasie skuffled through pages of paperwork. He had been crammed away like a caterpillar. Life hadn't got any easier through the past months for Ramasie - all the crime rates in the city had risen and the passing of his son just pilled up all that depression. His sanity level was like a scale, slowly tipping. Considering his mental state, he presented himself rather well. He cleared his fogged glasses and placed them back onto his face. His wrist watch obnoxiously ticked away. He looked at his gun hostler and the Colt. He could easily end his life; right there and than. The idea of death pleased his mind, as it was like some sort of stress relief. Except this time, he was serious. It was early morning, and he could easily have the time to prepare his death. In this thought, he grabs the loaded Colt and proceeds to aim it to his head.

The door of his office knocks a few times before it opens. His new partner, 'James Riggly' rudely barges in just as he was about to kill himself. His new partner is one of those ambitious 20 year old who thinks life is a game, and whatever path you take, you will succeed. James, even though a rookie, believes he is an intelligent and important member of the Salt Lake City Police Department; not yet learning the important factors of life and respecting those in higher ranks than you.

"Mornin' Ramasie," the youngster sips a mug of coffee.

Ramasie quickly puts the colt back into his hostler and nods his head.

James throws some more paperwork on the table, "Have you cleaned up on the cases of that car explosion yesterday, sir?"

Sir? That's more like it, he thinks. There was a speck of hope for this scab of scum on society.

"Yes I did," He replies.

"Suicide bomber, huh?" James jokes before laughing.

"No, it wasn't that type of incident. It was just some scumbag from St. Louis who was apart of some crime sector there. My guesses are this was set up,"

James walks over to have a closer look at the painting that was the only evidence from the crime scene. An old oil painting, picturing a battle of some sort that was depicted during the Civil War. It had slight burn marks on it, but it still held its expression. There is something bold and symbolic about it, but he just can't put his finger on what exactly. It's creases in the oil paint scream something.... something that no one will ever know.

"What's with this? Are we keeping this or putting it on auction?" James says.

Ramasie, looking confused says "Yeah, we are selling it at auction. It's no real evidence," before flicking through pages of paperwork. The pages of paper work flicked.. over and over.. over and over. They just kept on folding over and over; pages of junk.. garbage. Useless documents.. needless papers. James keep one eye on his partner, feeling the tension build in the room. James had never seen a look quite like the one Ramasie was making. Half normal, half insane look covered with a blotch of nothingness and no meaning. Ramasie rambled to himself a few times over and over.

"Er, sir," James spoke but Ramasie hushed him. He tried to speak again, "Take the day off. Go for a ride.. you seem like you got a lot on your mind,"

-



Anthony pushes the front door open of his home - awaiting for Ross to appear. He lets out a yell to see if anybody is home and a few mummers are heard from the kitchen. He slowly walks down the hall to see Tyler with tears running down his face and Ross, beside him, keeping him comfort. Anthony limped up to Tyler, and he slowly lifted his head.

"We can't find Sandra,"

Ross looks over at Anthony, with little to no emotion on his face. For a moment there, he thought they were crying over him. He felt as if he was a ghost and they mourned over him. Ant brushed that off and scratched his head before saying, "What happened about that Spanish man we saw yesterday. He had Sandra's keys," Tyler tried to speak but no words could come out. Tears just ran down his face.

"The police went to the place but.. but.. no one was ther..there," Tyler tried to speak.

Ross speaks, "We filled a missing person report,"

Anthony doesn't have anything to say. He just walks over to the couch and plops himself down, staring at the flames of the fireplace dancing and spinning around. The crackle of the fireplace welcomes him, and so he curls up on the couch and rests... falling to sleep into a deep sleep - a deep dream. Rolling and twirling downwards in a never ending spiral. The dream speaks the truth, and only the truth.


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#43

Posted 26 June 2013 - 12:23 PM

I've read the Prologue and this is fantastic, it feels like a movie, your choice of words is good, I'd vote this for Story of the Year for this year but this was published in 2012. sad.gif

I've actually taken some inspiration from this for my story, the best thing about it is that it isn't a fanfic, good job. icon14.gif

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#44

Posted 01 July 2013 - 09:47 AM Edited by Coat., 01 July 2013 - 09:57 AM.

Chapter 10 - Life isn't so sweet


Officer Ramasie stood at an arched doorway - the desert behind him. His eyes looked dead; his facial expression very bland. He stared into this small house; this circular shack. The walls painted in a dark, persuasive red. He didn't know what to think of what he was witnessing. One minute, he was in town about to kill himself, the next minute, he was called in for a disturbance in the area. Now standing helplessly, at gunpoint. He heard the gun rattling from nerve in the man’s hand. This other man stood about four meters away from him in the shades of the dark room.

"Don't shoot him. He hasn't done anything!" yelled a woman on the floor, immensely bleeding.

A tall man towered over him. He was a dark figure - hidden within the woven shadows. His face was turned slightly, and his arm was extended towards the cop. Ramasie knew that he was going to kill him and he was ready. Any second. His life was going to end, just like that. With a bang. The man’s hand lowered and from what the officer could see... he smiled deeply. This grin made his stomach drop. It was an insane type of look. The gun fired at the women's leg and she cried out. She looked over at Ramasie, and in her eyes, he knew she was begging for help.

Ramasie spoke to the women on the floor, "What's your name honey?"

"Shut up!" the man yelled, raising the gun again.

"Sandra," she spoke, "Sandra Hillus"


-



Anthony awoke in the morning. He had fallen asleep on the couch and a blanket was placed over him. Music flowed through the house and into Ants head. Ross danced around the living room to a vinyl record. 60's groove music played and so he walked outside the back door to get some air - the house was stuffy. Outside, laid the flat neighbourhood that they overlooked. He shuffled his feet back into the house and blankly stared at his brother. Ross had been acting more and more strange - or guilty.

"What is this all about," his hand gestured towards his dancing.

Ross tapped his feet a few times, "Lately," he said, "When I get sad, I dance," and he continued to dance.

Anthony shook his head and pushed past his brother to head towards the hallway, threw his dirty clothes in the wash and continued to his bedroom. He dropped onto his un-made bed and stared at the mouldy ceiling. So many thoughts rushed through his head. His room was very small and crammed - the floor covered in clothes and empty cans of beer as well as unopened boxes; stacked to the rafters. He got up and slammed his door shut to block out the music before looking at his face in the mirror. Jesus, Ant thought. Swelling and bruises covered his face. He still wondered why Ross or Tyler didn't ask him about his face. It was horrid. His eyes lowered to the desk he stood in front of. A book on plantation sat there - wanting to be read. Ant guessed Ross left it there for him to read. That's right, he thought, Karva! He opened the index and went to the page that was 298. A picture of a tropical plant was shown and a big blob of information looked like it was chewed up and spat onto the book. He looked for the effects of it, and found them.

"What?..." he spoke out loud.

He re-read what he just saw. Not realizing it. He didn't want to believe it, nor except it. Karva, as is a tropical plant, cannot live in cold environments. Anthony paused and read it again a few more times. For Karva to sustain life, it must be living in a tropical environment and must always have enough sunlight. He tore the page out and vigorously threw the book across the room. He held page 298 in his hand, before tossing it onto his desk and opening his blinds. The sky was grey and dark. The clouds blocked out the blue skies above. It was midday, but seemed like midnight. Anthony knew that he shouldn't of trusted that junkie under the overpass. It was fishy from the first minute he laid eyes on him. What was his name anyway... George , he thought. Then he remembered that George said that he would find him there. In that abyss of grime and stench - faces of the forgotten screamed, cursing and babbling under their breath.

The door creaked and Ross' head poked in - his eyes widened at the raging Anthony. Ross just kept staring at him, curiously.

His eyes lowered to the book that was torn and thrown across the room, "You read the book yet?" he asked.

"I sure have,"

"What do you think of it?"

Anthony paused and lightly laughed, "It's good.. but it isn't what I'm looking for," and Ross entered the room. He was confused, and then was questioning himself why Anthony would be so interested in biology and plantation. Ross picked up the book and pushed his foot down on a pedal to Anthony's bin tray; before letting it go and it dropping in.

