Unkown Soldier - Caring Without Character Challenge
His pupils dilate, blinded by the oncoming traffic. A cacophony of horns and the screeching of brake pads reverberate in his ears, as a canary yellow taxi cab stops inches from his face.
“Hey, buddy, get the fuck outta the road.”
The rain is pouring thick and fast, forming little clusters, like miniature cyclones, that swirl in the wind. He wipes his brow, his knuckles bruised and bloody, blinking to clear blurred, rheumy vision. His paper thin voice manages to crackle:
“Help me.”
The taxi driver’s accent drips with a deep Brooklyn twang, “Buddy, I don’t never help no one. I’ve got kids at home.”
Shadows emerge from an alleyway, illuminated by the glare of neon lights, and a hint of gunmetal grey glistens in the dull mirrored surface of a puddle. Three shots ring out.
His last words, framed by crimson spittle, bubble into nothing on his lips.
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| Wonderful, Rupert. Great visual imagery. I loved the cab driver's statement. Intense, vivid, and riveting. Great job! |
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This is really well done. I especially impressed by your careful doling out of words. Not to doubt you, but it seemed like there was so much story that you must have gone over the word count. And nope, 149. Very nice!
A few edits, because that's the way I roll . . .
His pupils dilate, startled by the oncoming traffic. (it sounds like the pupils are blinded, and being as they're only holes . . .) A cacophony of horns and the screeching of brake pads reverberate in his ears, as a canary yellow taxi cab stops inches from his face. --normally I would find "canary" unnecessary, but I like how horribly bright it makes the yellow.
“Hey, buddy, get the fuck outta the road.”
The rain is pouring thick and fast, forming clusters, like miniature cyclones, that swirl in the wind. (if they're little, they're probably miniature too) He wipes his brow, his knuckles bruised and bloody, blinking to clear blurred, rheumy vision. (some adjective overload here--I'd delete bloody, only because it eliminates one of the "b's" and is a little cliched, as well as the name of a weird game ^_^) His thin voice crackles: (paper thin's overused, and there's an odd smack of personification with "manages in there")
“Help me.”
The taxi driver’s accent drips with a deep Brooklyn twang. “Buddy, I don’t never help no one. I’ve got kids at home.” (brilliant dialogue. So utterly realistic.)
Shadows lengthen from an alleyway, illuminated by the glare of neon lights. A hint of gunmetal grey glistens in the dull mirrored surface of a puddle. Three shots ring out.
His last words, framed by crimson spittle, bubble into nothing on his lips.
Really well done in all. You kept yourself almost perfectly balanced on the line between drama and melodrama.
Thanks for writing! |
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This is a good one. It fits the theme of the challenge well. I think that this is a great challenge and I'm seeing some really good flashes come out of it.
Good descriptions and visuals. I could almost see the scene as I read it. It was quite the sad picture to imagine. |
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Comment by: jgilgun - 2008-05-06 15:29
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| Dramatic. People turn from others all the time. Not sure about cacaphony, though. |
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Comment by: jgilgun - 2008-05-06 15:29
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| Dramatic. How people often turn away from those who need some help. |
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