I think you have really captured the spirit of the workshop (as I understood it). I enjoyed the idea that we're all mad, or descend into a kind of insanity eventually. You portray the world as a gritty, depressing place and I salute you for including sex/violence/decay in your story (I couldn't do it ) I think my favourite element is the resignation of the main character, who cannot escape his reality...or has lost all hope of escaping it.

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"Sometimes I wake up grumpy; other times I let him sleep"

"Cat's motto: No matter what you've done wrong, always try to make it look like the dog did it."

*TheWritersMeow[link] A FANTASTIC club for writers

Thank you for your kind words ^.^ I'm glad you found the piece effective. The city seemed very familiar to me as I wrote it, almost 1984-ish with the proletariat society.

Thanks for reading.

The intro was absolutely well-paced and the repetition of words really captured the mood. The suddenness of the conflict, though it seems absurd, seems to go with the naturalist theme. Overall, nice job.

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ocd

Who doesn't love a good commission?

I agree completely about the impractical attack of the protagonist, but I didn't really have the time or the energy to develop it more. I suppose it also has to do with the quick snapping insanity that the place enforces.

Thanks for the read.

I take it you're a fan of sin city?
Fantastic description, word-wise of the urban degredation, but, I'd work on the punctuation. Before any drama or tension you have complete freedom to undulate with sentence length and punctuation to really draw somebody in. I think, particularly in the first half, that the semi-colon could be your best friend.

"chipped at places, burnt at others; half the buldings weren't even finished, or at best falling apart." - As an example.

This wins as a story, it's pointed and focussed but I might be missing something in terms of consistency. The opening line..."less than perfect" just grates when the narrator's disdain for the city grows more apparent...How does less then perfect line up with the utter misanthropy of going to a bar just in case something interesting happens. this especially irks me with the last line, being so upset about a new day. That's proper depression, but the opening is too optimistic.

Another thing, and a niggle it may be, is the description-as-suffix thing you have going on. It reads kind of like a depressing indie movie...You introduce a character, and then their character quirk, then move on. Only with downbeat descriptions rather than people.

"The sky was a dark, dark gray, and the streets were never lit by sunlight or streetlight. Electricity was rare." - Cut the last sentence. It's obvious, unnecessary information and flows better without it.

"He tended not to think about these things too much. Thinking got you nowhere, just deeper in your head, and that is a terribly scary place to be." - it is a scary place, definately in this sort of environment, but there's no need to focus on it so much.

"People can share in pain easily enough, but it takes something special to laugh. And there was nothing special in this place." - true, and relateable to the piece, but you've done enough work up to this point to make it clear there's nothing special, be braver, there's no reinforcement needed. Kudos, btw, for starting a sentence with 'And'.

I think that sums up my gripes. I did enjoy reading it, as much as one can enjoy such downtrodden thoughts, but just the writing could be improved so much by some polish. Even if it's your voice that's speaking, don't say anything the listener can figure out on their own.

thanks for writing this.






Even he knew the city was less than perfect, and he had never known anything else. The streets were cracked underfoot; the walls were chipped at places, burnt at others. Half of the buildings weren’t even finished; the others were falling apart. The sky was a dark, dark gray, and the streets were never lit by sunlight or streetlight. Electricity was rare.

He walked the streets alone most of the time. He wasn’t sure why he walked. Maybe it was the restlessness inside of him that drove him to movement. Maybe it was the insanity that dogged everyone that lived in this place, and he was trying to stay somewhat in front of it, if only inches. He tended not to think about these things too much. Thinking got you nowhere, just deeper in your head, and that is a terribly scary place to be.

He heard a crunch, felt a sharp pain in his foot. He looked down and saw the broken bottle, saw the blood leaking out onto the concrete, darkening it to an even more depressing gray.

“Damn,” he stated, unaffected. He pulled the glass out and kept walking, a little more tenderly, but pain was something that everyone was used to .

He heard the laughter of children, mocking him. It was grotesque and out of place to him, a sharp and stinging in his ear; the sound died immediately, thumped into walls and fell like soggy leaves to the ground. Laughter was more painful than tears here. People can share in pain easily enough, but it takes something special to laugh. And there was nothing special in this place.

He decided to stop by the bar. Get together enough mindless people and something is bound to happen, whether it be exciting or not.

Drinks were basically free in the place. Everyone owed the owner some sort of a favor, but no one ever actually paid up. People never asked how the owner did it. They preferred not to know the answer.

He picked up a beer – it tasted like sewer water, but it was functional – and stood in a corner with his back against the wall. He thought nothing, and watched nothing.

He had gone through three beers when a man, drunker than the rest, sauntered up to him with a slow, ungainly stumble. “I know you,” he said. “You’re the walker.”

He clicked back into consciousness. “What?”

“You’re the walker,” he repeated.

“Is that so?”

“Yup. You have a hot mama, you know. I banged her the other night. Delicious.”

He let the crack go, though not easily.

The drunk man continued. “You think I’m kidding, eh? Go ask her yourself. She needed to get laid, ever since your daddy died.”

Something akin to a growl echoed from his throat. Men, women, even children knew that honor was all that you had in this city. His mind hunkered down inside his skull, and he let instinct click into its place. He became aware of his nails, of his teeth, of the anticipatory twitching of his muscles.

The drunk was unaware of these things; he taunted him mercilessly. “Your daddy’s dead. Just thought I’d remind you, in case you forgot. He’s dead. I’ll tell you one more time. He’s – “

He lashed out violently, striking the man across the skull with his forearm. The force sent the man tumbling off to the side. He swung his arms, trying to stop himself, then fell, his head hitting the floor with the sound of overripe melon. People stared, but no one was going to do anything about it. They would clean it up eventually.

He left. His foot hurt uncontrollably on the way home. His mind was dead and racing simultaneously.

He reached his house, entered with a bang as the door cracked on the cement wall. He grabbed his girlfriend by the arm, dragged her to bedroom, threw her on the bed. He stripped off her clothes and fucked her with abandon, abandoning everything he could. It was still there, though, and he slammed the mattress, the pillow, pounding out every ounce of his energy so he could just sleep, just sleep.

He came inside of her and rolled over onto his back, lying there until he drifted into non-thought yet again. He fell asleep. Every new day began with sleep. He needed a new day; he dreaded a new day.

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Danny 101: Less of a cautionary tale, more of a fucking fairytale.
Read this. For all our sakes

I've actually never seen sin city. Perhaps I should, if it's anything like my writing. Mwahaha... just kidding, by the way. My arrogance does not extend that far.

Thank you for your advice. I posted this with full knowledge that it was unpolished, but I shall return to it with your advice and do a little cleaning up.

Thanks for reading.

I don't really know the project, but the animalistic bit came through really well.
the end's a little sudden, which may well be the point. the whole thing is choppy and uneven.
it's perfect.

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~g

There is no such thing as perfect. Except Nutella.

Thanks for reading. ^^

it's true! nutella is the shit!

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~g