"...Do you need help with something?" Ross asked raising a brow.

Anthony was now truly interested, "In fact, I do. But I don't think you would be interested. Plus, it's pretty dangerous," he added to slowly hook his brothers' attention. Ross shrugged his shoulders and replied with a, "So what?" waiting for a reply. Ant flicked on his light-switch to brighten the room up a bit, before looking back at Ross, "I was drugged," he said. Ross didn't seem shocked, "Alright, so you were drugged and now what?... does this explain the nights you are out the entire time?... does this explain Sandra's disappearance?"

"...No... and yes. But mostly... no," he replied, and there was a long awkward pause.

"Are we being targeted?"

Anthony stopped and thought long and hard. Were they actually being targeted, and if so, why? He went into a long daze, and looked back at Ross and couldn't answer his question.

Anthony licked his dry lips, "Now... look Ross. I know a person who has lied to me," Ross looked intrigued and Anthony continued, "He has gave me false information, and for this, I could of not been here today," Ant stood up and pulled a black polo over his head, " Tonight, I'm going to head back to where he is... and I need you to help me," and Ross nodded his head.

"We'll be leaving at 9PM. Wear black clothing and something warm. It get's chilly underneath that overpass,"

Ross shuddered, "Underneath an ov... overpass?"

Anthony smiled before ushering Ross out of his room. He picked up page 298 and folded it up, before shoving it into his back pocket and and setting his wrist watch. He then was fully clothed, sneakers and all, and sat in his room, awaiting for their departure.

Ziggy455
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#45

Posted 01 July 2013 - 03:35 PM

I'm going to give you a massive ass-plow amount of feedback to this by the end of the day. So, gimme some time.

Coat.
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#46

Posted 02 July 2013 - 12:23 AM

QUOTE (Ziggy455 @ Monday, Jul 1 2013, 15:35)
I'm going to give you a massive ass-plow amount of feedback to this by the end of the day. So, gimme some time.

Fair enough. I'm lubbed up.

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#47

Posted 12 July 2013 - 02:10 PM

Hi, I just finished reading the prologue, and I really loved it. Unlike others, I ain't gonna give some huge ass feedbacks mentioning flaws and errors since I'm no good in it.. but I'll just keep it short. Firstly, when I was half way through the story (after ten sentences, I guess), I thought this was just another gangster themed piece of work with utterly predictable generic story line after I came across series of words/words like "target", "car", "They told me that he would be here".. But then I realized I was completely wrong. I loved how it transformed into something which I'd never expected. I just don't know how to say it, but I'm sure you're getting what I'm trying to say here. Secondly, the dialogues were pretty awesome and f*ckin' realistic. Good job there.

I was really disappointed that there was only a few details/words describing the environment. Basically, that's what I look into most of the time when I'm reading a book. But since it's a prologue, it's completely understandable.

Anyhow, this story has a great potential, Coat. Imma give a read to the rest of the chapters later, mmkay.

Thanks for the good read! smile.gif

Ziggy455
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#48

Posted 29 July 2013 - 06:32 PM

Alright, here we go.

1. I know it’s a tedious task to proofread but believe me, it pays off. I say this because even when scanning through the greatly improved later chapters, some words are clearly mis-spelt, for example, defiantly instead of definitely and barly instead of barely. It’s these kind of mistakes that can kill the story dead if you don’t keep vigilant and continue to proofread. I mean you don’t have to immediately dive the f*ck in and start looking for mistakes. Finish up a thousand words and then leave it for a few hours. Go out, do sh*t, get your mind out of the creative mind-frame and then when you come back you can look at the whole story with fresh eyes. Seriously, an hour away from the screen does wonders. When you come back, look over the story and you’ll find mistakes much easier because you’re in creative mode not editorial mode.

2. As for the story and its characters, it’s improving greatly. I like Ant, and the added peeps like Byron and Sandra strengthen the story but they still need to have a direction with where they’re going. You say it’s going to be a long story, so it’d be a big payoff to finally find out what’s going on. Make sure you keep an eye on your pace because you don’t want to run the story into the ground with a super-slow climax. I can agree with Eminence that the boat scene was intriguing. I like the mix you’re giving us but I’d love to see the pace quicken in ensuing chapters.

3. On the collaboration, what is it you want to achieve with AceRay co-piloting this story? Not to insult his skill or demean yours, but is there truly a reason that you want this to be a collaborative effort or do you wish to have different ideas within the story?

4. I cannot dissect the work of each chapter –ten chapters would take all day- but not because of laziness but more of the idea that the things I see you faulting at fixed in other chapters, and I believe it’s down to more carelessness on proofreading than actual lack of skill. I’d like to give you a breakdown of your next chapter to help you.

5. Beyond all this, I actually like the story, Coat. The dialogue feels real, like you’re not trying to squeeze in one-liners and the action seems real enough too. I want to see where you’re going, and I’ll make sure to help you in the future in improving this. From what I’ve seen, I can’t break down much until I see how you’re doing now. Don’t take any of this as offense. I want to see what you’ve got up your sleeve. Keep it up, and I’ll wait patiently for the next chapter.





Coat.
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#49

Posted 03 August 2013 - 04:23 AM Edited by Coat., 03 August 2013 - 04:51 AM.

Thanks for the feedback everyone. Ziggy, I've looked over it for errors and hopefully there aren't any.

---

Chapter 11 - Let Sleeping Dogs Lie


Ross had been waiting for his brother’s approval. All those late nights Anthony spent out on the town were too suspicious and to make it more obvious he was up to no good, he returned home bruised and battered. Ross knew something strange was up with his brother. Something was out of place in his personality. Like a jig saw puzzle, with that piece that you never find, like money that mysteriously disappears from your wallet... that ends up reappearing, months later. Ross seemed to be stuck in this situation. He sat in his room, looking down at his desk frustratingly - his hands clasping his forehead. Pages of papers of information on Karva. All them countless hours of reading through loads of pointless paperwork. Ross thought he was onto something when Anthony asked him about Karva. It was like a loose gear clicked his brain, and began running.

"...five minutes Ross,"

He looked up from his desk, moved his fringe out of his eyes and simply nodded his head at Anthony. He wanted to jot down a few more things into his diary. Ross' eyes searched for a pen, and spotted one before picking it up and scavenging through papers for his diary. He gripped it in his hands. A black leather booklet with an old English font on the front with the text, 'Diary'. This was Ross' getaway from reality. He would write anything and everything in this. If anything were to happen to him, this would explain a clear and logic reason for it.

Anthony knocked on the open door and reminded him to dig up some more information on Karva to prove to that dropkick under the overpass that he was wrong. But they didn't have to prove anything to him as he exactly knew George was lying. Anthony vanished from the doorway, giving his brother some privacy. Ross closed his diary after writing a few paragraphs down and turned off his desk light before grabbing his backpack and closing his bedroom door. Ant leaned against the hallway wall, with a confident sparkle in his eyes. They both were dressed from head to toe in black. Ross slipped a beanie over his head and readjusted his backpack on his shoulder.

"What if we are wrong?" asked Ross.

Ant slowly shook his head, "Both you and I have enough info to shut that pr*ck up," he said. Ross saw that their plans had many flaws in it, "No, we need a back up. Just in case things get a little hostile," Ross replied before pulling out a machete knife from his bag and quickly placing it onto Ant's throat.

"Easy as that," Ross joked.

A smile slowly grew on Anthony's face, before laughing, "Now that's why you're my brother," and he roughly patted Ross' back. "And another thi..." Ross said, before being interrupted. Anthony placed his finger on Ross' lips and hushed him. He tugged his brother’s shoulder and turned towards the front door, before escaping into the black haze of the night. The bus, an old 80's looking thing, rolled to a halt. The bus driver, his face hidden behind a bushy grey beard, waved his arm above his head and called out, "You boys stopping here?" and Ross nodded before stepping off the bus, followed by Anthony. The driver fiddled around with his radio, tuning into a wrong station and slamming his fist onto the box.

