Short story intro - 800 words

[Brian G Turner]

Probably still needs some work, but interested in initial impressions, especially what age range you think the characters may be:



The brown waters of the dirty river turned red. The first body appeared shortly after. Sirath stepped from his squat under the quayside pilings to look. The noise of the docks quietened as some workers pointed. More bodies followed, their necks dark red gashes and flaps of meat, death white faces staring at nothing as they bobbed and rolled.

Trying to hide his own nerves he said, “Looks like there’s been a gang fight. Big one. ******* idiots.”

Cal stepped out from the boxes they slept in, loosening his trousers. “Don’t disrespect the dead. And no need for cursing.”

“The bigger boys do.”

“They get beaten and worse. Curse the dead and you’re showing disrespect. You can get killed for that.” Cal pissed over the edge but aimed away from the water this time and at the stinking mud bank. “I’m going to see Dancerman later. You coming?”

Sirath watched the bodies disappear beyond the boats. The water turned brown again. “Snap says he’s going to rob a storehouse. Over there,” he said, pointing to one of the busier piers. “Says there’s a lot of money coming in at the moment with the sailors.”

“Snap is an idiot. Them sailors are tough. And you don’t **** on your own feet. Better to work outside the docks. You don’t want The Devil coming in here with his men beating on our squats. You going with him?”

Sirath wanted to get more involved with the gangs: everybody did. He never dared to ask because once you did, you were in a grown-up world of danger he didn’t understand. “The Grain Market’s on today. I’m going there.” He scampered back into the mess of crates and rubbish they slept in and came back with a little razor knife in his palm. “Should be a few fat bags out today.”

Cal smiled. “That’s girl’s work. Go careful.”




Sirath had a small sack containing a purse of bronze coins, a couple of bread loaves, and a long silk shawl. It had been a good day for taking, and he’d cut three bags without getting caught, though one had been empty. He’s seen Dierra in there, walking about with a leather bag on her shoulder, pushing things from the stalls into it when no one was looking. She’d come back with a belt, a melon, and a fistful of brass bracelets from when a woman on a stall had collapsed.

“I’ll share the melon with you, if you have anything to drink,” Dierra said.

“Cal has some wine for grown-ups. He might share if you’re nice.”

Dierra smiled. She was pretty enough to know boys liked her and how to work them, but she played fair with everybody.

They came back to the docks and crossed through one of the alleys between the warehouses, slowing at the end so they could look out first, in case The Devil and his men were on patrol. Two bigger boys stepped in front and pushed them back into the alley.

“This is the **** going down, rats. Hand over what you got.”

Both boys pulled out long daggers and pointed them.

“We haven’t got anything,” Sirath said, trying to hide his sack behind his back.

“No shame in giving,” said one of the boys, stabbing a blade towards his face using arms thick with muscle and fat.

Sirath opened his mouth to protest, and the other boy punched him on the nose. He fell back, startled, his eyes watering from the blow.

“Don’t be hitting us none,” Dierra said. “I know people. You rob us, they’ll come for you. We’re under protection.”

“Whose protection?” said the big one.

Dierra paused too long. “Dancerman. Hellraiser. And ...”

“Dancerman and Hellraiser are against each other now. You know it’s a crime to lie.”

Then they both beat Dierra to the floor with their fists and pulled her bag so hard off her the strap broke. Sirath tried to help but the bigger boys pushed him aside and laughed. They took his sack as well and then left.

“Sorry, Dierra,” Sirath said, trying to help her up.

Dierra was crying a bit but shook her head. “Not your fault. We need to get us some protection. We need one of the gangs to look after us.”

“How? We haven’t anything we can give them.”

“A cut from what we steal.”

“But they take too much.”

“They took more,” she said, pointing to where the two bigger boys walked the busy quayside. “Better to get a gangster protect against them. And The Devil. Or the Ratcatcher get us.”




They sat on the quayside watching the sun set behind the docks. It was warm, and Cal passed a jar of wine around. Sirath quickly felt dizzy and lay down, not caring about the biting flies this time. Cal and Dierra started kissing, then after a while she got up and said she had to go back to her mother. She’d likely get a beating for being empty-handed.

When she’d gone, Cal sniggered and confessed that fumbling with Dierra made his knob go on prod.

Sirath got up, and still feeling light-headed, pissed over the side, glad there were no bodies this time.

Cal came out and stood beside him. “We need protection.”

Sirath felt his stomach rumble. “We need food. Dierra had a melon. I was looking forward to getting my face sticky.”

“We get protection, we can eat. Dancerman says The Pole will take us in.”

“What do we have to do?”

“Run errands. Carry things. Act as lookouts on jobs, and watch where The Devil moves with his men. We’ll be protected by names.”

“And if we don’t?”

Cal shrugged. “Then we stay hungry.”

 

[Gary Compton]

The brown waters of the dirty river turned red. The first body appeared shortly after. Sirath stepped from his squat under the quayside pilings to look. The noise of the docks quietened as some workers pointed. More bodies followed, their necks dark red gashes and flaps of meat, this jarred to me and I had to read it twice. death white faces staring at nothing as they bobbed and rolled.

