Struggling with the ''story'' question here. 1500 words

[barrett1987]

I was reading a thread on here about ''story questions'' and keeping that in mind I wanted to work on a chapter that had a shift in tense. Hopefully that makes sense. Anyone mind reading this and giving some feedback? Been awhile since i wrote. I felt the piece wakes up a lot more as it goes along. Rusty fingers i guess. Thank you in advance.


Wyn was pretending to read his dime novel when the body fell from the sky.

Sat on a crate, facing away from the other urchins and the last of sun’s warmth caressing his face, he hadbeen consideringheading back to the den early if only to get away from all the bullsh**.

It was always the same. At the end of a day, the urchins would meet in this abandoned yard, nestled between warehouses and slaughter pits and forgotten by the citizens of Steward’s City. Tired and hungry, each would try to outdo the other with tales of their day’s events. Today, Jonah had cut an old perv, Danny had sneaked a purse full of dollars and Chaney had watched someone get shot. Not Bolt-Shot, but Bullet-Shot.

It was all utter crap.

Most of them grafted their quota with nothing more than pathetic looks and empty beg bowls. In Jonah’s case - the tall lad waving the knife about - the story had some truth, the flecks of blood on the blade were evidence of that, but judging by the grey pallor of the boy’s skin, Wyn suspected less happier ending than was being told.

“…then I cut off his cock!” Jonah said with his knife held aloft.

The other urchins gathered round in a tight, silent circle. Theirskinny frames almost thrumming with excitement. Wyn resisted a sigh. No one mentioned, if Danny had already reached his quota in his first lift, how come he’d stayed out for the rest of the day. Life on the streets wasn’t too bad for Creedo’s boys, but no one sat out longer than they had to.

Wyn flicked through the pages in front of him, focusing on the pictures. Peterson’s would be closing soon and while discards from the bakery were cold and stale they usually contained real meat. His belly tightened at the thought. Philly, the urchin’s bossman, kept them in porridge most mornings but there was nothing like a real meat pie to fill a hole.

The body struck the ground, sending up a plume of grit and dust.

Everyone ran…except Wyn. Not because he was brave and not because he was slow - you didn’t last long in Steward’s City if you were slow – but because the body lay between him and yard’s exit.

The noise of the urchins jumping fences and sprinting down alleys faded, leaving him alone with the mangled corpse. He looked up at the clear blue sky. There were no skyrises in this part of town and absolutely nowhere for a man to jump from. So where the hell had the body come from? He’d seen a lot happen in the city but a man falling from the sky was a first.

Wyn began to shuffle sideways, doing his best to keep his eyes off the mess that had once been the man’s legs, and headed towards the yard’s exit. The warehouse wall scraped at his back, pulling him, trying to keep him here. Wyn’s breath, loud and physical in his ears, filled the yard. When they’d found this place, the way the city’s sounds faded had been a real draw. Now though, alone with a corpse, not so much.

“You think he’s dead?”

Wyn bit down on a scream and clutched the wall as a scuffle to his right became Jonah stepping from the shadows, still clutching his knife.

“Well, he ain’t going to be dancing any time soon,” Wyn said, forcing a grin on to his face and doing his best to keep his voice steady. You never showed fear, not even to a brother. “Thought you’d have run with the others.”

“Nah, hiding’s smarter.”

Wyn nodded and allowed his body to relax from the wall. Now Jonah was here, he realised how stupid he’d been. Dead was dead. Not anything to be scared of.

“Let’s get his stuff then get out of here.” Jonah stepped towards the corpse.

“Wait!”

Jonah glanced back with a frown. “Wait for what? The others will be back soon enough.”

He was right. The corpse’s purse bulged and even though his lower half was ruined by the fall, that tunic could be worth a dollar or two. In Steward’s City, riches like this wouldn’t last long.

“Wait…” Jonah grinned and stepped back. “You’re not scared are you?”

Wyn glared and clenched his fists. Not that he wanted to fight – he was half a foot shorter than Jonah and unarmed to boot – but he couldn’t let an insult go unanswered. “f*ck you and f*ck your fear!” Wyn took three strides to the corpse and crouched down.

The man opened his eyes and let out a groan.