"And also.." the bus driver began, "Don't come crying back to me when they maul you like a pack of savage wolves..." and the doors of the bus sharply shut before he acceleration was hit, and it skidded off out of sight. Ross felt his stomach burble. He turned to look at Anthony, but he was already walking up the pavement beside a long, wired fence. They stood underneath a towering overpass. The sounds of the truck rigs stormed above them; leaving fear take over the two of them.

"Don't let it bother you," Anthony called out.

Ant climbed through a hole in the fence and jumped down into an open water drain. Ross followed behind - his polo shirt getting caught on the fence before he tugged it and hopped free into the drain. The sound of cracking fire was heard ... it echoed throughout the drain system. A light shower of rain sprinkled through the large gaps that divided the few overpasses. Ross unzipped his bag to pull out a black umbrella - he unfolded it and held it above both himself and Anthony. They knew they were getting closer to the group of homeless. The open storm water drain came to an intersection. If they continued to walk forward, they would head down into an underground drain system. Their eyes scanned and panned to their left. If they chose to take a left, they would up end up passing through the industrial and soon enough into North Salt Lake.

"What way?" Ross' voice, barley heard audible over the truck rigs powering above. Anthony, paused and seemed to be in a daze, began to walk right without any reply. His black boots pounded against the now, wet cement. They rose from the drain, into what seemed, and were the dead centre of the entire 'underpass'. "Is... is this it?" asked Ross with anticipation. A man approached, holding a metal baton. The man's red shirt was warn and very faded. Random specks of ginger hair poked out from his head. One of his eyes was swollen and minimal with vision - the other eye was missing. Black and green looking fungus seemed to have grown where the missing eye was. Behind him, were groups of homeless; some standing beside fires and others sitting around makeshift poker tables. Overgrown plants rose from the ground, and the floor was covered in crushed beer cans, syringes, plastic bag and the odd bit of spew.

The hobo slurred, "What the f*ck are you doing here?"

Ross slowly stepped into the shadows, while Anthony walked forward and eyeballed the man, "I need to speak to a man ... goes by the name of George..." he said. The hobo lifted his head slightly, "So what's in that bag of yours?" he pointed in Ross' direction. Ross scuffed, "You really wanna know?". The homeless man scratched his head, "Drugs?" he asked, "It's a wild guess," he joked whilst shrugging his shoulders. Ant looked left and right before speaking, "This drug was stolen from the Salt Lake Senior D-lab," he began, "And I've tested it." The man asked, "Any good? What kind of drug?" and Ross stepped forward, trying not to stare into the man’s swollen eye, except staring right past him and saying, "LSD."

"And you're wanting to sell this product I spose?"

The brothers both nodded, hiding their guilty expressions. Anthony looked over at Ross and back at the man, "We can give you a sample test, if that would give us the green lights to go." The Man attempted to keep a straight face but grinned with delight and lightly laughed with joy at the two. The brothers lead the man behind a large pillar, before they unzipped the bag. Ant stood beside the man, while Ross felt around in the bag. Anthony asked, keeping both eyes of the happy addict, "I didn't catch your name, what was it?" and the man, keeping his eyes on Ross said, "Travis," before looking back at up him. Anthony quickly head locked the hobo, just as Ross threw him the machete into the air for Ant to catch and hold harshly to the man’s throat.

"... Don't kill me," Travis whimpered.

He could see the look on the man’s face. He knew he didn't care if he died, he had nothing to live for anyway; but it was the fear of death he feared for. "Just shut up!" Ant yelled. Tears built up in the corner of the man’s eyes. Everything died down to silence and there was almost 30 seconds of it. The only sound heard to Ant's ears, were the faint droplets of rain slowly hitting the ground around them. Anthony quickly pulled the knife away, slitting Travis' throat. Blood squirted all over his face and he moaned in pain for he was soon to be dead. The man began hyperventilating and whimpering as he collapsed on the ground in a heap. Anthony's arm fell to his side and the rain trickled down his face; mixing with the blood that slivered on his black coat.

He turned away to look at his brother. The two, both in shock of what just occurred listened to the final plea of their dying victim. Travis tried to speak as the red liquid spat out, "Look... look at... when I die." He repeated it several times, but seemed like a lifetime. Anger built in his stomach. Ant felt his eye twitching. He tightened his grip on the knife, spinning around and stabbing the serrated knife into the roof of the man’s mouth; slightly twisting it. Ross took deep breaths and stared up into the gloomy skies - feeling sick from the sight of gore.

"I told you to shut up!" Anthony's voice rose louder as he gritted his teeth and pulled the knife out quickly. Travis' head and torso dropped to the ground. He tried to avoid the blood that seeped from his wounds. Ross shuttered, "I didn't expect you to kill him!" and Ant's eyes sharpened, "What? I was just going to let him go and give away our guard, “he hissed. There was a short pause, with the only sound being cars and trucks above them zooming past.

"Let's just... move along," said Ross, lowering his head and turning away.

Ant whipped the knife with his pants and placed it back into the bag before dragging the corpse of the man beside the nearby water drain; which was slowly filling up with dirty water. It was quite a sombre moment. They both stood, looking down into the drain, as the bloody corpse lay beside the edge. The rain began to pour heavier. Anthony stared at Ross in the corner of his eye and Ross looked to the ground at the body and used his foot to push it into the muck water below. No splash was heard, as only the depth was half a meter of water.

This wasn't good, not good at all. This was murder but the bad thing was, Ant didn't think about it twice. It was like a ravage ape in his mind was released from a cage and went absolute ballistic. Black clouds of smog floated above the city in the very distance. They stood there, both with chills their down spine for a few minutes. They had to get on with their job and they both left the scene and approached the group of bums. Music thumped louder and louder as until it was living and moving through the air. The homeless didn't pay much attention to them - either they were too busy trying get their spot around the warming fire or they were too busy gambling around the poker tables. One poker table was crowded by a group of about 30 people, all cheering and rearing one of the competitors on.

"George, throw in the rest!" one of them screamed over everyone, grabbing the money from the competitors hand and throwing it onto the table - now pilling up with green dollars. Anthony heard the name over everything and he stooped and stood there. Thoughts gushing through his mind at tremendous speeds. They had passed the table that his enemy was on, and Ross accidentally walked into the back of his brother, "Why are you stopping?" Ross asked. A group of men beside them stared at Ross and Anthony, but Ant's mind was somewhere else.

A tall African American man turned around from the crowd beside Ross and pushed Ant's back, yelling, "Get the f*ck outta here, fool." Anthony just stood there, still not moving - trying to keep himself contained and not completely loose the plot. Ross was grabbed by the two 'henchmen' of the African American and was dragged away from the crowd. Anthony put his hands behind his head and turned around to face a familiar figure. The man was not much taller than Ant, and he wore a black beanie which sat slopped on his head but had no shirt - scars on his chest were revealed. The most recognizable thing about the man was the nose piercing from one nostril to the other - like a bull.

"Put your hands down fool. I ain't no cop," he pushed Anthony's chest.

Now the crowd of homeless had all their eyes on the argument before joining in and cursing. Anthony just stared the man down, but he just kept on pushing and tugging him. It was not much longer before the crowd of weak homeless became the vigorous pack of wolves. Ant ducked out of the way as a plastic chair was tossed at him, which hit a young man behind him. This soon caused uproar and a violent riot broke out within the blink of an eye. The bull kept his arm on Ant as they were slowly being pushed apart by the mosh-pit of drunks - the man screamed over the crowd at Ant and looked back over at a fleeing man before waving him to escape.

Ant could see the fleeing man - no other than George, and tailing behind him was Ross who was being held back by the bull's 'henchmen'. Ant broke free from the crowd and was now on foot and tailing Ross. His breaths became short as they picked up the pace. In the background, the riot continued. Now at this speed, Ant was now beside Ross and now only meters away from George; who was pushing over tables and chairs in front of them. George soon became too fast and was now was way in the lead. It soon became a game of hide and seek, as they darted in and out of behind the pillars. Ross and Ant were now broken up and were lost in this maze of pillars.