Trying to hide his own nerves he said, “Looks like there’s been a gang fight. Big one. ******* idiots.”

Cal stepped out from the boxes they slept in, loosening his trousers. “Don’t disrespect the dead. And no need for cursing.”

“The bigger boys do.”

“They get beaten and worse. Curse the dead and you’re showing disrespect. You can get killed for that.” Cal pissed over the edge but aimed away from the water this time and at the stinking mud bank. “I’m going to see Dancerman later. You coming?”

Sirath watched the bodies disappear beyond the boats. The water turned brown again. It wouldnt turn brown, surely the red blood would just float away “Snap says he’s going to rob a storehouse. Over there,” he said, pointing to one of the busier piers. “Says there’s a lot of money coming in at the moment with the sailors.”

“Snap is an idiot. Them sailors are tough. And you don’t **** on your own feet. Better to work outside the docks. You don’t want The Devil coming in here with his men beating on our squats. You going with him?”

Sirath wanted to get more involved with the gangs: everybody did. He never dared to ask because once you did, you were in a grown-up world of danger he didn’t understand. “The Grain Market’s on today. I’m going there.” He scampered back into the mess of crates and rubbish they slept in and came back with a little razor knife in his palm. “Should be a few fat bags out today.”

Cal smiled. “That’s girl’s work. Go careful.”




Sirath had a small sack containing a purse of bronze coins, a couple of bread loaves, and a long silk shawl. It had been a good day for taking, and he’d cut three bags without getting caught, though one had been empty. He’s seen Dierra in there, where? walking about with a leather bag on her shoulder, pushing things from the stalls into it when no one was looking. She’d come back with a belt, a melon, and a fistful of brass bracelets from when a woman on a stall had collapsed.

“I’ll share the melon with you, if you have anything to drink,” Dierra said.

“Cal has some wine for grown-ups. He might share if you’re nice.”

Dierra smiled. She was pretty enough to know boys liked her and how to work them, but she played fair with everybody.

They came back to the docks and crossed through one of the alleys between the warehouses, slowing at the end so they could look out first, in case The Devil and his men were on patrol. Two bigger boys stepped in front and pushed them back into the alley.

“This is the **** going down, rats. Hand over what you got.”

Both boys pulled out long daggers and pointed them.

“We haven’t got anything,” Sirath said, trying to hide his sack behind his back.

“No shame in giving,” said one of the boys, stabbing a blade towards his face using arms thick with muscle and fat.

Sirath opened his mouth to protest, and the other boy punched him on the nose. He fell back, startled, his eyes watering from the blow.

“Don’t be hitting us none,” Dierra said. “I know people. You rob us, they’ll come for you. We’re under protection.”

“Whose protection?” said the big one.

Dierra paused too long. “Dancerman. Hellraiser. And ...”

“Dancerman and Hellraiser are against each other now. You know it’s a crime to lie.”

Then they both beat Dierra to the floor with their fists and pulled her bag so hard off her the strap broke. Sirath tried to help but the bigger boys pushed him aside and laughed. They took his sack as well and then left.

“Sorry, Dierra,” Sirath said, trying to help her up.

Dierra was crying a bit but shook her head. “Not your fault. We need to get us some protection. We need one of the gangs to look after us.”

“How? We haven’t anything we can give them.”

“A cut from what we steal.”

“But they take too much.”

“They took more,” she said, pointing to where the two bigger boys walked the busy quayside. “Better to get a gangster protect against them. And The Devil. Or the Ratcatcher get us.”




They sat on the quayside watching the sun set behind the docks. It was warm, and Cal passed a jar of wine around. Sirath quickly felt dizzy and lay down, not caring about the biting flies this time. Cal and Dierra started kissing, then after a while she got up and said she had to go back to her mother. She’d likely get a beating for being empty-handed.

When she’d gone, Cal sniggered and confessed that fumbling with Dierra made his knob go on prod.

Sirath got up, and still feeling light-headed, pissed over the side, glad there were no bodies this time.

Cal came out and stood beside him. “We need protection.”

Sirath felt his stomach rumble. “We need food. Dierra had a melon. I was looking forward to getting my face sticky.”

“We get protection, we can eat. Dancerman says The Pole will take us in.”

“What do we have to do?”

“Run errands. Carry things. Act as lookouts on jobs, and watch where The Devil moves with his men. We’ll be protected by names.”

“And if we don’t?”

Cal shrugged. “Then we stay hungry.”

There is nothing much wrong with this, Brian. I would like a bit more description of the dock area but the whole piece read well. Just the little niggles at the beginning. The only other thing is I would prefer you hint at the swear words eg: like f**k it. I spend my time wondering what they were. I know this wouldn't happen in reality but it just helps me critiquing

 

[Glisterspeck]

Trying to hide his own nerves he said, “Looks like there’s been a gang fight. Big one. ******* idiots.”

Because we've only just met Sirath and you've mentioned others between the intro and this speech, I'd probably use Sirath said here instead of the pronoun.