Wyn screamed and threw himself backwards. Zombie! Scrambling among the refuse of the yard, Wyn pulled himself towards the exit, knees and palms scrapping on the sharp ground. It’s going to get me, It’s going to get me. A hand clamped down on his ankle and he screamed, kicking out.

“Whoa, relax, it’s me.” The hand released his ankle and a weight pressed down, pinning him to the floor. “Quit it, you mongrel.”

Wyn froze and realised what was happening. A zombie would be too busy eating his brains to use a word like mongrel. “I’m alright,” he muttered through Jonah’s chest.

“What?”

“I’m alright!”

“If I let you up, you not gonna sh*t your pants?”

“….piss off.”

The weight was withdrawn and Wyn sat up.

Jonah, smiling, stood with a hand offered. “You ain’t going to believe this,” he said, pulling Wyn to his feet.

Wyn straightened and frowned at the dying man dragging himself through gravel and grit across the yard. The man’s mangled bottom half left a slug-like trail of guts and blood. “How’s he still alive?”

“Don’t know. But its great ain’t it.”

“Uhh, yeah, great.”

The man’s crawling was already slowing. Whatever last pitch of strength he’d had was fading. The remains of the man's left leg caught on an uneven flagstone and he continued to crawl on the spot for a few more moments before his head flopped and collapsed to the ground with a loud thud.

“Right, you get the loot. I’ll keep watch,” Jonah said.

“Stuff that, you get the loot and I’ll keep watch.”

“I’ve got the knife.” Jonah waved the blade as though to prove it.

“So? Give me the knife and I’ll keep an eye out.”

“No, you idiot,” Jonah said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ve got the knife so do what you’re told or there’ll be two corpses in the yard.”

“Come on, you’re no cutter.” Wyn caught Jonah’s dark eyes and swallowed. Harm against a fellow brother was as big a sin as you could commit. Whatever had happened with the perv earlier had changed things. “Fine. Fine. No need for that. I’ll do it.”

Wyn crept towards the corpse, eyes locked on the corpse. He dropped to a knee and paused. If I was a zombie, this is when I’d rear up and grab the stupid urchin boy who’d come to loot my remains. Holding his breath, his muscles tensed, he waited for the zombie to lunge.

“Get a move on,” Jonah called from behind. “We ain’t got all day.”

“Yeah yeah…” Wyn muttered, flicking some gunk from the corpse’s chest. Oh sh*t! He ran his hand over the revealed crest on the thick tunic. A Messenger! “Jonah, it’s a Messenger.”

“What? Let me see.” Jonah stepped forward and nudged Wyn aside. “You’re right. He’s got sun-kissed hair. Jackpot!”

“We need to get out of here before the Constables come. They’ll give us the long drop if we’re found here with that.”

“Nah, I ain’t leaving empty handed. Get his pouch.”

Wyn backed up, his hands raised. “No chance. I’m not messing with no Messenger. Call me coward but I ain’t stupid.”

Jonah cursed and sheathed his knife. “Fine. I’ll do it.” With a savage yank, he wrenched the purse from the man’s hip then turned towards Wyn. “See? No problem.”

The Messenger reared up and pulled the back of Jonah’s tunic.

As Jonah fell, the purse flew from his hands and Wyn’s reflexes snatched it from the air.

Arms encircled Jonah’s chest, pulling him down and began to squeeze. The urchin’s eyes bulged and he thrashed to get free.

Wyn slipped the purse into a pocket and backed up, ready to run.

Jonah’s arms were thrashing but pinned on his back, with the Messenger beneath, he couldn’t get any leverage. The arms tightened and the urchin’s face started to turn blue.

Wyn backed up some more. He could be out the alley and back to the den in no time. The loot would be his and no one would be the wiser. He took a step towards the exit and then stopped, listening to Jonah’s gasps for air. No one deserved to die to a zombie. Caught lifting and taken for a long drop? Sure, that’s a risk of the life. But eaten by a zombie?

Spying a broken flagstone, Wyn hurried over and heaved it up. He staggered towards the Messenger, arms shaking with effort. Step by step, he closed the gap, watching Jonah’s limbs slow.

“Let him go!” he roared, dropping the slab. The slab twisted as it fell and slammed through the Messenger’s skull.

The arms around Jonah’s chest went limp and he scurried out, eyes watering and coughing for air. He fell to his knees and started to sick up.

