Hi all,
I don't know if this is the right place to post this and if it isn't, I apologise.
I'm writing a short story, that will later be adapted to a script and short film for a friend of mine. It's based on a minority group in my country. It's the first draft and I realise its not perfect but I'd love to hear what some of your thoughts are on it.
Thank you.
"The ideal place for a brewing of thoughts, the scorching sun leaving behind its last waves of heat as it prepared to give way to the night. Sweat prickled his skin as he looked over the barren land before him, a few desert plants swaying gently to the warm winds that made their presence. He shivered and turned on his heels only to realise that his time spent pondering alone for many hours were to no avail. Another hour would suffice, yes, but his hunger and anxiety begged to differ. He made his way through town on his way back home. This town he had been through countless times, mainly to visit his uncles. The place was full of people bustling and laughing and getting ready to re-open their shops. People moved to and fro between alleys, occasionally stopping to look at a particular store window. The air was filled with the familiar summer stench; the smell of sweat, burnt food, and dust that covered most areas in town. The smell he grew up with and became accustomed to every time he passed through this part. Small decrepit buildings sat opposite each other and this carried on for as far as he could see. Many of the shops that aligned the streets stood at awkward angles, cracks visible at the corners, usually due to neglect and decay. Older men sat behind small tables selling various items, usually used goods. They would call out to customers and wave and motion towards their stools, hoping to attract a potential buyer. Most of the people just walked past without taking much notice. To the east side of town was where the food market was positioned, and the most lucrative. It was almost always crowded and a smell of spices and rice always filled the air. To the west, items such as clothing and used furniture took up most spaces. Today was especially busy on both sides of the small town. Weekends usually attracted wealthy individuals and tourists, usually families, to this part of the city for a few hours. Sales wouldn’t drastically rise because of this, but it added some life to the place. High rise buildings overlooked this small dirty town, gleaming in their magnificence, formidable only to those that called this town home. He made his way past a butcher’s and then a barbers shop. Both were empty save for the people employed there. Opposite this was a store selling old music tapes. The incongruous setting throughout the streets surprised him almost every time but it never seemed to make a lasting impression. People carried on with their daily routines, shopping, conversing, walking about, and this never seemed to bother any of them. He made his way to the outskirts of town, where the tall buildings were more visible. Here people moved about more elegantly, taking time with their movements, as if time wasn’t an issue. In his town, nothing was wasted, time or otherwise; people lived like they were in a hurry most of the time. Here though, brand names of expensive makes stole your gaze from every angle and people seemed less inclined to stop and talk to one another. They appeared determined and focused. The way they walked, checked their watches, and looked around, many of them hidden under shades; it gave the area a sense of unrivalled organisation and purpose. Something about the atmosphere disturbed him; it felt manufactured, the air he was breathing, the silent people crossing the streets. Nevertheless, it still inspired awe and excitement in him. Animals weren’t to be seen, except for the ones plastered on posters, usually advertising a famous product."