"Sh*t," a voice yelled out. It was George and he was approaching a large wired fence which seemed impossible to climb. The two brothers caught up to the bum and Anthony got a hold of Georges' flannelette shirt; ripping it off him but the man escaping and clinging onto the wired fence before looking like a rat, scaling his way up the enormous and towering fence. George’s flannelette shirt dropped onto the ground as if a weight was in it. Anthony felt in a pocket of the shirt - with a shaking hand and a beating heart. Ross threw his knife at the escaping pr*ck but missed by a few inches. Ant pulled out the heavy item from the shirt pocket - a silenced pistol.

Ross attempted to climb the fence and grab the man's foot, but instead, pulling off his shoe. Anthony soon realized that on the other side of the wired fence was a 5 meter drop into the drain system, now like a running stream into the underground water drain. Rain poured down and wind picked up. Anthony raised his arm but it was being pulled in the other direction by the forceful wind. There were only two bullets left in the gun and Ant wasn't intending on wasting them. With a silenced crack, the first bullet missed George, now at the very top of the fence with a bleeding knee.

"Anthony, quick!" yelled Ross over the sounds of the pouring rain, wind, screaming and loud truck rigs above and with one shot, one single shot, the bullet hit George in the right shoulder and he fell and plummeted into the water system below which dragged him to the depths of the drain system. That was the moment they had been both waiting for. Ross cheered and laughed and grabbed Anthony as they watched the man being pulled by the rapids down the drain system. But Anthony wasn't in the mood for celebrating, as he knew that this was not over. Anthony held tight to his brother’s side, and in the other hand he held Georges' shirt tight. This was just another step to solving this case.

Before they knew it, they were in the back of a taxi. It turned out that in Georges' shirt was about $150 and a few other items which they had to inspect closer once in closed doors at home. They both were soaking wet, smelling like crap in the back of this cab watching the rain trickle down the glass of the windscreen and the glowing lights of the city.

"You boys been up to no good?" the cab driver asked, taking a turn onto a main road.

"You could say that," Anthony joked, staring down at a coupon for a Chinese restaurant. What is this, thought Ant. He turned the card around and on the back was a series of numbers, and stapled to the coupon was a receipt from his last order. The coupon was white and showed a picture of a red dragon which bordered the card with the address, '1716 S State St Salt Lake City'.

"You know this address?" asked Anthony, repeating the address to the cab driver now pulling up into their driveway.

"New Golden Dragon Restaurant, of course. Why?"

"No reason, really. I'm just thinking of paying a visit to the place," replied Anthony, now paying the driver and leaving the taxi alongside his brother. Ross turned to Anthony with a stern look on his face, "Anthony... let sleeping dogs lie".


Adler
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#50

Posted 09 September 2013 - 01:18 AM Edited by Adler, 09 September 2013 - 01:23 AM.

Alright I'll keep the focus on this latest chapter since it's the longest, has interesting moments, and it's the chapter I have the most problems with.
 

"What if we are wrong?" asked Ross.

Ant slowly shook his head, "Both you and I have enough info to shut that pr*ck up," he said. Ross saw that their plans had many flaws in it, "No, we need a back up. Just in case things get a little hostile," Ross replied before pulling out a machete knife from his bag and quickly placing it onto Ant's throat.

"Easy as that," Ross joked.

I see the same problem here as was done before. Please put lines of dialogue with different speakers in separate paragraphs. Even if you identified a new speaker within the paragraph, it would greatly benefit the reader to separate speakers in your formatting as well. It's a small detail, and a writing convention misstep, but it is important to the flow of your writing nonetheless.
 
Concerning the plot, I'm at a loss as to why Ant and Ross are after George. Wouldn't searching for Sandra be a higher priority? Is a random junkie that Ant sought out earlier for information supposed to be connected in Sandra's disappearance in some way? It's not quite clear what their intentions are here, which makes their actions and motivations less relatable.

That aside, Ross is easily my favorite character.
 

"I told you to shut up!" Anthony's voice rose louder as he gritted his teeth and pulled the knife out quickly. Travis' head and torso dropped to the ground. He tried to avoid the blood that seeped from his wounds. Ross shuttered, "I didn't expect you to kill him!" and Ant's eyes sharpened, "What? I was just going to let him go and give away our guard, “he hissed. There was a short pause, with the only sound being cars and trucks above them zooming past.

"Let's just... move along," said Ross, lowering his head and turning away.

Ant whipped the knife with his pants and placed it back into the bag before dragging the corpse of the man beside the nearby water drain; which was slowly filling up with dirty water. It was quite a sombre moment. They both stood, looking down into the drain, as the bloody corpse lay beside the edge. The rain began to pour heavier. Anthony stared at Ross in the corner of his eye and Ross looked to the ground at the body and used his foot to push it into the muck water below. No splash was heard, as only the depth was half a meter of water.

This wasn't good, not good at all. This was murder but the bad thing was, Ant didn't think about it twice. It was like a ravage ape in his mind was released from a cage and went absolute ballistic.

Well he's a murderer now... and I'm still unclear as to WHY he murdered this man. Yes, he would've blown their cover, but is he really a necessary sacrifice in order to get to George? Ant has done the equivalent of losing his virginity by committing murder, and yet there is no moment for the gravity of what he has done to settle in. Ross called him out for it, and then turns a blind eye to it later.

Please tell me there is a good reason for Ant going "ballistic" on this man, who was merely an obstacle in the current scenario.
 

The most recognizable thing about the man was the nose piercing from one nostril to the other - like a bull.

A callback to a previously unimportant detail. I like that. :^:
 

"Anthony, quick!" yelled Ross over the sounds of the pouring rain, wind, screaming and loud truck rigs above and with one shot, one single shot, the bullet hit George in the right shoulder and he fell and plummeted into the water system below which dragged him to the depths of the drain system. That was the moment they had been both waiting for. Ross cheered and laughed and grabbed Anthony as they watched the man being pulled by the rapids down the drain system. But Anthony wasn't in the mood for celebrating, as he knew that this was not over. Anthony held tight to his brother’s side, and in the other hand he held Georges' shirt tight. This was just another step to solving this case.

"That was the moment they had been waiting for. Ross cheered and laughed.."

Wait, what?? Why did they want to kill George? Why didn't they have a chance to call him out on him lying to them about Karva? Why didn't they keep him alive to gain more information out of him than merely an address for a restaurant? Why is Ross happy about this after calling Ant out on murdering a person just a moment ago?

 

This is blatantly out of character for both Ant and Ross. They were never established as murderers; they were completely innocent people who got caught in a net of undesirable and even dangerous circumstances. Now Ant killed two men, whose relation to the plot I have yet to grasp, and Ross quickly accepts it. Actually, he doesn't condone what Ant is about to do (I'd expect Ant to shoot up a Chinese restaurant with the direction he is taking), but he was cheering for the last murder that Ant committed just a moment ago? This frankly, doesn't make sense, and I hope you would reconsider the drastic change in character Ant just had.

Also, this isn't related to the last chapter, but I like the bits with Ramasie, and how his story converges with Sandra. A nice teaser of things to come, or perhaps this is concurrent to Ant & Ross Adventures?

 

I'll leave off with a couple things you might want to consider doing, which are: construct a clearer setting, and slow down the pace a little. I know I said the pace was a bit slow before, but reading through it again, I actually prefer it rather than have the plot be rushed, as I believe the latest chapter was. Maybe next chapter, you could have just a moment for Ant and Ross to reflect on what they have done to tone things down a bit, and allow for some character building.