Wyn stepped around the Messenger and grabbed Jonah by the scruff of his tunic. “Come on, you can cry later. Let’s get out of here.”

 

[Phyrebrat]

Wyn was pretending to read his dime novel when the body fell from the sky. (Nice opening)

Sat (Sitting) on a crate, facing away from the other urchins and the last of sun’s warmth caressing his face, he had(space)been considering(space)heading back to the den early if only to get away from all the bullsh** (I think we need more info as to what is constituting BS, or include this later when we know).

It was always the same. At the end of a day, the urchins would meet in this abandoned yard, nestled between warehouses and slaughter pits and forgotten by the citizens of Steward’s City. Tired and hungry, each would try to outdo the other with tales of their day’s events. Today, Jonah had cut an old perv, Danny had sneaked a purse full of dollars and Chaney had watched someone get shot. Not Bolt-Shot, but Bullet-Shot. (Nice, but the opening two sentences to this paragraph are use uninspiring words - can you find something more interesting to describe an abandoned yard, and slaughter pits IMO is begging for more description )

It was all utter (all and utter are saying the same thing) crap.

Most of them grafted their quota with nothing more than pathetic looks and empty beg bowls. In Jonah’s case - the tall lad waving the knife about - the story had some truth, the flecks of blood on the blade were evidence of that, but judging by the grey pallor of the boy’s skin, Wyn suspected (a) less happier ending than was being told. (Nice, again)

“…then I cut off his cock!” Jonah said with his knife held aloft.

The other urchins gathered round in a tight, silent circle. Their(space)skinny frames almost thrumming with excitement. Wyn resisted a sigh. No one mentioned, if Danny had already reached his quota in his first lift, how come he’d stayed out for the rest of the day. Life on the streets wasn’t too bad for Creedo’s boys, but no one sat out longer than they had to.

Wyn flicked through the pages in front of him, focusing on the pictures. Peterson’s would be closing soon and while discards from the bakery were cold and stale they usually contained real meat. His belly tightened at the thought. Philly, the urchin’s bossman, kept them in porridge most mornings but there was nothing like a real meat pie to fill a hole. (this sounds a little jokey, bordering on homoerotic - maybe I just have a childish mind)

The body struck the ground, sending up a plume of grit and dust. (It seems like an unreasonable delay to introduce this after the first line)

Everyone ran…except Wyn. Not because he was brave and not because he was slow - you didn’t last long in Steward’s City if you were slow – but because the body lay between him and (the?) yard’s exit.

The noise of the urchins jumping fences and sprinting down alleys faded, leaving him alone with the mangled corpse. He looked up at the clear blue sky. There were no skyrises in this part of town and absolutely nowhere for a man to jump from. So where the hell had the body come from? He’d seen a lot happen in the city but a man falling from the sky was a first.

Wyn began to shuffle sideways, doing his best to keep his eyes off the mess that had once been the man’s legs, and headed towards the yard’s exit. The warehouse wall scraped at his back, pulling him, trying to keep him here. Wyn’s breath, loud and physical in his ears, filled the yard. When they’d found this place, the way the city(’s - suggested delete) sounds faded had been a real draw. Now though, alone with a corpse, not so much.

“You think he’s dead?”

Wyn bit down on a scream and clutched the wall as a scuffle to his right (became - not sure this works for me) Jonah stepping from the shadows, still clutching his knife.

“Well, he ain’t going to be dancing any time soon,” (very nice) Wyn said, forcing a grin on to his face and doing his best to keep his voice steady. You never showed fear, not even to a brother. “Thought you’d have run with the others.”

“Nah, hiding’s smarter.”

Wyn nodded and allowed his body to relax from the wall. Now Jonah was here, he realised how stupid he’d been. Dead was dead. Not anything to be scared of.

“Let’s get his stuff (,) then get out of here.” Jonah stepped towards the corpse.

“Wait!”

Jonah glanced back with a frown ('frowned back at him' may be cleaner? Frown and glance are almost contradictory). “Wait for what? The others will be back soon enough.”

He was right. The corpse’s purse bulged and even though his lower half was ruined by the fall, that tunic could be worth a dollar or two. In Steward’s City, riches like this wouldn’t last long.

“Wait…” Jonah grinned and stepped back. “You’re not scared are you?”

