** Reflection (Part 2)

Shad0r

Ok, so I finished the second part of this story. If you havent read the first part of the story you can find it here.

I'm really interested to hear if people thought
a) it was any good, and
b) did you get what was going to happen at the end, and if yes
c) at what point did you figure it out. (i.e. did the addendum clarify anything for you?)

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Reflection (Part 2)

The lights that hung from the roof tried with little success to brighten the old, worn train station. Darkness was on the brink of falling outside adding to the already almost inescapable gloom that seemed to coat everything here with a film of hopeless dejection. Much like the day's wheather, the commuters here looked miserable. Tom made his way across to the station's news stand, which in the morning was a hive of activity. At this time of day it was more of an obsticle than anything else, prolonging the time it took people to get home as they circumvented it. Not for Tom though. The news stand owner, a dapper little intellegent man of about 70 years of age, while being an incoragible gossip was also probably the closest thing Tom had to a friend. Tom looked forward to his brief daily exchange with the scatty news vendor. Today though it seemed as though the news stand had closed early which was unusual. Mr Grant had joked on more than one occasion that Tom's paper, that was kept aside for him, was the only reason he stayed open as late as he did. Of course Tom realised that this wasn't entirely true as he had seen Mr Grant sell cigarettes and once or twice magazines at this time of day.

Walking all the way around the new stand, Tom noticed that the booth was quite shabby, having been patched up in a number of places with pieces of wooden plank. The whole structure looked like it might collapse at any minute. Priding himself on his skill of observation he was taken aback by how he had not noticed this before. The front shutter was locked shut and the door, although he couldn't see a lock, wouldn't budge. Peering in through a crack in the dilapidated door all he could see was darkness. Cupping his hands around his eyes to shut out any light from outside the booth he waited as his eyes adjusted to the almost total darkness. It seemed bigger inside than it looked from the outside. A feeling of unease washed over him. Over the years he had grown to trust the signs and signals his body or perhaps his unconscious mind gave him. Right now, he noted, his body's 'danger-o-meter' was going off. The hairs on the back of his neck were raised and he could feel the adrenaline enter his bloodstream yet he didn't want to move as his night vision was still getting better and he was gradually able to make out more and more inside.

He couldnt be sure but it kind of looked like the booth was empty, which didn't make sense as he had seen Mr Grant selling the days news from here just this morning. Suddenly a loud bang shocked Tom back into the reality of the train station. The last commuter had just left the train station and a deathly quiet descended inside. Tom moved back towards the door of the booth but as his hand came into contact with the door it swung inwards. Tom took a step back. '
'What the ****' he exclaimed, 'That door was locked a min.....' his voice trailed off as he realised he was talking out loud. He needed to listen. Glancing quickly around to double check no one else was there, he pulled his gun from its holster at the small of his back and shoved it into the finely tailored right hand pocket of his overcoat. Just in case someone walked back into the station. His trigger finger firmly in place as he advanced towards the doorway. As he moved inside he noticed that the booth was nothing but an empty vessel. "It's like a black hole in here" he thought, noticing that although he could see light in the doorway, none seemed able to penetrate the darkness that engulfed him. As he moved back towards the doorway to exit the booth the door started to creek closed. With both hands free, Tom lunged for the rapidly decreasing gap of light ahead.

With a stomach turning crunch he thrust his fingers into the gap just before the door had fully closed. There was no one on the inside of the door and he could see the handle, devoid of the expectant fingers, on the outside. Tom gritting his teeth with determination, pulled on the door with all his might. First he was able to squeeze his foot into the gap and then his hip. Finally his head, shoulders and he was back in the station. The door slammed shut behind him. It was warmer here he noticed. Or perhaps it was just the exersion of escaping. "Escaping! Just what the **** is going on here? First someone's reflection is laughing at me and now a...a...****ing news paper booth tries to take me hostage!", Tom said out loud in disbelief. Feeling imensly uneasy and slightly embarresed he glanced around and hastily made for an exit.

The night's chill swept around him as he stepped outside bringing a momentary cooling relief before he gathered his overcoat more closely around him and made for home. The streets were empty of life save a small scraggy stray dog who wandered along dejectedly in the same direction as Tom. The occasional car drove past leaving a spray of dirty water and noise in its wake. With his head down to better shield himself from the bitterness of this dark, dank Winter night Tom pushed onwards until he came to a T-junction. Looking up he realised that he must have missed his turn as he was now further away from his house than he had been when he left the train station. A whimper and tug on the leg of his pants prompted him to observe that the little brown dog was at his feet. Crouching down he went to give the mangy animal a pet but as he extended his hand the dog gave it a lick and started to move away down an alleyway to Tom's left. Stopping and looking back towards Tom he barked, just once. The dog moved a little deeper into the alley and again looked around and barked. Again just once. Tom felt compelled to follow. He wasn't sure if it was because the lick had been the most love another living creature had shown Tom in a long time or whether it was out of sorry for the poor creature. "We're not unlike each other little guy", he thought to himself, "we're both lost and lonely".