 

Concerning the setting, you should put in more detail on where the characters are, where they're going, and their place in the environment. Besides AceRay's bit of the story (which I thought was well-written in regard to scenery), it's not clear where characters are at times. Ant and Ross are under the overpass, then they've run through a "maze of pillars" to a fence somewhere. I have to assume that there is water there somewhere, next to the overpass, then there are pillars under the overpass, and a fence somewhere past. Could you make scenery that is pertinent to the plot more detailed, is what I'm asking? This was a good read, and I hope the end product of this will be a well-constructed and endearing novel some day, but you will need to proof-read and edit thoroughly before it reaches that point.

 

Side note: Can you not use gray for the font color? I realize you typed this out a month ago, but it makes it a tad bit harder to read since the forum change. :)


Coat.
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#51

Posted 05 December 2013 - 05:41 AM

Part 12

 

Machines clinked and clanked over the sound of flipping. Convoy belts steadily eased the green onto its next stage. A steam presser pressed onto a thin, green illuminated paper and passed it on, flowing like a stream. All moving like clock work. High above these machines and convoys were anchored beams, used as a stairway to oversee the factory.

 

Placed in the wall were several venting fans the size of a truck. They slowly turned as rays of light shined through the gaps. Beside these fans in the very top corner of the room was a small office. No doors and no windows - just a desk and a computer. The computers, filled with pop-ups and all sorts of viruses. A greasy hand clicked away as potato chip crumbs spilled all over the keyboard.  

 

 

---

 

"So you can't recall anything from the night before?"

 

The saggy looking hobo shook his head slowly. People were waking up to a beautiful morning in Salt Lake, except the police force that had to awake to a murder and a missing person. For James Riggly, this was a pretty normal morning but something was off. Ever since the disappearance of his partner, 'Ramasie' as they called him in the station, everything was different. A missing person’s case was never upsetting to James, not only until it was one of his dearest friends was when it hit home. Riggly had been here since five that morning and with all the intoxicated witnesses, getting anything from them was going to be difficult. A group of homeless men sat around, waiting to be interviewed but it was going to be pointless. Red eyed, slurring f*cks as Ramasie would say. 

 

With James, were two other joke of police men. Officer Grey and Officer Saddle. Sitting in the near-by cop car, their arms propped up on the dashboard as they arm wrestled before knocking Grey's pride and joy out of the cup holder and spilling all over the interior - Grey's home batch of hot coffee, black only. They were meant to be helping out with this case, but with their attention span shortening by the minute, it was completely impossible. Everything seemed like it wasn't going to work, until he turned around to see a fairly built and big man. His chest stuck out in Officer Riggly's face. James, for a second, watched as the man’s chest expanded and shrunk as he breathed. This 'thing' was ginormous.

 

"I saw it all," the man said. 

 

James stood back and looked up at the man. He wore a black leather jacket, shaded glasses, was bold and strangely worse sandals. 

 

"What was it, that you saw sir?" 

 

"If it was them two boys running after the new guy, I was there."

 

"What boys and what new guy?" asked Riggly. 

 

"They killed poor Travis. He had terminal cancer - he only had another year to live."

 

Riggly sighed, "Look, sir. You aren't making any sense. I am totally oblivious to what happened."

 

The man pointed into a certain direction, "Travis, he was murdered over there. That was his name. They killed him because they were two smug kids looking for trouble. We had some gambling going on over here with about fifty people. There was this new guy, George. These two punk-ass kids wandered their dumb-asses over here and started some trouble. They were looking for George. He was probably in debt. George's friend grabbed one of the boys while the other was pulled away by a few other guys. Things turned ugly, and I saw the boys escape - chasing George."

 

Riggly wrote this down on a small paper pad, "Then what happened?"

 

"George's friend left and the two boys and George ran in that direction," he said, as he turned around and pointed towards the maze of pillars. The underpass was a complex place. The highway running over it, an aisle of storm water drains surrounding this 'island' type in the middle where the homeless would meet. Around the outside was a wired fence. The drain that flowed around the outside of the 'island' would meet up in the middle, running underground. This, leaving a clear gap out over into the Bronx of the city. Everything past the 'island' were pillars - mazes of them. 

 

Grey climbed out of the police car and clumsily whipped the coffee stains from his shirt. Grey wasn't much taller than James, but slouched. His ginger puffy hair and frizzy moustache covered the grin he always would hide. Riggly then shook the taller witnesses hand and then asked him another question, "Can you please give me a description of the people you saw?"

 

The giant spoke, "One of the brothers was about 5 foot six. The other was a little shorter.. both dressed in black. George, he wore dark black pants and a flannelette jacket... he has a short beard, more of a goatee," he had to think a bit more, "George's friend, he was about my size and all I remember from him was his nose piercing. It was like a bull piercing through his nose - ugly looking thing..." his voice lowered.

 

"And why weren't you intoxicated, sir?"

 

Greg interrupted, "We got a call back from the station. We got to go pick up a few family members of a missing persons case."

 

Riggly suddenly was reminded of his partner, "Gosh... is it bad news for them?"

 

Saddle called out from the car, and Greg shook his head, "No. Good news," and off he raced as he jumped into the car and it quickly sped off. The two always abused the police siren, and they wailed off through the underpass - running over boxes and trash before skidding to the left and exiting the place.

 

When Officer Riggly turned back to the witness, he had gone. Only three bums, all drooling and swaying stood there. He slightly shook his head in disgrace. He was really seeing how poor the police force was becoming with a total of 800 missing people in the past month and numerous cases of murder. The orange sunlight beamed across the sky, lighting up the underpass. The only way James could see it for this 'George' to escape, would be only one reasonable route. Running straight through the maze of pillars and clearing himself into the south Bronx. Except, George was mentioned as the 'new guy'. New guy meaning have little to none idea of his environment. The concrete jungle, having an appetite for the naive; George, being a suitable meal.

 

The roar of early morning traffic above blocked his thinking process. How else could the suspect could of escaped? Surely he wouldn't of took a leap of faith into the water drain and even if he did, how would he had survived the rapids of the dark, dark water. This case had to be blown open even more. With no information, and people going missing every day... something had to be going on behind closed doors.

 

---   

 

His leg itched, but he couldn't scratch. He was physically unable to. There was no indication of his where-about's, except an eagle that would screech every few hours. The sound of pressure running through pipes was heard and soon enough, followed by the drip-drop of water - sometimes hot, other times cold that would roll down his back. The rope that was tied around both wrists and behind his back soon left a burning rash. 

 

Brruuuu... the pluming ploughed again. All he had to look down at was his badge. Humiliating, it was. 'Officer Syd Ramasie', it said in fine print. His black jean shorts where his knees were - torn. He had been sitting on his knees for days. He was cold and the only sunlight he got, would be when the sun would rise and for a few minutes it would shine through the small window of the basement. It's warmth gave him hope.

 

What do they want? Am I a hostage? Ramasie looked around the room. The darkness would show nothing. Not even the glow of the sun would light the damp room. He had overhead someone speaking in Italian, upstairs. Now and again, the door would creek open, before slamming shut. Ramasie knew exactly what they were talking about, as he was part Italian himself. He remembered overhearing a conversation worth knowing about.

 

"Armanno... how much longer are you going to keep them...?" a voice asked softly. Them? Ramasie thought. The voices continued, "Until he says so..." but who was 'he'? He had to feeling he wasn't alone, and he wasn't. For many days, he sat in total darkness not even knowing that another person sat in the room. It was a women. The women that caused all of this. Ramasie had no clue what was happening on the outside. America and England were on the brink of war, last he knew. The U.S had intervened a cargo boat - Chinese Cargo boat heading for England. The word through the grapevine was that the 400 foot boat was holding a test medicine. The use of the medicine was unknown to him. But with all the information that was gathered, one link in the medicine that was removed or put in would change the entire 'make-up' of the pill. 

 

The government were paying more attention to other international situations, instead of looking in their own backyard. Murders were on the rise, and people missing... he huffed in irony. It was only time before this drug slipped through the cracks and entered the underworld. If the test drug did make it to the black market, it would cause all hell to break loose. It was like the Cold War all over again, but instead of who can build the nuclear bomb first, it was who can create this 'super drug', probably to fuel the rage of their soldiers - leading to national black market sales. Quantity, in the millions. It would be a devastating blow to what is already happening in the crisis. He was sure the drug had already hit the streets. So positive that he could pinpoint the location of it in his local area - Tooele. Ramasie knew that the Italian creeps that were keeping him hostage, worked in the Tooele region. One of their 'comrades' was only killed over there a week ago. Probably related to this 'test drug' issue.