Cal stepped out from the boxes they slept in, loosening his trousers. “Don’t disrespect the dead. And no need for cursing.”

Could you add a slight detail in the description of the dead to indicate the dead themselves are the gangsters? I know I should of caught it, but I had to think about it to put it together.

Sirath wanted to get more involved with the gangs: everybody did.

The colon here threw me. The "everybody did" part is not illustrative of the first statement, and to my ear, its more parenthetical than explanatory. Everything else so far is so matter of fact and terse that I'd personally go with a full stop here.

It had been a good day for taking, and he’d cut three bags without getting caught, though one had been empty.

Shouldn't he have been able to tell it was empty, or at least, not worth cutting?

He’s seen Dierra in there...

Verb tense shifts to present here.

“This is the **** going down, rats. Hand over what you got.”

I can't sort out what this curse word is... :-/

“No shame in giving,” said one of the boys, stabbing a blade towards his face using arms thick with muscle and fat.

I'd replace the using with a comma here. Matches the rest of the writing better, I think.

Then they both...

This phrasing pulled me out of the action a bit: I think it comes across as summarized action.

It was warm, and Cal passed a jar of wine around.

I don't see the relationship between these sentences, so I don't understand why they are joined. Is the wine cooling?

When she’d gone, Cal sniggered and confessed that fumbling with Dierra made his knob go on prod.

I'd like to see the physical positioning of Cal and Sirath after she leaves before he starts confessing. Are they laying next to one another? Cal standing over Sirath?

_____________________________________________

Age? I'd say teenagers, between 14 and 16. Am I right?!?

Setting? You didn't ask, but it feels Victorian to me. Reminds me a little of Oliver Twist. I think it's mostly the use of daggers instead of knives, and the names of the gangs and such. That part reminded me a bit of Scorsese's Gangs of New York too.

I really liked the dialogue. A lot. And the general style of the prose. Felt tense and suspenseful.

 

[ctg]

The brown waters of the dirty river turned red. The first body appeared shortly after.

​

I have a big problem with these two sentences and they stopped me reading straight away. I would have written: Patches of muddy river started turning red as the first body came back to surface.

Sirath stepped from his squat under the quayside pilings to look. The noise of the docks quietened as some workers started gathering on the bank. As more bodies followed -- their (workers or corpses?) necks dark red gashes and flaps of meat, death white faces staring at nothing as they bobbed and rolled.
​

The last sentence ending is a bit problematic as you were pointing out the workers in the previous one and in the last one, you go back to corpses. So think about rewriting it.

Trying to hide his own nerves he grunted, “Looks like there’s been a gang fight. Big one. ******* idiots.”

Cal stepped out from the boxes they slept in, loosening his trousers. “Don’t disrespect the dead. And there's no need for cursing.”

“The bigger boys do.”
​

At this point I would be thinking they are around 10 to 12 years old, maybe some reaching 14 to 15. And I would imagine this being back in 1980's.

“They get beaten and worse. Curse the dead and you’re showing disrespect. You can get killed for that.” Cal pissed over the edge but aimed away from the water this time and at the stinking mud bank. “I’m going to see Dancerman later. You coming?”

​

Why the disrespect and are you sure he would do that at front of all others?

Sirath watched the bodies disappear beyond the boats. The water turned brown again. “Snap says he’s going to rob a storehouse. Over there,” he said, pointing to one of the busier piers. “Says there’s a lot of money coming in at the moment with the sailors.”

“Snap is an idiot. Them sailors are tough. And you don’t **** on your own feet. Better to work outside the docks. You don’t want The Devil coming in here with his men beating on our squats. You going with him?”

Sirath wanted to get more involved with the gangs: everybody did. He never dared to ask because once you did, you were in a grown-up world of danger he didn’t understand. “The Grain Market’s on today. I’m going there.” He scampered back into the mess of crates and rubbish they slept in and came back with a little razor knife in his palm. “Should be a few fat bags out today.”
​

I'm getting lost on these dialogue lines. To me they don't add up to the flow or do anything to the story but as you're the author, you know better how these things fall in their places.

Cal smiled. “That’s girl’s work. Go careful.”

​

Go careful? Who would say that?

Sirath had a small sack containing a purse of bronze coins, a couple of bread loaves, and a long silk shawl.

​

The image is sifting from a busy 1980's dockyard to medieval settings.

It had been a good day for taking, and he’d cut (or nicked?) three bags without getting caught, though one had been empty. He’s seen Dierra in there, walking about with a leather bag on her shoulder, pushing things from the stalls into it when no one was looking. She’d come back with a belt, a melon, and a fistful of brass bracelets from when a woman on a stall had collapsed.

​

I understand that she's using a ring blade to cut purses from people belts but there might be people out there that have no idea about this action. You don't go there and show the piece. Instead you tell us it happened and that's fine. There's no need to show everything but in the narrative you should try your all to make the prose flow and not stop reader with awkward words.

“I’ll share the melon with you, if you have anything to drink,” Dierra said.

“Cal has some wine for grown-ups. He might share if you’re nice.”

