Haven't written in years (criticism accepted)

punchdrunk

Hi folks, used to write quite a bit in school (a few years back now)
haven't done it in years so I thought I'd give it a bash-this is something I'd started on the Train at the start of the year and decided to try and finish it.
I'd love some feedback-don't worry I've a thick skin


He sits opposite on the otherwise deserted train carriage; the New Year bank holiday has spirited away most commuters to warm beds and snug firesides.
He carries no luggage bar a single plastic bag of cans: eight in all.

The crackling drone of the pre-recorded safety message has barely begun to fizzle from the far end of the carriage when it is joined amid the static air by a spit of pressure bursting clumsily to freedom, the harsh duet hissing like a pair of dueling desert snakes.
He hungrily guzzles at his Breakfast, and as he does the guilt felt for the sugary sweet,red metallic can I clutch subsides.

His dreadnought frame turns, now facing away from my direction, and as he does so I focus on his battle scarred scalp, crossed haphazardly by several trenches of scars.
Worn without care, an involuntary tattoo of his past .

Finishing his drink he crushes the can with a habitual flair,dropping it to the sticky floor and barely pausing for a breath he pickups up an abandoned newspaper and begins staring blankly at the front page.
An affair, a scandal on the far side of the World.
we begin to build a head of steam.

The cold Winter Sun cuts through the trees that now line the track and illuminates his profile in a tangerine light, pushing the last remnants of sleep from my eyes filling in the final vagaries of the new day.
The steady blades of light animate my companion like a Zoetrope as he mechanically raises and lowers another frosted rim to his lips.
It now becomes clear that the battlefield isn't just Confined to his scalp
His Bunker hill, his Somme, his Gallipoli has also presented its medals atop the patina of his flesh, poorly camouflaged by his stubbled cheek.
A whistle sounds, he assumes his watch.
His eyes surveying the carriage with nervous energy,my clumsy reconnaissance is easily noticed.I fumble to check a salient message and deflect my eyes to the imaginary text.

As the light rolls across the hills through the window beyond him
A playing field trundles into view,two teams of almost men locking heads, shoulder to shoulder, commencing a new battle with youthful folly for the potential dangers they toy with.
The pitch slowly gives way to a phalanx of green conifer trees,and again to row upon row of granite stone, desperate fingers reaching skyward.
They slip from view as we slow to a stop in a small, rural station; the creased flag backlit as it flutters in the winter wind high above the Station's crumbling roof.

Hastily he stands,his bulk filling the empty isle,putting on a dirty,ragged cap he hurriedly exits the train as if on impulse,half the can left behind.

I wonder what could bring such a man here?
To a place of tranquil growth and death
Where not a single face hasn't been studied by every other
A town where misfits could scarcely steal dew covered milk for fear of their Mother's retribution should she stagger upon her beloveds vilification at the massed hands of the Sunday sermon's flock.
could this really be the place that bore this captive into the World?
That thought him their right from wrong?
Did they make him read of the origins of that piece of silk that hangs precariously to the flagpole above their humble town or of the Soldiers that first raised it?
I wonder at what age did his hand slip theirs?
will he be welcomed as he meanders up the half remembered path to a fireside of his own? would he be ushered inside with warmth or would elderly hands tremble as they reached for the receiver?

through the glass I see his eyes fix on the platform,steeling himself he exhales a plume of frigid air and begins to advance
To this battle he carries no arms
a man at War with himself.



...right-have at it!

--Kaiser--

Needs editing - some missing full stops, words incorrectly capitalised and not capitalised, etc...

Some good descriptions here, I particularly like this piece "The steady blades of light animate my companion like a Zoetrope ", very evocative, but this one I found a bit clunky "commencing a new battle with youthful folly for the potential dangers they toy with".

Overall a good start of a piece but as a self-contained piece I don't think it works too well - the narrator is really reading too much into the person he is observing (though the last line is very good)

alfa beta

some of the descriptive turns of phrase are amazing

but some are confusing

my advice (for what it's worth) edit it, tighten it up, try to remove anything that you fell may leave a reader unsure, read and re-read and re-read again, look at every sentence and make sure you are 100% happy with it, read the piece as if you are a reader and not the writer (that's hard) and if there is anything you are even slightly iffy about, get rid of it.

punchdrunk

cheers guys, thanks for the insights
that's pretty much as it came off the iPad while I wrote it
It was a stream of consciousness thing, written in haste for fear of getting caught

so I guess I should have re-read it more thoroughly the other night
I'll try to be more objective and edit it down a bit.