 

The world was descending into a death spin, and at a fast rate.

 

 

--- 

 

 

Morning sunlight showered the city of Salt Lake like a coat of snow. As the city slowly was awoken, so were Anthony and Ross. Early morning dew settled on the beam on their front porch. Across the street in the park, a council worker trimmed away at a luscious green hedge and a nearby neighbour cleared his driveway with a leaf blower. 

 

Inside the household, a beeping sound was heard with a few seconds of silence. The house was dark and laid in a thick layer of shadow. A window was left slightly open in the living room and the wind whistled. Ross sat on the floor, with his back on the leg of the lounge - opposite to him, was Ant in the same position. Vivid memories flashed through his mind, and dark bags hung beneath their eyes.

 

Anthony cleared his throat and looked around in a dazed state of mind. The silence piercing his ears. All of a sudden, the beeping sound was heard again and it came from the kitchen. Ross mumbled to himself in his deep sleep as Ant climbed to his feet and looked over at the clock which hung above the brick fireplace. The time was 8:20AM - he rubbed his eyes and walked towards the phone on the kitchen counter. A thin layer of black scum settled over the underused kitchen - the tiles on the floor, the only thing used. The yellow patterned tiles were slightly faded. 

 

"You have... six new messages, received at..." his mind trailed off as he turned around to see Ross who still looked sound asleep. "To play new messages, press 7 ... beep," his fingers pushed the button.

 

"Anthony..." a voice was heard over the speaker phone, "It's me, Tyler," there was a lot of chatter going on in the background, "I'm at the police station..." there was another short pause, "It's Sandra, they've found her," and the call ended abruptly. Both brothers sat there in slight astonishment.

 

"We're leaving," said Anthony. 

 

He twiddled his thumbs as he walked towards the coats that hung beside the doorway. He gripped the coat and pulled it over and through his arms before he stared over at Ross, "Are you going to get ready or not." Anthony's white polo shirt was covered in dark red blood stains from the thrashing events that occurred the night before. The reality really begun to kick in for both of them. They were now both criminals. Anthony, not even thinking twice about killing an innocent homeless man for no reason at all and Ross, just as bad for witnessing it all and letting it all happen to begin with. Ross watched as Ant walked down the hallway, throwing his shirt and pants in the washing machine before he headed to his bedroom, pulling out drawers and grabbing a hand full of paperwork, plans and sketches of their 'diverse' plans.

 

"Ant.. let's just forget about what happened last night. And, you know, let's just move on. Who ever tried to drug you, or hurt you is now gone... long gone," Ross said.

 

Anthony gripped the paper in one hand and clinched his teeth - his neck muscles slightly showing before turning around and eye balling his brother. The intensity was growing in the room but he soon snapped out of it as he heard the breaks of a car outside in their driveway. "Hold all this," Ant said as he passed the paperwork to Ross. Quiet chatter was heard from outside and Ross peeped out the window - trying to get a view but just couldn't as a large pine tree in their garden blocked the view. Anthony rolled his fingers along a bookshelf and pulled out a few books, looking down at them for aimlessly throwing them into his brothers arms. Anthony then ushered Ross out the hall, down the hallway and into the living room before opening the small door to the fireplace.

 

"Hurry, throw it in."

 

With no regrets, Ross watched as the paper work plunged from his hands and landed in the last smouldering heap of ash in the dome of the fireplace. Snnzick, Ant lit a match and dropped it onto the paperwork. Good ridden. There was no time for messing about as Anthony soon rushed towards the kitchen and opened up a few cabinets - most being empty. His hand reached down then got a hold of a window cleaning product and ripped off a few strips of paper towel.

 

"Ross, who is outside... what are they doing?"

 

Ross peered through the viewing hole in the door. His face lowered and his stomach gurgled. Two colours that made him almost dry-breach - blue and red. A police car sat in the driveway as one police officer sat in the driver’s seat, with a map covering his steering wheel as the other stood standing in their driveway as he blew cold air onto his hot cup of coffee. 

 

"Sh*t," Ross muttered under his breath, "It's the police Ant."

 

When he turned around to look for Anthony, he was gone. The thing was, Anthony expected this to happen. Tyler had probably mentioned about himself and Ross and the police insisted to come pick them up. Anthony sprayed the cleaning liquid onto the desks and bookshelves before thoroughly drying the evidence with the paper towel. Why he was doing this, you may ask was because he knew that since Sandra's disappearance that everybody would be a suspect to this - including family and friends. If the police 'some-how' uncovered what the two brothers had done, they would be looking at a life sentence in the can.   

 

He crumpled the paper towel in his hand and pushed his foot on the leaver to open the bin in the kitchen. Just as he did that, there were several knocks at the front door. Not knowing if this was related to the disappearance of Sandra of the killings of the night before, they both were feeling nervous. Ross looked over at Anthony, who stood beside him, as he slowly opened the door. Anthony held his breath, which felt forever and he watched as sweat dripped from his brothers forehead. 

 

"Well good morning you two,"

 

A smile slowly grew on Ross' face but for Ant, it was just confusion. There stood a male police officer, with slicked back hair with a crinkled map in his hand and beside him, was a funny looking guy. His orange hair puffed out like a small afro and his moustache wriggled when he spoke, "You don't have to worry about Sandy no more," he spoke. 

 

Sandy? Ant thought. There was no response from the brothers, just a smile and a shrug. The four of them glanced at each other for a few seconds before Anthony turned and looked at them, "That's great news. We actually got a phone call from Tyler before."

 

"Oh damn," Saddle said, "I love breaking good news to people. Anyway," he sighed, looking back towards his partner before looking at their car, "We should be heading off to the station now boys." The two both nodded and both followed the two towards the car.

 

"I've seen that look of fear on people faces' before," Officer Grey smirked, "You boys both thought you were in trouble, didn't you?" he continued, starting the engine to the car as Saddle added, "Buckle up." Anthony just ignored what Grey had to say, and watched as there house backed away from them as they reversed from the driveway.

 

The unknown scares every single human being on the planet. It is that thought of, what is in therewhat is going to happen and will I die? Darkness, hellish images. The feeling of being trapped and no escape, no return - no way back; like an event horizon. Anthony awaited anxiously to hear the news of Sandra, but was scared. Not only scared for her, but himself.

 

--- 

 

The room was lightly lit. The moon light was bright that night. Not only bright but big. Sloppy Joe Lights was bustling with busy customers tonight from all over St Louis. Cars filled the parking spots and neon lights covered the walkway - reflecting off the puddles of water. A sea of umbrellas and jackets flowed. The strip club was packed to the rafters. Glazed smoke was lit up by a pink light that shun across the club. Dancers emphasized their moves in their hips and rubbed their body up and down an oiled up pole. Music played loudly and several TV screens played MTV, nonstop. 

 

Groups of people lined up at the bar, demanding booze. A women bar tender poured a glass of sparkling champagne and passed it to a carter - a middle aged man, dressed in a black and red vest with a white rose. Sounds of glass bottles clicked together over the loud sound of shouting and cheering. 

 

The champagne glasses travelled past the bar and into a small backroom that lead to an elevator. The cater rattled his key and swiped it over the scanner, before the metallic doors of the elevator separated and he entered before pressing the button to the top floor. As the elevator rose, he watched through the glass walls of the night club as the music slowly faded and a 'ding' sound was heard.

 

Floor 13 - smoke hung high on the ceiling as smooth jazz was played on a vintage record player. Vintage furniture was placed around the room, and a group of men in suits sat on two couches - both adjacent to each other, discussing 'mafia gossip' as they puffed their cigars and blunts. The rain outside became heavy and was heard as it splashed up against the glass window. The wood in the fireplace crackled. 