Dierra smiled. She had noticed boys looking at her and sometimes she had even felt their gazes lingering on her behind, but even then it wasn't a pick and choose game as she wanted to play fair with everybody.
​

When you write closer perspective and I feel you want to do that you need to try dress the information coming from her and not the narrator.

They came back to the docks and crossed through one of the alleys between the warehouses, slowing at the end so they could look out first, in case The Devil and his men were on patrol. Two bigger boys stepped in front and pushed them back into the alley.

​

Your prose gets a bit jumpy here. In one moment you're talking about boys and in the next you're travelling back to the docks. And then there's The Devil. Who or what is he?

“This is the **** going down, rats," they growled as boys pulled out long daggers. "Hand over what you got.”

Both boys pulled out long daggers and pointed them.

“We haven’t got anything." Sirath tried to hide his sack behind his back.

“No shame in giving,” said one of the boys, stabbing a blade towards his face using arms thick with muscle and fat.

​

I would have written: "Really?" The other boy glanced his partner.

Why is the boy stabbing his face? And why do we know the details about his arms? Or were you trying to say:

"Really?" The other boy glanced his partner. In split second his face turned from frown to anger as he stepped forward and raised his blade.

Sirath opened his mouth to protest, when the other boy stepped in, pushed his mate on side and punched Sirath on the nose. He fell back, startled, his eyes watering from the blow.

​

The problem you're having is that you're having too many actors in the scene and it gets confusing very quickly if you don't clarify the action.

“Don’t be hitting us none,” Dierra said. “I know people. You rob us, they’ll come for you. We’re under protection.”

“Whose protection?” said the big one.

Dierra paused too long. “Dancerman. Hellraiser. And ...”

“Dancerman and Hellraiser are against each other now. And you know it’s a crime to lie.”

Then they both beat Dierra to the floor with their fists and pulled her bag so hard off her the strap broke. Sirath tried to help but the bigger boys pushed him aside and laughed. They took his sack as well and then left.

“Sorry, Dierra,” Sirath said, trying to help her up.

Dierra was crying a bit but shook her head. “Not your fault. We need to get us some protection. We need one of the gangs to look after us.”

“How?" Sirath frowned. "We haven’t got anything we can give them.”

“Maybe we could give them a cut..."

Sirath looked down the alley before he uttered, “But what if they take too much?”

“They took more,” she said, pointing to where the two bigger boys walked the busy quayside. “Better to get a gangster protect against them. And The Devil. Or the Ratcatcher get us.”

​

I think you need to focus a bit more when you rewrite this. The story is good but the execution isn't as good as I would like to see it. Try to focus on the essential, the interaction between the two main characters.

They sat on the quayside watching the sun set behind the docks. It was warm, and Cal passed a jar of wine around. Sirath quickly felt dizzy and lay down, not caring about the biting flies this time. Cal and Dierra started kissing, then after a while she got up and said she had to go back to her mother. She’d likely get a beating for being empty-handed.

When she’d gone, Cal sniggered and confessed that fumbling with Dierra made his knob go on prod.

​

knob go on prod ... oookay.

Sirath got up, and still feeling light-headed, pissed over the side, glad there were no bodies this time.

Cal came out and stood beside him. “We need protection.”

Sirath felt his stomach rumble. “We need food. Dierra had a melon. I was looking forward to getting my face sticky.”

“We get protection, we can eat. Dancerman says The Pole will take us in.”

“What do we have to do?”

“Run errands. Carry things. Act as lookouts on jobs, and watch where The Devil moves with his men. We’ll be protected by names.”

“And if we don’t?”

Cal shrugged. “Then we stay hungry.”

​

You need add a bit more exposition in my honest opinion. The characters are now between 14 and 16. And Brian I'm sorry if I sound harsh but I think you need someone honest saying these things to you. So don't get upset but learn from these things as I feel there's a strong and a very good story in here.

 

[Jo Zebedee]

The brown waters of the dirtyI think this is implied by brown, I'd go either/or river turned red. The first body appeared shortly after. Sirath stepped from his squatcan you step from a squat? Don't you need to stand first? Also, is he going to the toilet? If so doesn't he, I dunno, need to clean himself first? under the quayside pilings to look. The noise of the docks quietened as some workers pointed. More bodies followed, their necks dark red gashesI'd have liked this above, the description of the body and flaps of meattheir necks were both red gashed, and flaps of meat, and both can be seen?, death white faceseyes, if they're staring, so maybe death white faces with eyes staring at nothing as they bobbed and rolled.

I'm really sorry, that all seems very picky, but I've read this paragraph a few times and I can't grasp the scene. I think it's that some things don't match up in my pedantic mind - so faces staring, stepping up straight from doing your business - and it makes me twitchy.

Trying to hide his owndrop own? doesn't add anything? nerves he said, “Looks like there’s been a gang fight. Big one. ******* idiots.”

Cal stepped out from the boxes they slept in, loosening his trousers. “Don’t disrespect the dead. And no need for cursing.”

“The bigger boys do.”