Wyn glared and clenched his fists. Not that he wanted to fight – he was half a foot shorter than Jonah and unarmed to boot – but he couldn’t let an insult go unanswered. “f*ck you and f*ck your fear!” Wyn took three strides to the corpse and crouched down.

The man opened his eyes and let out a groan. (Nice!)

Wyn screamed and threw himself backwards. Zombie! Scrambling among the refuse of the yard, Wyn pulled himself towards the exit, knees and palms scrapping on the sharp ground. It’s going to get me, It’s going to get me. A hand clamped down on his ankle and he screamed, kicking out.

“Whoa, relax, it’s me.” The hand released his ankle and a weight pressed down, pinning him to the floor. “Quit it, you mongrel.”

Wyn froze and realised what was happening. A zombie would be too busy eating his brains (to use a word like mongrel - suggested delete; it takes the pace and humour away). “I’m alright,” he muttered through Jonah’s chest.

“What?”

“I’m alright!”

“If I let you up, you not gonna sh*t your pants?”

“….piss off.”

The weight was withdrawn and Wyn sat up.

Jonah, smiling, stood with a hand offered. “You ain’t going to believe this,” he said, pulling Wyn to his feet.

Wyn straightened and frowned at the dying man dragging himself through gravel and grit across the yard. The man’s mangled bottom half left a slug-like trail of guts and blood (I'd like to see a more evocative description). “How’s he still alive?”

“Don’t know. But its great ain’t it.”

“Uhh, yeah, great.”

The man’s crawling was already slowing. Whatever last pitch of strength he’d had was fading. The remains of the man's left leg caught on an uneven flagstone and he continued to crawl on the spot for a few more moments before his head flopped and collapsed to the ground with a loud thud. (Nice detailed obs)

“Right, you get the loot. I’ll keep watch,” Jonah said.

“Stuff that, you get the loot and I’ll keep watch.”

“I’ve got the knife.” Jonah waved the blade as though to prove it.

“So? Give me the knife and I’ll keep an eye out.”

“No, you idiot,” Jonah said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ve got the knife so do what you’re told or there’ll be two corpses in the yard.”

“Come on, you’re no cutter.” Wyn caught Jonah’s dark eyes and swallowed. Harm against a fellow brother was as big a sin as you could commit. Whatever had happened with the perv earlier had changed things. “Fine. Fine. No need for that. I’ll do it.”

Wyn crept towards the corpse, eyes locked on the corpse. He dropped to a knee and paused. If I was a zombie, this is when I’d rear up and grab the stupid urchin boy who’d come to loot my remains. Holding his breath, his muscles tensed, he waited for the zombie to lunge.

“Get a move on,” Jonah called from behind. “We ain’t got all day.”

“Yeah yeah…” Wyn muttered, flicking some gunk from the corpse’s chest. Oh sh*t! He ran his hand over the revealed crest on the thick tunic. A Messenger! “Jonah, it’s a Messenger.”

“What? Let me see.” Jonah stepped forward and nudged Wyn aside. “You’re right. He’s got sun-kissed hair. Jackpot!”

“We need to get out of here before the Constables come. They’ll give us the long drop if we’re found here with that.”

“Nah, I ain’t leaving empty handed. Get his pouch.”

Wyn backed up, his hands raised. “No chance. I’m not messing with no Messenger. Call me coward but I ain’t stupid.”

Jonah cursed and sheathed his knife. “Fine. I’ll do it.” With a savage yank, he wrenched the purse from the man’s hip then turned towards Wyn. “See? No problem.”

The Messenger reared up and pulled the back of Jonah’s tunic.

As Jonah fell, the purse flew from his hands and Wyn’s reflexes snatched it from the air.

Arms encircled Jonah’s chest, pulling him down and began to squeeze. The urchin’s eyes bulged and he thrashed to get free.

Wyn slipped the purse into a pocket and backed up, ready to run.

Jonah’s arms were thrashing but pinned on his back, with the Messenger beneath, he couldn’t get any leverage. The arms tightened and the urchin’s face started to turn blue.

Wyn backed up some more. He could be out the alley and back to the den in no time. The loot would be his and no one would be the wiser. He took a step towards the exit and then stopped, listening to Jonah’s gasps for air. No one deserved to die to a zombie. Caught lifting and taken for a long drop? Sure, that’s a risk of the life. But eaten by a zombie?

