A short story I wrote for a class. All in all, about two hours of work. If you can get through it, I'd like to know how you think it is. It seemed that the hurricane was coming straight towards the city. Millions of citizens had already evacuated, and by this point, there was no gas in Houston, or the surrounding area. It would have been foolish to flee now. Just about every business and home was closed up tight, waiting for the impact. Even the gates of Glenwood cemetery, across the street, were held closed by so many chains, that from my distance, it seemed like a large metal ball lay imbedded between the gates. Clouds rolled in off of the horizon, with the wind in front of them, and the darkness behind them. I stood on the second floor balcony, looking down at the empty street below. Wind ripped through the trees in the cemetery, across the street, and sent debris flying over the ground, yet, I was confident that the storm would pass right over us. Just then, I heard the faint sound of a police siren. I turned my head, and caught a glimpse of a single squad car chasing a red van down the street. Both cars were far away, but they were quickly coming towards me. When they were about 2 blocks away from my building, the van had a blowout and began to skid off the road. At that moment, the wind seemed to pick up as if the storm wanted to help the officers. A strong gust hit the van in just a way to flip it over, sending it end over end along the side of the road. It came to rest on the brick wall surrounding the cemetery, not too far away from the main gate. The cop car had tried to slam on the breaks, but the ground was wet. It was following so close behind the van that it ended up skidding right into the red heap after it wrecked. Both cars were in miserable shape, and so were the drivers, I imagined. Surprisingly, people started to emerge from the van only moments after both cars came to a stop. Darkly dressed men; four of them. Two of them were carrying pistols, and the other two had shotguns. The tallest one in the group was also holding a briefcase. That must be what the fuss is all about. The four of them swarmed the cop car and opened fire on the cab. It seemed that every bit of glass on the vehicle was turned into tiny shards, which fell to the street and were taken away by the wind. As I watched the shimmering pieces of glass sail down the street, I realized that if anyone in the police cruiser survived the wreck, surely they were gone now. The men’s attention quickly turned to each other. They began yelling and waving their arms around. The man with the briefcase was pointing at one of the others, then he pointed to the cop car. I couldn’t hear a word any one of them was saying. The wind had picked up since I first stepped out onto the balcony to get away from my parents. They were inside, squabbling about some inane thing, and I had to get away from them. The rustling of the trees and the howling of the wind were the only sounds in my ears, so they probably didn’t even hear the hideous sound of the wreck. The storm was closer, the sky, darker. Rain began to fall, as if the heavens were weeping for the slain officers. I could clearly see the two of them in the front seat. The missing windshield gave me a lucid view of their twisted, bloody forms. I turned my attention towards the four men, who were now tucking their weapons into their long, black coats. Most likely to shield them from the rain. They began climbing over the brick wall into the cemetery. Two of them made it over, and as the other two mounted the wall, a gun shot rang out. It was a sharp crack, which effortlessly cut through the sound of the wind. One of the men fell from the wall, and landed in a heap on the sidewalk below. The rain wasn’t yet coming down hard enough, so a pool of blood quickly spread out around him. He was dead. The man remaining on the wall was the one with the briefcase. He quickly drew his pistol and pointed it toward the ruined cruiser. That’s when I noticed that one of the officers wasn’t dead. He had his sidearm in his hand, but before he could get off another shot, the man with the briefcase put a bullet in his head. I tried to turn away, but still caught a glimpse of the carnage. When I looked back up, the man with the briefcase was looking square at me. We both stood frozen, fixated on one another. A few seconds later, he raised his pistol toward me, and fired two shots. I think it was two shots. I dove down and hid myself. A moment later, I gained the courage to look back out and see if he was still there. He wasn’t. He must have scaled back up the wall and entered the cemetery to talk to his two remaining comrades. I started to breathe again. Maybe it was the brutality that I just witnessed, maybe it was the storm, maybe it was my curiosity about that briefcase, or maybe it was the fact that I was shot at. But I couldn’t, and I wouldn’t, let those assholes get away with what they’d done. I had to do something. I had to go after them. Without thinking, I leapt from the balcony and landed on the sidewalk below. I ran across the street to the two cars, and glanced inside of the cruiser. The dashboard seemed to be inside both of the uniformed men. Their lower body had to have been completely crushed. I circled around to the passenger side, and tried not to look as I pried the gun from the bloody hand of the officer with the shot-off face. I stuck the firearm into the front of my pants. Just a few feet away, on the sidewalk, lay the dead criminal. The rain was coming down harder now, and it had cleansed the concrete of his blood. He had a shotgun inside of his coat, so I took it. He certainly wouldn’t be needing it. I decided it would be a bad idea to climb up the wall where the men dressed in black had done it. For all I knew, they could still be right there on the other side. Shotgun in hand, I ran down the length of the wall towards the gate. I fought the wind to get there. Maybe the storm would come closer to Houston than I thought it would. The gate was a large, wrought iron extension of the brick wall. I stuck my head around the side and peered though the tall, vertical bars, but I kept my body shielded by the brick. The three remaining men had made it into the interior of the cemetery. It was dark and they were wearing black, so I could barely see them. I quickly scrambled under the gate. There was just enough room for me to slide between the bars and the wet street. I ran forward and took cover behind a tree. I glanced around and viewed the three of them from a close distance. They were all kneeling down in a semicircle with the open briefcase between them. They look like they