“They get beaten and worse. Curse the dead and you’re showing disrespect. You can get killed for that.” Cal pissed over the edgebeing pedantic again, but did he have to take his trousers down? If not, why was he loosening them? Or was he loosening whatever a zip would be referred to? but aimed away from the water this time and - why this time, we haven't seen it any other time? at the stinking mud bank. “I’m going to see Dancerman later. You coming?”

Sirath watched the bodies disappear beyond the boats. The water turned brown againwould it, so quickly? I'm not sure, I suppose it depends on tides. I'm assuming, for the bodies to vanish so quickly, there'd need to be a good tidal flow, maybe mention this above, in the scene setting?. “Snap says he’s going to rob a storehouse. Over there,” I think the current preference is for these sorts of things to be action tags, so : he pointed to one of the busier piers.he said, pointing to one of the busier piers. “Says there’s a lot of money coming in at the moment with the sailors.”

“Snap is an idiot. Them sailors are tough. And you don’t **** on your own feet. Better to work outside the docks. You don’t want The Devil coming in here with his men beating on our squats. You going with him?”

Sirath wanted to get more involved with the gangs: everybody did. He never dared to ask because once you did, you were in a grown-up world of danger he didn’t understandThis bit of telling took me out of the scene. If you feel it's needed, it could be done much quicker, maybe. No; he wasn't old enough to join the gangs... would tell me most of this. . “The Grain Market’s on today. I’m going there.” He scampered backdrop this back to save the repeat? into the mess of crates and rubbish they slept in and came back with a little razor knife in his palm. “Should be a few fat bags out today.”

Cal smiled. “That’s girl’sI think it's girls', but I'm not 100%. work. Go carefulso why, if it's girls' work, should he go careful?.”




Sirath had a small sack containing a purse of bronze coins, a couple of bread loaves, and a long silk shawl. It had been a good day for taking, and he’d cut three bags without getting caught, though one had been empty. He’sd seen Dierra in there, walking about with a leather bag on her shoulder, pushing things from the stalls into it when no one was looking. She’d come back with a belt, a melon, and a fistful of brass bracelets from when a woman on a stall had collapsed.

“I’ll share the melon with you, if you have anything to drink,” Dierra said.

“Cal has some wine for grown-ups. He might share if you’re nice.”

Dierra smiled. She was pretty enough to know boys liked her and how to work them, but she played fair with everybodythe last stanza was quite tell-y.

They came back to the docks and crossed through one of the alleys between the warehouses, slowing at the end so they could look out first, in case The Devil and his men were on patrol. Two bigger boys stepped in front and pushed them back into the alleyhad they left the alley to be pushed back into it?.

“This is the **** going down, rats. Hand over what you got.”

Both boys pulled out long daggers and pointed them.

“We haven’t got anything,” Sirath said, trying to hide his sack behind his back.

“No shame in giving,” said one of the boys, stabbing a blade towards hisSirath's, otherwise it sounds like he's stabbing himself face using arms thick with muscle and fat.

Sirath opened his mouth to protest, and the other boy punched him on the nose. He fell back, startled, his eyes watering from the blowcould drop from the blow; we know that.

“Don’t be hitting us none,” Dierra said. “I know people. You rob us, they’ll come for you. We’re under protection.”

“Whose protection?” said the big one.

Dierra paused too long. “Dancerman. Hellraiser. And ...”

“Dancerman and Hellraiser are against each other now. You know it’s a crime to lie.”

Thendrop then? they both beat Dierra to the floor with their fists and pulled her bag so hard offdrop off? her the strap broke. Sirath tried to help but the bigger boys pushed him aside and laughed. They took his sack as well and then left.

“Sorry, Dierra,” Sirath said, trying to help her up.

Dierra was crying a bit but shook her head. “Not your fault. We need to get us some protection. We need one of the gangs to look after us.”

“How? We haven’t anything we can give them.”

“A cut from what we steal.”

“But they take too much.”

“They took more,” she said, pointing to where the two bigger boys walked the busy quayside. “Better to get a gangster protect against them. And The Devil. Or the Ratcatcher will? get us.”




They sat on the quayside watching the sun set behind the docks. It was warm, and Cal passed a jar of wine around. Sirath quickly felt dizzy and lay down, not caring about the biting flies this time. Cal and Dierra started kissing, then after a while she got up and said she had to go back to her mother. She’d likely get a beating for being empty-handed.

When she’d gone, Cal sniggered and confessed that fumbling with Dierra made his knob go on prod. Why tell us this? Why not use dialogue?

Sirath got up, and still feeling light-headed, pissed over the side, glad there were no bodies this time.I think this is slipping into telling, and I'm losing my engagement. You were talking us through the scene nicely with him earlier, using dialogue to pull it along but I think since the start of this stanza, it's moved into telling.

Cal came outfrom where? and stood beside him. “We need protection.”

Sirath felt his stomach rumble. “We need food. Dierra had a melon. I was looking forward to getting my face stickyNot sure about that after the prod knob bit....”

“We get protection, we can eat. Dancerman says The Pole will take us in.”

