This is the newest part of the novel I'm currently working on...reading is greatly appreciated, and feedback would be lovely as well. A bus rushed by on the street outside, surging through the toxic sludge puddles loitering in the gutters. It surged up over the sidewalk, some of it becoming so bold as to seep underneath the coffee shop door. But the floor had a bolder angle, and sent the slush pouring back into the streets. And as it receded, a very tall young man trudged into the shop. He wore dirty, white, battered sports sneakers, formerly some pseudo-athlete's pride and joy. The water they had suffered in soaked him up to his knees. Directly behind him entered a slightly younger looking woman. Bleeding mascara encircled her bottom eyelids like a disease. For a moment, she stared at the Vestal Virgin seated at the crumb-littered table nearby, with sick, bulging eyes. Then she turned her animosity back on the man she'd followed in. His eyes flicked about, red and panicked. He too met the Vestal's confused gaze. He rushed to her dirty table almost immidiately. Grabbing the table on a spot where a blob of something sticky happened to lie, he spoke. "Have any money? I need money." He was completely calm. HIs voice was calm, slow. Sweet and low. But she didn't believe in its tranquility. She knew his karma was perturbed, and knew that it was the bug-eyed woman who was molesting it. "Who the fuck are you?" the Vestal asked her. Blatantly pleased by her alarm, the Demoness looped her arm into the man's. He looked back to her, then pulled his hands free of the table's putrid stickiness. Promptly, he passed out. The Demoness just grinned widely, letting go of his arm just in time to watch him fall. The Vestal leapt to her feet, rocking the table. She spun around to guage the shop's collective reaction. Almost nothing. Some looked on in mild curiousity, but just for a moment. "Good for him," one said. "He's only fucking himself over," another added, then continued to nurse a crippling caffiene habit. One last look at the smiling Demoness, and she knelt to the man. She unzipped his jacket at the throat, touched his forehead lightly. He reached out, far, far, far, and took a tentative grasp on his own conciousness. "I...I guess I shouldn't have listened to her," he told the Vestal. "It's fine," she replied. "Let's leave." She held his arm firmly as he stood. The Demoness was already charming the man in the corner who'd emptied six coffee cups. The Vestal rushed her ward outside before the harlot changed her mind. Grateful she'd decided to park on the street beside a meter instead of a more distant lot, she helped him into the passenger seat of her car. The cold air tightened his grip on reality. "Where are we going?" "The shore." "I hate the shore." But he leaned against the cold glass window and conceded.
This is very intriguing and has a gritty feel to it that seems artful and genuine. You have a personal style that really comes through -- by that, I mean you don't seem like just another generic writer. I have a question. Take this line from your piece: It surged up over the sidewalk, some of it become so bold as to seep underneath the coffee shop door. But the floor had a bolder angle, and send the slush pouring back into the streets. Do you mean to use the word "become" on purpose or for artistic intent? because normally, you would use the word "becoming" here. Also, shouldn't you say ...and SENDING the sluch pouring ... See what I mean? www.starcopywriter.com www.ironghost.wordpress.com Great job, though! I'll be watching for more of your writing!
I like your imagry (spelled right? spelling isn't my strongpoint)...the character and scene are easy to picture. Good luck! Cinnamon