were talking, but I couldn’t hear any of their voices. I couldn’t tell what was inside the briefcase either, but they didn’t seem to care that it was getting wet. Rain was pouring down in terrible sheets now. I looked up, and through the branches of the tree I saw the sky. It was blacker than any other sky I’d seen in my life. Cool drops of water dripped from the braches into my eyes and mouth. As I wiped my face off, I had a moment of clarity. What the hell was I doing? Oh well, no time to think about it now. I leapt out from behind the tree, pulled the trigger and heard the enormous blast of my shotgun. I then ducked back behind the tree. I heard cursing and sloshing through the wet ground, they all went in different directions. I figured that I hit one of them when I singled out the sound of slow, irregular steps. They were still in chaos, not knowing what exactly had happened, so I took advantage of it. I spun around with the pistol of the dead officer and fired twice at the only man in black I could see. He slumped to the ground and with a loud thud, he planted his face into the side of a grave stone before coming to rest on the ground. I stood in the open and stared at his body for a moment before seeing the shimmer of a silver briefcase in the corner of my eye. The tall one had come out of hiding, pistol in one hand, briefcase in the other; and he remembered me. His gun raised up just as I staggered back behind a large headstone which was even taller than he was. A bullet struck my cover and I heard stone above me break and pieces of it flew past my head. I was pinned down. I sat there, on the wet ground with my back against the headstone for what seemed like an eternity. I could hear no sounds, other than the rain slapping against the ground, and the rustling of the trees. I didn’t even hear footsteps. As I stared straight ahead, I noticed how nice the cemetery looked in the rain. Behind me, though, was destruction. Death was looming right behind my shoulder, and with one misstep, I’d be split in two by his mighty scythe. I had the shotgun in my left hand, and the pistol in my right. I’d have better accuracy if I used only one. After a few moments of thought, I made my choice and tossed the pistol into the sopping wet grass. Sorry officer. I stood up and turned around with the shotgun in both hands. My best chance would be to keep moving, so I spotted another large headstone and began running. The two of them stood together and shot at me. Their aim was bad. Not only because of the poor visibility in the rain and darkness, but they were both still reeling from the car wreck. I dove behind the new headstone content with the fact that they were standing so close together. The second their volley of gunfire stopped, I whipped out from behind my cover and emptied the shotgun in their direction. I don’t remember how many shots I fired, or how fast they went down. All I remember is that by the time I realized my gun was empty, they were both in a heap on the ground. I dropped the heavy firearm, which made a splash on the saturated ground, and slowly walked towards them. The wind ripped at their coats, which for a moment made me think that they would rise up to their feet. But they didn’t. I stared at their lifeless bodies for what could have been seconds, or could have been hours. All I remember doing is the only thing that occurred to me at that moment. I picked up the briefcase with my right hand, and went home.
Obviously its a short story, so you really want to cut things down to what is necessary. You say alot of things like "It was just," "...seemed like," "...so close," etc. You should cut out words like just, so, like, etc. Unless you're having dialogue just say what is happening, not what is "seeming" to happen. "The hurricane was forecast to hit Houston," is a much stronger sentence than "It seemed the hurricane would hit." One is concrete, the other is wishy-washy and vague, though they both convey the exact same information. Don't say things like "surpisingly, the people did this..." Let the situation show that what happened was surprising. Following that, you don't have to tell everyone what the narrarator is thinking, let his actions do that. "Show don't tell," as the cliche goes. Avoid "average" imagery. "Rustling of trees and howling wind" are 2 incredibly (by now) plain images. Lifeless bodies and volley of gunfire are two more I just read. If you've heard it on CNN it probably isn't going to be good writing. Tense: You need to remain in one tense at a time in a paragraph. You do this alot, but switching from past to present to past in consecutive sentances breaks up the scene, and takes away from any tension you've built. It's also grammatically wrong. Dialogue: When people interact there is usually some sort of dialogue, even if just one word. You don't have any dialogue, so the characters do not appear to be real. Narration: You need to choose 3rd person omniscent (how the story begins) or stick with your 1st person. Switching back and forth is poor writing. Not trying to rip it apart by any means, but it will help you become a better writer.
Thanks for the tips. I kind of rushed through this, so I didn't really proofread it. Switching between tenses is a probelm I have. This whole thing is supposed to be an inner monologue, so I decided against putting in any diologue, whether that's a good decision or not, I don't know. You said to avoid average imagery, like "Rustling of trees and howling wind." How would you create compelling imagery? Would you go more in depth and use a sentence or two, or would you just choose different words?
Don't avoid imagery; avoid common and over-used imagery I can't say what what picture you're trying to paint, but do it in an original way. Maybe the leaves were "vibrating" instead of rustling, and the wind was "shouting." This makes it fresher and more realistic to the reader because it is being shown in a new way. I think the story could be very good, so I hope you don't think I'm putting it down or anything like that.
Ok that makes sense. Don't worry, I can take constructive criticism. Plus, I'm not very offended, because 90% of my writing has been research and technical papers, I don't have too much experience crafting a scene or a cohesive story. Thanks for the help.
Wow. I am by no means a writer (it's a miracle I can form a coherent post on this website) but I must say that your story was really, really, really good. I've been through my share of hurricanes and your description is dead-on. Your use of description floored me, and as I read this, I could see it all so clearly in my mind, it was as if it was a scene from a movie.
