trippy star
11-27-2007, 01:20 AM
This is my first attempt at writing a short story, and before I get too embroiled and attached to the piece I'd love some criticism on the first bit, which introduces the first character. Thanks.
“Breaking news” the loudspeaker cried.
At the same time a rather dejected looking young man, bumping and bashing his way through an indifferent crowd, looked upon the corresponding television screen with relish; his hidden eyes shone with lustrous delight. But nobody saw.
“Breaking news!” repeated the speaker, “a Bible of the streets, a Good Book of the roads has been violated! A street sign has been horribly defaced this afternoon.”
The young man, whom we may now notice to be fairly tall, dark haired, slouched over and hidden-eyed, laughed a sardonic laugh. The other mall-goers shot him sideways glares: such a travesty was in no way funny.
Walking on, our young fellow flashed a smile to the hypocrites. “A young man has been shot today” the now distant television spat, “police are investigating, but they seem to be lately incapable of deterring the waves of violence and crime sweeping the cities slums”. The bored tone of the television incensed the young man, and he stalked towards the mall’s exit, indifferently bumping and bashing his way through a no longer indifferent crowd.
The air was cooling every day now, and the trees had just begun to turn. The crisp autumn afternoon was bright with unadulterated sunshine as our young man marched about, and the leaves and bushes rustled as the faint wind whispered its mournful melody. He felt uncomfortable in the shadow of the shopping centre; however, that was where he lived. Spotting his home – for it was a home, and not very much a house- our good fellow quickened his pace. On the way in the mail box was visited, and one letter was retrieved. “Taxes”, fumed the young man as he faded into the doorway of his habitat.
“Breaking news” the loudspeaker cried.
At the same time a rather dejected looking young man, bumping and bashing his way through an indifferent crowd, looked upon the corresponding television screen with relish; his hidden eyes shone with lustrous delight. But nobody saw.
“Breaking news!” repeated the speaker, “a Bible of the streets, a Good Book of the roads has been violated! A street sign has been horribly defaced this afternoon.”
The young man, whom we may now notice to be fairly tall, dark haired, slouched over and hidden-eyed, laughed a sardonic laugh. The other mall-goers shot him sideways glares: such a travesty was in no way funny.
Walking on, our young fellow flashed a smile to the hypocrites. “A young man has been shot today” the now distant television spat, “police are investigating, but they seem to be lately incapable of deterring the waves of violence and crime sweeping the cities slums”. The bored tone of the television incensed the young man, and he stalked towards the mall’s exit, indifferently bumping and bashing his way through a no longer indifferent crowd.
The air was cooling every day now, and the trees had just begun to turn. The crisp autumn afternoon was bright with unadulterated sunshine as our young man marched about, and the leaves and bushes rustled as the faint wind whispered its mournful melody. He felt uncomfortable in the shadow of the shopping centre; however, that was where he lived. Spotting his home – for it was a home, and not very much a house- our good fellow quickened his pace. On the way in the mail box was visited, and one letter was retrieved. “Taxes”, fumed the young man as he faded into the doorway of his habitat.