"Don't say another ****ing word", the voice came out of the dank darkness ahead. Tom could only see his little canine companion up ahead, ears peaked and full attention directed at whomever had spoken. Tom moved forward, quietly until he could see a tall man and a woman on the ground huddled over. The petite woman sobbed, then stood and the man moved to strike her. Just before he released another blow on her Tom interjected and grabbed the mans wrist.
"Hey, this is none of YOUR concern" the man turned and swung for Tom. Releasing his grip on the mans arm Tom, dodged and countered with a fearsome punch to the man's chest which sent him backward into a rubbish skip.
"Are you alright? Tom asked turning back to the petite woman. She was gone. He looked back down the alleyway the way he had come. She was nowhere to be seen. As he turned around he was greeted with a sharp punch in the face which sent him reeling. Tom's punch had not been as fearsome as it had seemed. Tripping up, Tom reached for his gun as he collided with the pavement. Rolling onto his back he pulled the pistol out and pointed it at the advancing man.
"I dont want to, but I will kill you" he declared. The man smirked and continued to advance. Tom pulled the trigger but got only the clicking sound of an unloaded weapon in return. Tom pulled the trigger again at the exact moment that the mans foot kicked his hands. Once the gun was wide of the man it went off and sent a bullet ricocheting down the alley.

The ensuing fight seemed surreal to Tom. The man was a far superior fighter to most Tom had fought in his checkered lifetime. Punches and grunts harmonised by the sounds of hail-stones bouncing off the nearby metal surfaces and the incessant barking of a small dog. Time stood still as Tom expended more energy than he had knocking the man down time and again. Yet still the man fought on. He fought until Tom was worn out and started to make mistakes. Tom's violent and often immoral life was almost at an end. As Tom was kicked to the ground for what was the last time, the little dog with one final bark ran over, licked his face and whined. Tom was spent. There was no getting up now and as he waited for the inevitable final blow he felt an incredible sense of sorrow wash over him. Sorrow that he hadn't given up his work along time ago to try and make an 'honest' life for himself. Sorrow that he would die alone like this with no one in the world to leave his possesions. No one to even make sure he would get a proper burial and certainly no one to come to his funeral. Even though he had vowed to never kill an innocent he was far from innocent himself. He wept.

His reflective wait for death seemed to go on for an eternity until he could no longer stay concious and past out, his head lying in a puddle of blood and tears. First there was darkness and then came light. Initially a fluttering brightness that increased in intensity.
"Tom. Tom can you hear me?" the voice was female and soothing. A pretty face came into view through the bright white light.
"Are you an angel?", he croaked.
"No", the face smiled down at him.
"Where am I?" he asked
"I thought I'd lost you"
"I have been lost" he answered, "Am I alive?"
"Yes, thank god you are" she said kissing his forehead. "You've been in a coma for the last two weeks"
"What happened?" Tom asked suddenly feeling exhausted again.
"You saved my life, Tom. Now rest. Sleep. I need you to get better."

Shad0r

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*The story originally ended here but a friend *
*found it to be unclear as to some of the main *
*points so I expanded it to clarify *
**************************************

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"Doctor, he just woke up and spoke to me"
"Excellent. Is he still awake?"
"No, he looked tired"
"Ok, I'll check on him in a little bit.", the doctor replied with a tired smile, "oh by the way, that little dog that followed the two of you here the night Tom was admitted, he's outside again."
"Thank you doctor, I'll look after him.", the petite woman answered as she turned on her heel and left to feed the small dog.

RopeDrink

Unfortunately I wasn't able to read it all, so I flicked through it - What I read was snappy and interesting.

I won't make any comments or judgements until I read the entire segment, so I'll chuck it onto disk at check it when I get home. Sounds very interesting

MojoMaker

The sentiment you are trying to express is good. The story is sound, but unfortunately it is quite forced. Somewhere along the line, either drawing your own conclusions or listening to the bad advice of others, you seem to have decided that a "good" short story needs contrived English. It is very clear that you were 'reaching' when you wrote this piece. That is not necessary.

e.g. "At this time of day it was more of an obsticle than anything else, prolonging the time it took people to get home as they circumvented it." - poorly constructed and I'm guessing not the way you would normally express this? Did you feel you had to be a little more contrived to make the point in an "adult" fashion? The best authors write the way they speak. Let it flow and it will improve. A good story should trip off the tongue and not be stilted in any way.

"Today though it seemed as though the news stand had closed early which was unusual". Can you think of a better way to say this? This merely adds to the stilted feel of the passage.

"Priding himself on his skill of observation he was taken aback by how he had not noticed this before" - this could flow a lot better, don't you think?

"The man was a far superior fighter to most Tom had fought in his checkered lifetime." - easier ways of saying this. Always go for the simplest option, using the least amount of words.

I've just pulled out a few random examples from the passage above, there are lots more I hadn't the energy to quote. Watch your spelling too, if you publish something to an audience (even one such as Boards) take the time to consult OED or equivalent whenever you aren't 100% sure of a spelling. Doesn't hurt and over time you will be training yourself.

Finally, best piece of advice I can give you about perfecting the craft of storytelling is to buy a copy of Stephen King's "On writing" and read it cover to cover twice. You will learn a lot. Best of luck.

smiles

It's pretty damn good.

The style kinda switches between a narrated and personal... er, what i mean is that some of the descriptions are Tom's personal ones, but are expressed by the narrator, which strictly speaking they shouldnt be, and might flow better if expressed differently.

I am impressed though

<< Fio >>

Shad0r

Apologies its taken me so long to reply here and thanks for the constructive criticism.