 

The cater nervously walked up the Danny Bannza - notorious mafia kingpin who took over the 'family business' at age 19, now running over 50 clubs and bars across America. His suit was as pale brown with a bronze necklace. Danny's neck muscle protruded noticeably and was always seen clicking his fingers together; just a bad habit. Bannza tapped his blunt on his brown ashtray. "About time, kid," he spoke loudly as he snatched the glasses from the cater. A bigger looking guy sat across from Danny. This guy could barley fit in his suit as his bottom button for his blazer stretched his suit - his name was 'Fat Dog,' and he sounded like a child from the grade 1 at lunch time. His voice had never fully dropped, and he constantly would squeal when he laughed. Fat dog spoke, "That guy over in Salt Lake... what's his name?...Devon, isn't it?" he continued, "Did you hear the news?"

 

Danny raised a brow as he sipped his champagne, "He didn't get whacked did he?" he asked in anticipation. Other men leaned over to hear the news that Dog wanted to tell.

 

"Yeah. It was in the paper. His car killed him," he said.

 

"Like an accident?" another mobster asked.

 

Fat Dog looked both left and right slightly before replying, "His car blew up and killed him without him even being in it."

 

Danny coughed on his beverage, "You sh*ttin' me? Jesus..." his voice lowered as he bowed his head. Everyone in the room slowly went quiet and the cater boy stood there feeling uneasy.

 

"Show some respect kid, get everyone a drink for a salute,"

 

And off went the cater to soon return with a large bottle of vodka, pouring it slowly into each persons glass - then closing the glass lid to the bottle and standing back, beside Bannza. They all raised their glasses and stared at the thick layer of smoke on the ceiling.

 

"You're in a better place now. No f*cker can touch you up there. Salute," said Danny, and as quick as he finished the sentence, the word, "Salute," was heard from everyone around the room before sculling their drink and hissing from the harshness of it. Paintings on the wall stared at the cater.

 

"And what about Pawl? Did he give the stuff to Robbie?"

 

Fat Dog laughed with his high pitched squeal and shook his head, "The police would of taken it for evidence. I mean, holding a painting while being blown to smithereens isn't suspicious?" he said. Danny didn't find this funny at all, he frowned so much that it left an awkward silence in the room, "You got to be f*cking joking. We had a client willing to seal the deal, with blueprints and plans and a large amount of cash on the line and you find humor in this from that small cranium of yours?" he stood up.

 

"No, it isn't funny," he said, "It's just.."

 

"Just shut up, unless you want that jaw of yours missing. We had to opportunity to make millions from this deal, alright?"

 

Another man in the room spoke, "Danny, you have to realize that the boat with the product on it was seized by the American government. And soon enough, it will get to us. But for now.." but he was interrupted,

 

"But for now? We don't have all the time in the world. We have clients that want to buy this sh*t and you think we can just sit around and wait for it to be given to us? You got to be f*cking joking," Danny yelled furiously. 

 

"This Robbie guy?... what happened to him, where is he? And what about Pawl? That Chinese f*ck needs to be whacked," said Terry - a forty year old gangster who worked in the timber industry. Terry didn't have much of a style sense, except wore a black shirt with a black jacket and blue denim jeans.

 

Dog spoke, feeling nervous - you could see it on his face, "Robbie. Well, we haven't got anything back from him. He hasn't responded... well, not at least yet he hasn't," and there was a pause, "Pawl, he called me up yesterday. Said he has lost business since what happened to Devon. Happened right out his shop."

 

Danny settled down and sat back down, continuing to sip his beverage, "So you're saying Devon, our boy Devon, got killed out from of Pawl's Pawn shop? Right after he took the painting and was heading to Robbie's?"

 

"That's right. But I ain't worried about the police, man. They can't do jack. They'll probably just auction off the painting at at f*cking Christmas party. Salt Lake police force are crap," he proceeded to undo his button on his blazer, "What I'd be worried about," he continued, sitting back and relaxing a bit more, "I'd be worried about this guy going around - goes by the name of Adivious Silver,"

 

"Probably a anonymous name," said Terry.

 

"Adivious is meant to be behind all of this 'drug bust' that happened out in the Pacific Ocean on that boat. Some say he is a cop, others say he is working with the CIA and people even go that far to say he is just some punk that landed himself on a pile of gold... pure luck?.. I don't buy it," scuffed Dog.

 

Another man spoke in the room, John Kramer - early 20's but with an attitude of a 70 year old mobster, "They say his presence is so strong, that if you saw him, you'd cry," before inhaling a blunt.

 

"So why don't you cry when you guys are with me?" Danny joked, with a cigar hanging out of his mouth.

 

John joked, "Your presence is about as strong as Fat Dog's wife," and the room went up in complete laughter. Even Fat Dog found it hilarious and began squealing. Danny was the only one that didn't find humor form this. The cater, standing beside Danny chuckled a bit. Bannza snapped his head up and looked at the kid.

 

"F*ck you," Danny said, before drawing a pistol and shooting the cater in the throat. The bullet, going through his neck and out the other side, hitting a painting on the wall - the bottle of vodka falling from his hand before smashing into pieces on the floor. Everyone quickly stopped laughing and were in shock to see the kid gasping for air.

 

"Just shoot him in the god damn head," someone yelled out.

 

Danny stared down at the kid, "I want to let him know that he is dying,"

 

Blood spilled all over the carpet, "It doesn't matter, I thought he was a cop anyway. He's heard too much." Danny called up security, told them to dispose of the body, "In a creative way," he said. The night went on, and the club below pumped with music, as money was thrown onto the stage.

 

Money, green dollar bills. The mafia were behind something greater... something more powerful. 

 

 

 

 

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#52

Posted 10 December 2013 - 02:43 AM

I'm trying to find where i left off so I've gone back a couple of chapters. Won't get all this read tonight but chapter seven; is that a a johnny cash /claude eli reference?

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#53

Posted 10 December 2013 - 03:29 AM

I'm trying to find where i left off so I've gone back a couple of chapters. Won't get all this read tonight but chapter seven; is that a a johnny cash /claude eli reference?

 

Why yes it is. Yes, you might have to go back a few chapters to get the whole concept of this new chapter.


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#54

Posted 08 January 2014 - 08:29 PM Edited by Mokrie Dela, 08 January 2014 - 08:41 PM.

Coat., on 05 Dec 2013 - 05:41 AM, said:

    Part 12
    Machines clinked and clanked over the sound of flipping.

What exactly is the sound of flipping? I think this sentence could be contracted to "Machines clanked" - the rest is superfluous. But then it's just a fragment. I think you could expand on it.

 

Conveyor belts steadily eased the green onto its next stage. A steam presser pressed onto a thin, green illuminated paper and passed it on, flowing like a stream. All moving like clock work. High above these machines and convoys were anchored beams, used as a stairway to oversee the factory.

Placed in the wall were several venting fans the size of a trucks. They slowly turned as rays of light shined through the gaps. Beside these fans in the very top corner of the room was a small office. No doors and no windows - just a desk and a computer. The computers, filled with pop-ups and all sorts of viruses. A greasy hand clicked away as potato chip crumbs spilled all over the keyboard. 


If there's no doors, how is one to get in the room? I assume you mean a doorway, which didn't immediately come to mind.
Also you say "just a desk and computer" - singular. Then you say "computers" - plural. Is there one computer, or many?

 

The computers, filled with pop-ups and all sorts of viruses

Something's missing here, i think. You're saying "The computers>digression>Description. I suspect this should read:
"The computers were filled with pop-ups and all sorts of viruses."
When you say the greasy hand clicked away, I would say "clicked the mouse" but that's a nitpick :p

 

 

"So you can't recall anything from the night before?"
<Why this gap?>

The saggy looking hobo shook his head slowly. People were waking up to a beautiful morning in Salt Lake, except the police force that had to awake <Wake or Awaken> to a murder and a missing person. For James Riggly, this was a pretty normal morning but something was off. Ever since the disappearance of his partner, 'Ramasie' as they called him in the station, everything was different. A missing person’s case was never upsetting to James, not only until it was one of his dearest friends was when it hit home. Riggly had been here since five that morning and with all the intoxicated witnesses, getting anything from them was going to be difficult. A group of homeless men sat around, waiting to be interviewed but it was going to be pointless. Red eyed, slurring f*cks, as Ramasie would say.
With James, were two other joke of police men.