“What do we have to do?”

“Run errands. Carry things. Act as lookouts on jobs, and watch where The Devil moves with his men. We’ll be protected by names.”

“And if we don’t?”

Cal shrugged. “Then we stay hungry.”[/QUOTE]


Okay, sorry, I had a few problems with the scene, which I rather liked the premise of, by the way.

The bodies - what was the relevance? Just to tell us there are gang fights? If so it seemed a very evisceral way of doing it, when we could just have had the end of the gang fight coming past us. As an opening scene, it's interesting, but I found little things getting in the way of me immersing myself in it.

When the dialogue changed to telling on the quay scene, I felt frustrated. I thought you had their voices nicely, and the dialogue would have been a more natural way of going.

The ages? 14/16 sounds good to me.

 

[Boneman]

Hi Brian,

I like this piece; it's short on superflous description, but gets the picture over well. Just a little tweaking might enhance it... I'm assuming it's YAish, it's a little dark to be teen, but it's a long time since I was one of those so I'm hopelessly out of touch. Red pen for suggestions.

Probably still needs some work, but interested in initial impressions, especially what age range you think the characters may be:



The brown waters of the dirty river turned red. The first body appeared shortly after. Sirath stepped from his squat under the quayside pilings to look. The noise of the docks quietened as some workers pointed.more bodies followed, their necks dark red gashes and flaps of meat, death white faces staring at nothing as they bobbed and rolled. The noise of the docks quietened as more bodies followed, their necks dark red gashes and flaps of meat, death white faces staring lifelessly as they bobbed and rolled.

Trying to hide his own nerves he said, “Looks like there’s been a gang fight. Big one. ******* idiots.”

Cal stepped out from the boxes they slept in, loosening his trousers. “Don’t disrespect the dead. And no need for cursing.”

“The bigger boys do.”

“They get beaten and worse. Curse the dead and you’re showing disrespect. You can get killed for that.” Cal pissed over the edge but aimed away from the water this time and at the stinking mud bank. “I’m going to see Dancerman later. You coming?”

Sirath watched the bodies disappear beyond the boats. The water turned brown again. “Snap says he’s going to rob a storehouse. Over there,” he said, pointing to one of the busier piers. “Says there’s a lot of money coming in at the moment with the sailors.”

“Snap is an idiot. Them sailors are tough. And you don’t **** on your own feet. Better to work outside the docks. You don’t want The Devil coming in here with his men beating on our squats. You going with him?”

Sirath wanted to get more involved with the gangs: everybody did. He never dared to ask because once you did, you were in a grown-up world of danger he didn’t understand. “The Grain Market’s on today. I’m going there.” He scampered back into the mess of crates and rubbish they slept in and came back with a little razor knife in his palm. “Should be a few fat bags out today.”

Cal smiled. “That’s girl’s work. Go careful.”




Sirath had a small sack containing a purse of bronze coins, a couple of bread loaves, and a long silk shawl. It had been a good day for taking, and he’d cut three bags without getting caught, though one had been empty. Now, assuming he's a street-wise kid living on his nerves and thieving, there's no way he'd keep ity all in a sack - coins in a pocket, his sock etc, and it would be better if the 'bigger boys' (see below) found it all, despite his efforts, because they're as street-wise as he is, only more so. He’s seen Dierra in there, walking about with a leather bag on her shoulder, pushing things from the stalls into it when no one was looking. She’d come back with a belt, a melon, and a fistful of brass bracelets from when a woman on a stall had collapsed.

“I’ll share the melon with you, if you have anything to drink,” Dierra said.

“Cal has some wine for grown-ups. He might share if you’re nice.”

Dierra smiled. She was pretty enough to know boys liked her and how to work them, but she played fair with everybody.

They came back to the docks and crossed through one of the alleys between the warehouses, slowing at the end so they could look out first, in case The Devil and his men were on patrol. Two bigger boys stepped in front and pushed them back into the alley. My problem with 'Bigger boys' is that a) it conjures up Herry Enfield's kevin and perry sketches and b) we've no idea how old Dierra and Cala and Sirath are, so there's no yardstick to guage. As this is probably a regular occurence, the younger ones have been caught pretty easily, maybe one behind them, to block their exit?

“This is the **** going down, rats. Hand over what you got.”

Both boys pulled out long daggers and pointed them.

“We haven’t got anything,” Sirath said, trying to hide his sack behind his back. See, by now if the shawls under his shirt, the money's in hidden pockets and his sock, then he'd try and bluff it out and say "This is all we got and we ain't eaten for days" or somesuch...

“No shame in giving,” said one of the boys, stabbing a blade towards his face using arms thick with muscle and fat. Whose face? Arms thick with muscle and fat?? And all Sirath does is open his mouth to protest, when he should fall back from the blade that's being stabbed at his face.

Sirath opened his mouth to protest, and the other boy punched him on the nose. He fell back, startled, his eyes watering from the blow.

“Don’t be hitting us none,” Dierra said. “I know people. You rob us, they’ll come for you. We’re under protection.”

