Short story help

[lleewwiiss]

I am not that great at english, so i need some advice on my how to improve my story. The theme was Shape, and one of the stimulus was water and how it can take many shapes - so i based it on a tsunami. This story is just shy of the word length.

White Horseman
The grey clouds laid dormant on the horizon, as the sun grilled the tropical coastline. It was unusual for there to be a sunny day so late in Indonesia’s meticulous monsoon season. Eager and with haste tourist and locals alike flocked to the beach to make use of the exceptional weather. The coastline eloquently displayed in the summer sun, looked pristine, with the hotels neighbouring the beach curving round the long stretch of sand towards the headland. It would be hard to tell that Indonesia was poverty stricken this time of year.

Yip, a young, dirty coloured local, was not unknown to the beach – a local surfing guru. He was renowned to catch the biggest and best waves, and was respected by all the surfers. Deep out in no-man’s water, Yip sat on his makeshift bamboo surfboard waiting for a wave. Rolls of water pushed to the shore, many the average surfers would be happy to catch, but today Yip could feel a particular wave was to come. In melancholy, Yip sat for hours on his board, apathetic of the harsh sun or the imminent storm; juxtaposing wave after wave, waiting for the perfect one – this ill-affection made him hunger more.

Hours had passed, tourists now lazing back in their respective hotels. Though Yip stayed out, he waited for what he knew was to come. Catching a wave every so often to fill his ever-encompassing lust for perfection; a green silhouette, so graceful and grafted it would put Anna Pavlova to shame. There was no archetype for the perfect wave, as water is unbecoming and surreptitious, it can take many forms; it was this rarity of perfection which kept Yip intrigued. Yip knew all too personally the emancipation of riding in a cylindrical tube of water; even if it were for a few short seconds, these short seconds manifested into a feeling unachievable anywhere else.

Then, a rumble came; and not from Yip’s hungering stomach. Out over the horizon something was forming; the ocean slipped away into the skyline leaving only a few inches.
“This is it.”
Paddling furiously, Yip head towards the wave which was no longer a glimmer in the distance but approaching swiftly. Another rumble came, this time from Yip’s chest; adrenaline subdued his body. The wave was now in sight, a battalion of white-water, like a medieval brigade of white horseman, the wave, three or more stories high, trampled towards him. A wave of this magnitude would quite literally obliterate anything that opposed it, even the staunchness holiday makers residing by the pools on this tragic day. Yip had to decide; ride the beast, or run.

Now, at the edge of the ocean Yip knew, this was it, eyes closed, he paddled towards the beach; anticipating the imminent stampede. With a clap like thunder, the wave picked Yip up like a leaf in a gale force wind; with a speed unknown to the common man. Yip was now heading head-first into the shore. The adrenaline was gone, and replaced with fear; Yip was confronted with the daunting task of dodging the incoming hotels. Swerving left and right, Yip examined the blur of objects flying past him; children, tourists, buildings, cars, all now engrossed in a wall of water, wrecked in Mother Nature’s wrath.

As the wave subsided up the tropical mountain side, Yip still in shock, stopped and looked back down to the town; there was nothing.

Thanks for reading, and any help would be appreciated :)

[hillwalker]

I’ll restrict myself to repairing the grammar and replacing badly chosen words with what I’m assuming was intended.

I’m not suggesting my version is the best, or the final one you should stick with, but it will give you a better starting point.



White Horseman

The grey clouds laid [lay] dormant on the horizon, as the sun grilled the tropical coastline. It was unusual for there to be a sunny day so late in Indonesia’s meticulous [the wrong adjective - I don't think you need one here anyway] monsoon season. Eager and with haste [Eagerly] tourist [the tourists] and locals alike flocked to the beach to make use [take advantage] of the exceptional weather. The coastline eloquently [definitely the wrong adverb - again there's none needed here] displayed in the summer sun, looked pristine, with the hotels neighbouring the beach curving round the long stretch of sand towards the headland. It would be hard to tell that Indonesia was poverty stricken this time of year.

Yip, a young, dirty coloured local, was not unknown to [was no stranger to] the beach – a local surfing guru. He was renowned to catch [for catching] the biggest and best waves, and was respected by all the surfers. Deep out in no-man’s water, Yip sat on his makeshift bamboo surfboard waiting for a wave. Rolls of water pushed to [against] the shore, many the average surfers would be happy to catch, but today Yip could feel a particular wave was to come [soon to arrive]. In melancholy, [not quite the right word? - In low spirits?] Yip sat for hours on his board, apathetic of [indifferent to] the harsh sun or the imminent storm; juxtaposing wave after wave, waiting for the perfect one – this ill-affection [feeling of melancholy] made him hunger more.

Hours had passed, tourists now lazing back in their respective hotels. Though [However,] Yip stayed out, he waited for what he knew was to come. Catching a wave every so often to fill his ever-encompassing [increasing] lust for perfection; a green silhouette, so graceful and grafted it would put Anna Pavlova to shame. There was no archetype for the perfect wave, as water is unbecoming and surreptitious, [??? doesn't make much sense - deceitful and underhand might be better] it can take many forms; it was this rarity of perfection which kept Yip intrigued. Yip knew all too personally the emancipation [freedom or thrill] of riding in a cylindrical tube of water; even if it were for a few short seconds, these short seconds manifested into a feeling unachievable anywhere else.