Spying a broken flagstone, Wyn hurried over and heaved it up. He staggered towards the Messenger, arms shaking with effort. Step by step, he closed the gap, watching Jonah’s limbs slow.

“Let him go!” he roared, dropping the slab. The slab twisted as it fell and slammed through the Messenger’s skull.

The arms around Jonah’s chest went limp and he scurried out, eyes watering and coughing for air. He fell to his knees and started to sick up (Sick up?).

Wyn stepped around the Messenger and grabbed Jonah by the scruff of his tunic. “Come on, you can cry later. Let’s get out of here.”

Hi, I've put my comments in bold in the quote.

But some general comments; I'm really glad I read this as I enjoyed it. It was very breezy and easy to read and the opening has a really nice world building flavour. You've also got some very nice turns of phrases and images in there, which I appreciated. Your dialogue is particularly well written and gets us into the urchins' milieu very fast. There's virtually no explaining which is nice, as it's done through the character's thoughts.
I particularly liked the almost farcical humour between the two and the balance of the intrigue of what the hell was actually going on.

The only two criticisms I would say are that I think your sparse writing style works well with the banter, but I would like to see some more evocative description in. but it's a balance isn't it, not to spoil the breezy pace you have here. It's clearly a very rich world and it'd be nice ot get s sense of it in a bit more depth. Smells, sounds, and deeper imagery. THe other thing is that I think it maybe just a bit too long for them to actually getting round to nabbing the purse. For me there was a slight slouch in pace despite the banter.

However, I think it's interesting, well-written and original and I'm glad I read it.

pH

 

[Brian G Turner]

Anyone mind reading this and giving some feedback?

You start off with immediacy - a body falling out of the sky. And then you drop that immediacy to start providing background information, which amounts to little more than "nothing much was happening, everything was pretty much boring and routine, except for a couple of things which have nothing to do with this body".

You open with immediacy - IMO you need to keep with that. Taking a step back to start explaining things is just the basic error of infodump under any other name, IMO.

 

[hardsciencefanagain]

<<At the end of a day, the urchins would meet in this abandoned yard, nestled between warehouses and slaughter pits and forgotten by the citizens of Steward’s City. >>the urchins are nestled/forgotten?What's the "this "doing in that sentence?
<<the tall lad >>So we're dealing with a tall urchin?
<<Their skinny frames almost thrumming with excitement.>>??
Ok,frankly :I gave up:a case of style,theme,setting,phrasing **all clashing and not working for me.
If I had an inkling of what you're trying to do here,i might reconsider.
**e.g.:He ran his hand over the revealed crest on the thick tunic.

 

[barrett1987]

<<At the end of a day, the urchins would meet in this abandoned yard, nestled between warehouses and slaughter pits and forgotten by the citizens of Steward’s City. >>the urchins are nestled/forgotten?What's the "this "doing in that sentence?

Ahh, I see what you mean there, the nestled description almost plays like im describing the urchins rather than the yard.
But yeah, hardsciencefanagain, my writing is very informal. The conversational tone is what i aim for. Coupled with a lot of english slang, tall lad, is Jonah, the other urchin to the main pov, who mentions he's smaller. But i could imagine native tongue issues? Never considered that when writing.

Thank you for the read PH, some brilliant points for me to snag out.

Bryan, you hit the spot. I've got the opening line but i wanted to do a small shuffle back before reintroducing the body. Its not working at the moment... was hoping there was a writing trick i could use to pull it off, cause its not working right now. Hmmn.

 

[barrett1987]

Or rather, this bit below is the real issue. Do i go from the body hitting the ground and feed the info or do i drop the starting line, the hook, and enjoy the slower start? I mean i could start with the dialogue ''...and i cut off his cock" then shuffle the internal thoughts around so they follow that then have the body hit the ground... just not sure.

Wyn was pretending to read his dime novel when the body fell from the sky.

Sat on a crate, facing away from the other urchins and the last of sun’s warmth caressing his face, he hadbeen consideringheading back to the den early if only to get away from all the bullsh**.

