Short Story / January 6, 2003

        Slow jazz drifted lazily through an otherwise quiet room.  The room was dark, a stark contrast to the bright afternoon sun that strove to penetrate the window. A slight breeze ruffled the partially opened curtains, causing a pattern of shadows to swirl on the table beneath it. It was warm, almost uncomfortably so. Some bastard had decided to save a few cents by leaving the air conditioning off.
        He loosened his tie. He could feel the pressure release as the collar peeled itself away from his neck. Perspiration had begun to soak into his shirt. He was irritated. He would have to clean it again. Then starch it. Then iron it. That would take time. He didn’t have a lot of that. He looked at the shadows huddled against the wall. Most were in worst shape than he was. The two women at the end wept softly. They might have been pretty. He couldn’t tell. The makeup had smeared down their faces and their hair was a mess. He moved his glance to the left. The old man looked to have given up. His face was drawn and his eyes followed the man in a stupor. The younger one still had a look of defiance in his eyes. He tried to hide it, but it didnt matter. Soon, nothing would matter.
        Outside the temperature rose. More police cars had joined the two already there. Across the street, onlookers gaped with undisguised curiousity. The officer with the bullhorn was nervous. He kept looking around, kept shifting his feet. He was too young. Two other officers were deep in conversation. They would jabber into their mics, then cock their heads as they listened to the response. It was amusing watching them. The other four had their guns trained on the window. he wondered how long they would stand there. He glanced at his watch. Almost 4 o’clock. This wasn’t going anywhere. He looked back out the window. Nothing had changed. He sighed.
        Suddenly, the phone rang. He looked at his watch. One minute until 4. He wondered if they always were like that. The phone rang again. He picked it up and listened as a voice spewed meaningless drivel. It sounded like the man could keep it up forever. He let the phone slip from his grasp. it hit the desk with a clatter.
        Hello? Hello? Are you still there?
        The voice sounded anxious. He smiled grimly, while he hauled up one of the women. She screamed. She fought against him, crying, pleading, kicking at his shins. The young man moved and he swung the pistol at him, cocking the gun. The young man froze, hands up. The woman had quieted, but as he turned back toward the window, she renewed her struggle. He could hear commotion outside. The officer on the bullhorn blared nonsense commands. Everyone was panicking. He could hear screaming outside. Or was it inside? He hit the woman. Caught her across the mouth. She ceased struggling, tears streaming down her face. He had to drag her to the window. He pushed her in front of him, making sure they could see her. he put the gun to her head.

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malapropist avatar General Stranger

July 24, 2008

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July 15, 2008

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July 05, 2008

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July 03, 2008

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July 02, 2008

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July 02, 2008

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July 02, 2007

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Deanne avatar General Stranger

June 26, 2007

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Deanne reviewed Version 1 - Read 100%% of the Item

“He moved his glance to the left” is a gross case of a lousy action sequence in so tense a tale. He glanced to the left.
Surprize, surprize.
I could find no other fault except maybe where he’s looking at the old man where, in order to use no proper noun, you got into what could be confusing prose.This:”....eyes followed the man in a stupor.”
I think for a moment that it is the usual He of the story, when it is said said  that way.I clear it up with some further reading but why let there be any confusion at all?
Good story, good writing .

Lunsford avatar General Stranger

June 25, 2007

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Lunsford reviewed Version 1 - Read 100%% of the Item

His face was drawn and his eyes followed the man in a stupor . . . I don’t understand this. what man?

Suddenly, the phone rang. He looked at his watch. One minute until 4. He wondered if they always were like that . . . I don’t undersdtand this either.- If who was like what?

You really do have an interesting story here and I like the way in which you’ve organized it, but, unless it’s just a difference in style, I think your sentences are too short and choppy. For instance:
The voice sounded anxious. He smiled grimly, while he hauled up one of the women. She screamed. She fought against him, crying, pleading, kicking at his shins – - – I would suggest something more like – The voice sounded anxious and he smile grimly while hauling up one of the women. She screamed and fought against him, crying, pleading and kicking at his shins.

It may be just a difference in opinions or different styles. I have a tendence to write a lot of run on sentences. But, the story sounds great and was interesting from the beginning. Good work and good luck.

squarehopper avatar General Stranger

June 24, 2007

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squarehopper reviewed Version 1 - Read 100%% of the Item

This is very shallow. It has no real meat to it.  Your character are so paper thin that you can shave with them.  There are no connections that the reader can make to any of your character to even care about the possible outcomes of this piece.  There are no emotions, no conflict,and no inner reflections.  

Even if this piece was to be further developed, it would have to go through a major re-write.  Characters would need to be be fleshed out, given emotions, thoughts that matter, conflicts, and motives.  There are none here.  

This work needs way to much work for even a decent commentary.

The idea is incomplete at best and inconsequetial at worst because of the lack of meat.

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Silic0Ns0uL avatar

Silic0Ns0uL

Age: 26
Loc: Berkeley, CA
Gen: M
Last Login: September 19
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