Then, a rumble came; and not from Yip’s hungering stomach. Out over the horizon something was forming; the ocean slipped away into the skyline leaving only a few inches.
“This is it.”
Paddling furiously, Yip head towards the wave which was no longer a glimmer in the distance but approaching swiftly. Another rumble came, this time from Yip’s chest; adrenaline subdued [adrenaline would have the opposite effect! - electrified ?] his body. The wave was now in sight, a battalion of white-water, like a medieval brigade of white horseman, the wave, three or more stories [storeys] high, trampled [charged] towards him. A wave of this magnitude would quite literally obliterate anything that opposed it, even the staunchness [most steadfast?] holiday makers residing by the pools on this tragic day [until now there's no mention of any tragedy - so this is rather confusing]. Yip had to decide; ride the beast, or run.

Now, at the edge of the ocean Yip knew, this was it, eyes closed, he paddled towards the beach; anticipating the imminent stampede. With a clap like thunder, the wave picked Yip up like a leaf in a gale force wind; with a speed unknown to the common man [beyond normal experience?]. Yip was now heading head-first into the shore. The adrenaline was gone, and replaced with fear; Yip was confronted with the daunting task of dodging the incoming hotels. Swerving left and right, Yip examined the blur of objects flying past him; children, tourists, buildings, cars, all now engrossed in [overwhelmed by] a wall of water, wrecked in Mother Nature’s wrath.

As the wave subsided up [washed up against] the tropical mountain side, Yip still in shock, stopped and looked back down to the town; there was nothing.

If you intend referring to the tragedy of the actual tsunami you need to bring it to the reader's attention rather more subtley.

And although I enjoyed reading it, I didn't believe the story actually happened for one second. :-)

Best wishes

H

[libernaut]

I really like this :)
Good story

[lleewwiiss]

Updated version of the story, i think this is better.
The grey clouds lay dormant on the horizon, as the sun grilled the tropical coastline. It was unusual for there to be a sunny day so late in Indonesia’s monsoon season. Eagerly the tourists and locals alike flocked to the beach to take advantage of the exceptional weather. The coastline displayed in the summer sun, looked pristine, with the hotels neighbouring the beach curving round the long stretch of sand towards the headland. It would be hard to tell that Indonesia was poverty stricken this time of year.

Yip, a young, dirty coloured local, was no stranger to the beach – a local surfing guru. He was renowned for catching the biggest and best waves, and was respected by all the surfers. Deep out in no-man’s water, Yip sat on his makeshift bamboo surfboard waiting for a wave. Rolls of water pushed against the shore, many the average surfers would be happy to catch, but today Yip could feel a particular wave was soon to arrive. In low spirits, Yip sat for hours on his board, indifferent to the harsh sun or the imminent storm; juxtaposing wave after wave, waiting for the perfect one – this feeling of melancholy made him hunger more.

Hours had passed, tourists now lazing back in their respective hotels. However, Yip stayed out, he waited for what he knew was to come. Catching a wave every so often to fill his increasing lust for perfection; a green silhouette, so graceful and grafted it would put Anna Pavlova to shame. There was no archetype for the perfect wave, as water is unbecoming and surreptitious, it can take many forms; it was this rarity of perfection which kept Yip intrigued. Yip knew all too personally the thrill of riding in a cylindrical tube of water; even if it were for a few short seconds, these short seconds manifested into a feeling unachievable anywhere else.

Then, a rumble came; and not from Yip’s hungering stomach. Out over the horizon something was forming; the ocean slipped away into the skyline leaving only a few inches.
“This is it.”
Paddling furiously, Yip head towards the wave which was no longer a glimmer in the distance but approaching swiftly. Another rumble came, this time from Yip’s chest; adrenaline electrified his body. The wave was now in sight, a majestic curve of aqua water gleaming in the withering sun; Yip rubbed his eyes in astonishment – this was what he had been waiting for. Now, at the edge of the ocean Yip knew, this was it, eyes closed, he paddled towards the beach.

Dancing across the waves curling face, Yip was engrossed in a state of euphoria. But the weather turned around, and as the rain and lightning came crashing down, so did the wave. Now a battalion of white-water, like a medieval brigade of white horseman, the wave, three or more storeys high, charged onwards. A wave of this magnitude would quite literally obliterate anything that opposed it, including the steadfast holiday makers, and locals relishing in the last of the day’s sun.

Yip was now heading head-first into the shore. The adrenaline was gone, and replaced with fear; Yip was confronted with the daunting task of dodging the incoming hotels. Swerving left and right, Yip examined the blur of objects flying past him; children, tourists, buildings, cars, all now overwhelmed by a wall of water, wrecked in Mother Nature’s wrath.

As the wave washed up against the tropical mountain side, Yip still in shock, stopped and looked back down to the town; there was nothing.