It was always the same. At the end of a day, the urchins would meet in this abandoned yard, nestled between warehouses and slaughter pits and forgotten by the citizens of Steward’s City. Tired and hungry, each would try to outdo the other with tales of their day’s events. Today, Jonah had cut an old perv, Danny had sneaked a purse full of dollars and Chaney had watched someone get shot. Not Bolt-Shot, but Bullet-Shot.

It was all utter crap.

Most of them grafted their quota with nothing more than pathetic looks and empty beg bowls. In Jonah’s case - the tall lad waving the knife about - the story had some truth, the flecks of blood on the blade were evidence of that, but judging by the grey pallor of the boy’s skin, Wyn suspected less happier ending than was being told.

“…then I cut off his cock!” Jonah said with his knife held aloft.

The other urchins gathered round in a tight, silent circle. Theirskinny frames almost thrumming with excitement. Wyn resisted a sigh. No one mentioned, if Danny had already reached his quota in his first lift, how come he’d stayed out for the rest of the day. Life on the streets wasn’t too bad for Creedo’s boys, but no one sat out longer than they had to.

Wyn flicked through the pages in front of him, focusing on the pictures. Peterson’s would be closing soon and while discards from the bakery were cold and stale they usually contained real meat. His belly tightened at the thought. Philly, the urchin’s bossman, kept them in porridge most mornings but there was nothing like a real meat pie to fill a hole.

The body struck the ground, sending up a plume of grit and dust.

 

[hardsciencefanagain]

you can start by explaining the "pretending"

 

[Brian G Turner]

was hoping there was a writing trick i could use to pull it off

Forget the infodump, just get back to the immediacy. Anything important that you want to say, you can add later.

For illustration purposes only:

Wyn was pretending to read his dime novel when the body fell from the sky.

It struck the ground, sending up a plume of grit and dust. The evening sun caught it as it slowly dropped over the slaughterhouse yard.

Today, Jonah had cut the cock from an old perv. Danny had sneaked a purse full of dollars. Chaney had watched someone get shot: not Bolt-Shot, but Bullet-Shot.

They all ran.

Wyn didn't run. Not because he was brave and not because he was slow - you didn’t last long in Steward’s City if you were slow – but because the body lay between him and yard’s exit.

The noise of the urchins jumping fences and sprinting down... [etc]

 

[tinkerdan]

In many ways I could agree with Brian on this, but there is a bit more to consider.

For this I went back to Max Gladstone's Three Parts Dead- you should look at the sample and focus on chapter one.
The reason this came to mind was that in chapter one of Three Parts Dead we start with a body falling to the ground, which similarity brought it to mind.

In this instance the POV is the body falling so it's easier to see that the character involvement might be intense as regards the fall so perhaps the similarity ends; but there is something to learn from this. After the fall we get a lot of things from the POV that carry us onward from that fall and into the world that they have landed; so there is some bit of world building going on. But the important thing is that we get the emotions and reactions of the POV so we start to taste smell and feel the world.

So In your piece as Brian has pointed out it seems you almost withdraw from Wyn completely even though he seems the POV. Its not until way down below that the body hits the ground and then we return to a much closer view of the POV to where we become involved again. So although it is in part the reduction of immediacy and muting of the initial beginning that seems to hurt the piece; it is also the lack of character involvement or the lens(ing) out away from the character to do this world building. This means that even if you bring all the action to the top; if you continue drawing away from the character when you world build there might still be some problems.

In reading this the first time through I sort of liked it in that I think I understood what you might be trying to do; which is show how disinterested Wyn is in the nightly game of everyone trying to make their mundane lives sound interesting. And then something less than mundane fall into it and everyone scatters to the four winds except for him; only because fate has somehow positioned him poorly for a quick retreat. On the second read I could see that it was this trick of showing the pretense of the days tales that pushes the reader away from the Wyn and away from the real story.

Now as far as the tense problem...I'm still searching for that. Though I see a few things; I'm not sure I catch the shift mentioned and it might be because I'm too distracted by other things.

 

[Denise Tanaka]

Jumping in a bit late here, I had the same reaction as Brian. The opening line is a great hook, but the next few paragraphs went off on a tangent that lost my interest. I kept skimming through the description of the world in search of answers about the body that dropped out of the sky.

 

[barrett1987]

Sorry for massive delay. Teaching has been hectic. It's halfterm now though. Yay! I think i've tidied up the issues i was having with it and thanks to your input it should read a bit better. But as a first chapter? A grab you by the balls and don't let go? Hmmn. I've got my doubts. I'm not sure this is WOW enough for a first chapter.

