First time writing- Criticism wanted!

Ara ararauna

Right, so I'd be very grateful if someone could pass judgement on me. Opening to my scéal:

The cigarette she held in her wrinkled hand was burned almost to the filter, the ashtray that rested on the arm of the plush pink armchair looked like a mountain range after a volcanic explosion. Her glazed eyes stared into the blazing turf fire as she reflected on the events of that day.
The news had come as it usually does, with the post. Mike had said it was a sad affair as he lifted a small bundle of manila envelopes out of his bag. “What’s today’s sad affair, Mike?” Nula had asked absently as she took the envelopes into her hand, with the hollow hope that her son might have sent one. “Fin, wha’ the news hasn’t been said to ya yet? Fin, Nula. He was found this marnin’ cold as the night that was in it.” Mike delivered the news of the death with as much solemnity as he could muster, wondering if the old woman could sense his refined joy at being the purveyor of such fine information. “Fin? Fibarr Dea?” Nula felt her stomach clench and her aged heart flutter, “What of Mike, for goodness sake what of!?” Nula’s voice had taken on a creaking intensity that Mike had never heard before. “Heart attack, Nula and you’ll get one yourself if ya don’t calm it a bit! Don’t worry there’s no one goin’ round with a knife or nathin’”
Finbarr Dea, 78, Old Creamery Road, Ballymoore- Dead. It had been some twelve hours since she received the news from that simpleton of a postman and Nula finally felt that the blow had been digested by her mind. She rose from her armchair, ignoring her screaming arthritic hip and walked over to the window. She pulled back the floral pink curtain and stared out into the unforgiving Galway night. It was happening again, dear God, it was happening again.
******************************************

Nula was up not long after the sun on the following morning. She made her bed, had a breakfast of porridge and brown bead and threw back a cocktail of painkillers, orange juice and anti-depressants. She grimaced as she caught her reflection in the mirror. She turned toward the monochrome surface and looked at the old creature locking eyes with her. Thin shoulder length silver hair, misty blue eyes, skin like tanned leather. “Oh you silly old bitch” she muttered softly to herself, “It’s been 51 years. It damaged you last time. It’ll kill you this time.” But she had to face it. She had to warn them. Murrnanigh had awoken one more.


If you got through all that: God bless you!

RoyMcC

Nice. Don't know what a 'sceal' is but I'd say that first section would be a good prologue to a longer story. Then, if the second section is the beginning of Ch.1 then I'd lift the gloom. You can always come back to it having set the story in time and place.

Needs proofing and formatting of course but I'm ready to turn the page.

Ara ararauna

RoyMcC wrote: »

Nice. Don't know what a 'sceal' is but I'd say that first section would be a good prologue to a longer story. Then, if the second section is the beginning of Ch.1 then I'd lift the gloom. You can always come back to it having set the story in time and place.

Needs proofing and formatting of course but I'm ready to turn the page.

Thank you! Yep I do believe you're right in saying the atmosphere should be changed following the prologue

Insect Overlord

RoyMcC wrote: »

Nice. Don't know what a 'sceal' is but I'd say that first section would be a good prologue to a longer story

Seriously? "Scéal" is the Irish language word for story.

Jellybaby1

An File wrote: »

Seriously? "Scéal" is the Irish language word for story.

Not everyone here is Irish!