“Whose protection?” said the big one.

Dierra paused too long. “Dancerman. Hellraiser. And ...”

“Dancerman and Hellraiser are against each other now. You know it’s a crime to lie.”

Then they both beat Dierra to the floor with their fists ouch!! A girls beaten to the floor with fists, and she gets up, seemingly unharmedand pulled her bag so hard off her the strap broke. Sirath tried to help but the bigger boys pushed him aside and laughed. They took his sack as well and then left.

“Sorry, Dierra,” Sirath said, trying to help her up.

Dierra was crying a bit but shook her head. “Not your fault. We need to get us some protection. We need one of the gangs to look after us.”

“How? We haven’t anything we can give them.”

“A cut from what we steal.”

“But they take too much.”

“They took more,” she said, pointing to where the two bigger boys walked the busy quayside. “Better to get a gangster protect against them. And The Devil. Or the Ratcatcher get us.”




They sat on the quayside watching the sun set behind the docks. It was warm, and Cal passed a jar of wine around. Sirath quickly felt dizzy and lay down, not caring about the biting flies this time. Cal and Dierra started kissing, then after a while she got up and said she had to go back to her mother. She’d likely get a beating for being empty-handed. Why not go back to the market and try again?

When she’d gone, Cal sniggered and confessed that fumbling with Dierra made his knob go on prod.

Sirath got up, and still feeling light-headed, pissed over the side, glad there were no bodies this time.

Cal came out and stood beside him. “We need protection.”

Sirath felt his stomach rumble. “We need food. Dierra had a melon. I was looking forward to getting my face sticky.”

“We get protection, we can eat. Dancerman says The Pole will take us in.”

“What do we have to do?”

“Run errands. Carry things. Act as lookouts on jobs, and watch where The Devil moves with his men. We’ll be protected by names.”

“And if we don’t?”

Cal shrugged. “Then we stay hungry.”

Just a little tweaking, as I said above. Though it's a well-worn trope - kids on the street - yours is good enough to stand on its own, and I sorta see it as more than a short story, because there are a lot of themes you've introduced in this short excerpt. I'd certainly read on...

 

[Greenwoody]

A nice piece to read. Good gritty scene-setting which came across vividly. Writing just felt a bit rushed towards the end, with less dialogue and more telling what was happening.

Haven't read the other posts in detail- sorry if I've repeated things. Agree the ages sound about 14-16.

---

The brown waters of the dirty river turned red. The first body appeared [or 'floated/drifted by'] shortly after. Sirath stepped from his squat under the quayside pilings to look. The noise of the docks quietened as some workers pointed. More bodies followed, their necks dark red gashes and flaps of meat, death white ['death white' doesn't flow that well; poss 'lifeless white'. Maybe 'sightless eyes staring skyward' more gory] faces staring at nothing as they bobbed and rolled.

Trying to hide his own nerves he said, “Looks like there’s been a gang fight. Big one. ******* idiots.” [Sentence could be visual, so not so telling e.g. 'Keeping his back to the squat to hide his nerves'. Or 'trying to keep his voice steady'.]

Cal stepped out from the boxes they slept in, loosening his trousers. “Don’t disrespect the dead. And no need for cursing.”

“The bigger boys do.”

“They get beaten and worse. Curse the dead and you’re showing disrespect. You can get killed for that.” Cal pissed over the edge but aimed away from the water this time and at the stinking mud bank. “I’m going to see Dancerman later. You coming?”

Sirath watched the bodies disappear beyond the boats. The water turned brown again. “Snap says he’s going to rob a storehouse. Over there,” he said, pointing to one of the busier piers. “Says there’s a lot of money coming in at the moment with the sailors.”

“Snap's an idiot. Them sailors are tough. And you don’t **** on your own feet. Better to work outside the docks. You don’t want The Devil coming in here with his men beating on our squats. You going with him?”

Sirath wanted to get more involved with the gangs: everybody did. He never dared to ask because once you did, you were in a grown-up world of danger he didn’t understand. “The Grain Market’s on today. I’m going there.” He scampered back into the mess of crates and rubbish they slept in and came back with a little razor knife in his palm. “Should be a few fat bags out today.”

Cal smiled. “That’s girl’s work. Go careful.”




Sirath had[carried] a small sack containing a purse of bronze coins, a couple of bread loaves, and a long silk shawl. It had been a good day for taking, and he’d cut three bags without getting caught, though one had been empty. He’s seen Dierra in there, walking about with a leather bag on her shoulder, pushing things from the stalls into it when no one was looking. She’d come back with a belt, a melon, and a fistful of brass bracelets from when a woman on a stall had collapsed [had to read last bit of this sentence twice to work it out].

“I’ll share the melon with you, if you have anything to drink,” Dierra said.

“Cal has some wine for grown-ups. He might share if you’re nice.”

Dierra smiled. She was pretty enough to know boys liked her and how to work them, but she played fair with everybody.

They came back to the docks and crossed through one of the alleys between the warehouses, slowing at the end so they could look out first, in case The Devil and his men were on patrol. Two bigger boys stepped in front and pushed them back into the alley.[could do with being made more dramatic]

“This is the **** going down, rats. Hand over what you got.”