Not sure about this bit. I see a little bit of mixed text here. "Were two other joke of policemen."
I think this should be "were two other jokes of policemen" but then that implies that James is also a joke. "Other" implies addition. As well.
I  would write this as:
"were two jokes of policemen, Officer Grey and Officer Saddle."
or
"were two other men, jokes of policemen, James felt. Officers Grey and Saddle were as incompetent as untrained chimps, though at least chimps could follow basic instructions...."
The latter elaborates on the point (perhaps not how you'd want to, but it's merely an example), and implies some degree of personal disdain from James. The first example's simpler and shorter, however.

 

 

Sitting in the near-by cop car, their arms elbows propped up on the dashboard as they arm wrestled before knocking Grey's pride and joy out of the cup holder and spilling all over the interior - Grey's home batch of hot coffee, black only.

I changed arms to elbows because, unless you're doing so deliberately, I feel you should try not to repeat words. Saying "arms" twice in a short space of time seems a bit... flat. Also Elbows is more specific - the little details, after all, if they're arm wrestling (which would be tricked for one of them!) only their elbows will be on the dashboard. I also find this sentence a little long winded. Consider breaking it up, perhaps? (Also no need for the hyphen in near-by; nearby itself is a valid word)
"Sitting in the nearby police cruiser, their elbows were propped up on the dashboard as they arm-wrestled. Saddle faltered slightly, his arm flinging sideways. His forearm caught Grey's pride and joy; a plastic cup of homemade coffee. It teetered for a moment before toppling over, spilling the black jet-black steaming liquid over the steering wheel."
Again, just what I would do. I also, personally, try to avoid words like "cop". I'm not sure why, i just find them a little too informal. That's just me, though.

 

They were meant to be helping out with this case, but with their attention span shortening by the minute, it was completely impossible. Everything seemed like it wasn't going to work, until he turned around to see a fairly built and big man. His chest stuck out in Officer Riggly's face. James, for a second, watched as the man’s chest expanded and shrunk as he breathed. This 'thing' was ginormous.

I've never actually seen "ginormous" used in a story before! It, to me, seems to fall flat in describing the man. Instead, I might liken him to an ogre, or use one of my favourite words: A Behemoth of a man... Perhaps that'd be too strong!
"turned around to see a fairly built and big man"...
that's very clumsy and awkward in my eyes.
"turned around to see a stocky, well-built man."
Referring to him as a "thing" also doesn't help i don't think. Even if it's James' monologue, it would slightly undermine his character. As a cop, he must have encountered bouncers or bodyguards or gym hounds before. Would such a thing really shock him, or would he simply think: "He's a big guy"?

 

 

"I saw it all," the man said.
James stood back and looked up at the man. He wore a black leather jacket, shaded glasses, was bold and strangely worse sandals.

Bold? or bald?
Wore sandals?

"What was it, that you saw sir?"
I would remove the comma, but then are you trying to show a pause or an adaption in his speech?
"What was it that you saw, sir?"
or
"What was it - that you saw, sir?"
Also there was a discussion in the Writer's room or social club about this - a comma would separate the question with "sir" as he's talking to that man. There is a difference in tone, and the use of the noun is not technically part of the question. Does that make sense, Coat?

 

"If it was them two boys running after the new guy, I was there."

"What boys and what new guy?" asked Riggly.
"They killed poor Travis. He had terminal cancer - he only had another year to live."

Riggly sighed. "Look, sir. You aren't making any sense. I am totally oblivious to what happened."[/quote]
Riggly's starting to sound a bit incompetent. From what the guy's said, there were two boys, running after a new guy, and they killed travis. Any cop would take this as a starting point and build on it. Okay, who is this new guy, and who are these two kids. Also who's Travis. They're all leads. The cop sounds stupid in this statement, which i'm sure is not your intention. I also doubt he'd say "I'm oblivious", as i don't feel that's the right word. Obviously he doesn't know what happened, or else he wouldn't be talking to the guy. Saying oblivious - to me, at least - implies someone was present and took no notice.

 

The man pointed into a certain direction. "Travis, he was murdered over there. That was his name. They killed him because they were two smug kids looking for trouble. We had some gambling going on over here with about fifty people. There was this new guy, George. These two punk-ass kids wandered their dumb-asses over here and started some trouble. They were looking for George. He was probably in debt. George's friend grabbed one of the boys while the other was pulled away by a few other guys. Things turned ugly, and I saw the boys escape - chasing George."

Riggly wrote this down on a small paper pad, "Then what happened?"
"George's friend left and the two boys and George ran in that direction," he said, as he turned around and pointed towards the maze of pillars. The underpass was a complex place. The highway running over it, an aisle of storm water drains surrounding this 'island' type in the middle where the homeless would meet. Around the outside was a wired fence. The drain that flowed around the outside of the 'island' would meet up in the middle, running underground. This, leaving a clear gap out over into the Bronx of the city. Everything past the 'island' were pillars - mazes of them.

That last bit was confusing. OR at least I felt confused. I'm picturing your typical flood-control & Highway overpass. I think there's simply too much information here. Also, I think you've muddled up tenses a little bit.
Up until now, you've been using past tense: "Riggly sighed" "The man pointed"... In this description, you begin saying "The highway running over it, an aisle of storm water drains surrounding..." Seems to me that it'd read better if it was "The highway ran over it, an aisle of storm-water drains surrounding the 'island'. Makes a bit more sense to me. Also, "this 'island' type"....  I've read a lot of your stuff, poems and stories, and you're better than that. It seems uncharacteristaclly lazy and lacking imagination. "This thing type thing..."
This whole bit of description is too bland for me. Perhaps employ some personification or something. Instead of saying "island type thing", you can come up with something more interesting.
"The highway flew overhead, roaring with the daytime traffic. Below, the storm-drain split, marooning a slap of concrete between two streams of dirty water. A maze of pillars, holding up the various ramps and flyovers stood in the background. James looked in that direction, wondering what, if any, secrets they held."

Just a suggestion. Read it through yourself and see what you think.

 

Grey climbed out of the police car and clumsily whipped the coffee stains from his shirt. Grey wasn't much taller than James, but slouched. His ginger puffy hair and frizzy moustache covered the grin he always would hide.
Riggly then shook the taller witnesses hand and then asked him another question, "Can you please give me a description of the people you saw?"

The giant spoke, "One of the brothers was about 5 foot six. The other was a little shorter.. both dressed in black. George, he wore dark black pants and a flannelette jacket... he has a short beard, more of a goatee," he had to think a bit more, "George's friend, he was about my size and all I remember from him was his nose piercing. It was like a bull piercing through his nose - ugly looking thing..." his voice lowered.
"And why weren't you intoxicated, sir?"

This seems a very odd question to me. It'd be like a cop, saying to a murder witness: "Why didn't you kill anyone." Am i misunderstanding it? Also, how does this giant know they men were brothers? Were they twins, and looked alike? If so, would he not say that to the cop?

 

 

OK i simply can not post the rest. I spent f*cking ages going through that, but there's a limit on the amount of quotes i can put in, and it simply wont let me post again. I'll save the rest as a .TXT and add it bit by bit later.

How lame.


Coat.
  • Coat.

    god bless the dead

  • The Connection
  • Joined: 21 May 2012
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#55

Posted 14 February 2014 - 09:21 PM Edited by Coat., 14 February 2014 - 09:22 PM.

OK i simply can not post the rest. I spent f*cking ages going through that, but there's a limit on the amount of quotes i can put in, and it simply wont let me post again. I'll save the rest as a .TXT and add it bit by bit later.

How lame.


Morkie, could you upload the rest please?




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