Both boys pulled out long daggers and pointed them.

“We haven’t got anything,” Sirath said, trying to hide his sack behind his back.

“No shame in giving,” said one of the boys, stabbing a blade towards his face using arms thick with muscle and fat.

Sirath opened his mouth to protest, and the other boy punched him on the nose. He fell back, startled, [probably wouldn't be startled, more expecting it] his eyes watering from the blow.

“Don’t be hitting us none,” Dierra said. “I know people. You rob us, they’ll come for you. We’re under protection.”

“Whose protection?” said the big one.

Dierra paused too long. [like this] “Dancerman. Hellraiser. And ...”

“Dancerman and Hellraiser are against each other now. You know it’s a crime to lie.”

Then they both beat Dierra to the floor with their fists and pulled her bag so hard off her the strap broke. Sirath tried to help but the bigger boys pushed him aside and laughed. They took his sack as well and then left. [sorry, this para could be reworked as it's a bit telling at mo & not exciting. e.g. Dierra cried out as one of them landed a punch to her jaw...]

“Sorry, Dierra,” Sirath said, trying to help her up [or just 'helping her up'.

Dierra was crying a bit [or 'struggling not to cry'] but shook her head. “Not your fault. We need to get us some protection. We need one of the gangs to look after us.”

“How? We haven’t anything we can give them.”

“A cut from what we steal?”

“But they take too much.”

“They took more,” she said, pointing to where the two bigger boys walked off along the busy quayside. “Better to get a gangster protect against them. And The Devil. Or the Ratcatcher get us.”[This bit needs attention]




They sat on the quayside watching the sun set behind the docks. It was warm, and Cal passed a jar of wine around. Sirath quickly felt dizzy and lay down, not caring about the biting flies this time. [Or 'It wasn't long before Sirath felt the wine going to his head and had to lie down...'] Cal and Dierra started kissing, then after a while she got up and said she had to go back to her mother.[Need to show it really, just a brief "Right, I'm off. Catch you two later" or something.] She’d likely get a beating for being empty-handed.

When she’d gone, Cal sniggered and confessed that fumbling with Dierra made his knob go on prod. [better if he says it]

Sirath got up, and still feeling light-headed, pissed over the side, glad there were no bodies this time.

Cal came out and stood beside him. “We need protection.”

Sirath felt his stomach rumble. “We need food. Dierra had a melon. I was looking forward to getting my face sticky.”

“We get protection, we can eat. Dancerman says The Pole will take us in.”

“What do we have to do?”

“Run errands. Carry things. Act as lookouts on jobs, and watch where The Devil moves with his men. We’ll be protected by names.”

“And if we don’t?”

Cal shrugged. “Then we stay hungry.”

 

[Brian G Turner]

Many thanks for the feedback - as always, appreciated, and no further need for crits here, thanks.

I think I have the framework for a story, but need to flesh it out a little - and be careful with word use that may be confusing.

Also, I realised after that I made a big error in having a significant current in a dock - not real.

As for this:

Brian I'm sorry if I sound harsh but I think you need someone honest saying these things to you. So don't get upset but learn

Oh, I never feel upset - I seem to recall you being one of the people especially to push me for a better POV in my main WIP.

I absolutely love criticism - it's only by accepting it that I can ever become a better writer.

 

[J Riff]

A draft is a draft. When you get this much advice you should follow it all, then you'd have two or three stories. )

 

[Toby Frost]

The brown waters of the dirty river turned red. The first body appeared shortly after.

I have a big problem with these two sentences and they stopped me reading straight away. I would have written: Patches of muddy river started turning red as the first body came back to surface.

I don't see the problem with this opening, although the two sentences have a slightly different stress and emphasis. It seems more like a matter of personal preference to me.

Wouldn't it be "Go carefully" or "Be careful"? Also, "the **** going down" sounds too modern and American to even my anachronistic tastes: I believe I first heard the phrase in a Cypress Hill song. "Here's how it is, whoresons", or something along those lines might work better if the setting is pre-American.

 

[Brian G Turner]

You're right, Toby - I've been reading about the Brazilian favelas, which is where the inspiration for the story came from. The big challenge is trying to get that integral modernism into something more period.

 

[Toby Frost]

Oh, I agree. It's really difficult to combine the two. When I was writing the fantasy novel, the rules for slang I came up with were, basically:

1) No obvious Americanisms, which rules out most uses of S*** that don't literally mean "poo" or "rubbish of equal value to poo". Using it as an alternative to "stuff" or "business" doesn't really sound right.
2) It seems to be a rule with humans that groups will start to refer to themselves by an insulting name as a badge of pride or toughness: Roundhead, N****r, Old Contemptibles, Punks, etc.
3) You need an rude but not insulting word for "man". In a pseudo-medieval/Renaissance setting, I think "whoreson" or "*******" works well.

But I suspect that the golden rule is that whatever you do, someone somewhere won't like it. That probably applies to all writing.