Chapter 1

Wyn was pretending to read his dime novel when the body fell from the sky.

Sat on a crate, facing away from the other urchins and the last of sun’s warmth caressing his face, he never saw the body hit the ground but he sure heard it.

The wet thud cut through the other urchins’ boastings and a rare silence fell in the small, abandoned yard which nestled between warehouses and slaughter pits and served as a meeting spot for the gang after a hard day’s grafting.

Wyn glanced back and the dime novel fell from his nerveless fingers. Nobody moved. Nobody so much as breathed. The other urchins stood frozen, eyes wide, staring at the crumpled face down body and Wyn squinted at the back of the man’s head. Sun-kissed hair? What the…

A door slammed nearby and the spell broke. Everyone bolted…except Wyn. Not because he was slow - you didn’t last long in Steward’s City if you were slow - but because the body lay between him and yard’s exit.

The noise of the urchins jumping fences and sprinting down alleys faded, leaving him alone with the mangled corpse. Wyn muttered a curse at his fleeing brothers then pressed his back to the wall and began to shuffle past the corpse, doing his best to keep his eyes off the mess that had once been the man’s legs. The warehouse wall scraped at his back, pulling at his clothes, slowing him and he struggled for control of the terror squeezing at his insides. Damnit, a dead body shouldn’t mess with my guts like this. He clenched his fists and kept his eyes up. There were no skyrises in this part of town and absolutely nowhere for a man to jump from. So where the hell had the body come from?

A slow rhythmic thump began at Wyn’s temples, growing with every half step. No, not now, not that. Not again. His breath, loud and physical in his ears, filled the yard. When they’d found this place, the way the city’s sounds seemed to fade had been a real draw. It had quickly become their safe place. No one bothered them here and they were left alone. Now, alone with a corpse, the loneliness of the place gained an edge.

The sight of the clear blue sky calmed his rolling guts but held no answers. A lot happened in Steward’s City but a man falling from the sky had to be a first.

“You think he’s dead?”

Wyn bit down on a scream and clutched the wall as a scuffle from the shadows became Jonah, clutching a knife.

“Well, he ain’t going to be dancing any time soon,” Wyn said, forcing a grin on to his face and doing his best to keep his voice steady. You never showed fear, not even to a brother. “Thought you’d have run with the others.”

“Nah, hiding’s smarter.”

Wyn nodded, true, and allowed his body to relax from the wall. Now Jonah was here, he realised how stupid he’d been. Dead was dead. Not anything to be scared of.

“Let’s get his stuff then get out of here.” Jonah stepped towards the corpse.

“Wait!”

Jonah glanced back with a frown. “Wait for what? The others will be back soon enough.”

He was right. The corpse’s purse bulged and even though his lower half was ruined by the fall, that tunic could be worth a dollar or two. In Steward’s City, riches like this wouldn’t last long.

“Wait…” Jonah grinned and stepped back. “You’re not scared are you?”

Wyn glared and clenched his fists. Not that he wanted to fight – he was half a foot shorter than Jonah and unarmed to boot – but he couldn’t let an insult go unanswered. “f*ck you and f*ck your fear!” Wyn strode forward and kicked the corpse.

The corpse opened its eyes and groaned.

Wyn screamed and threw himself backwards. Zombie! Scrambling among the refuse of the yard, Wyn pulled himself away, knees and palms scraping on the sharp ground. It’s going to get me, It’s going to get me. A hand clamped down on his ankle and he kicked out.

“Whoa, relax, it’s me.” The hand released his ankle and a weight pressed down, pinning him to the floor, pushing his face into the grit. “Quit it, Mutt.”

Wyn froze. Mutt? A zombie would be too busy eating his brains to talk. “I’m alright,” he muttered through Jonah’s chest.

“What?”

“I’m alright!”

“If I let you up, you not gonna sh*t your pants?”

“….piss off.”

The weight was withdrawn and Wyn sat up, wiping the dust from his face.

Jonah, smiling, stood with a hand offered. “You ain’t going to believe this,” he said, pulling Wyn to his feet.

Wyn straightened and frowned at the dying man dragging himself through gravel and grit across the yard. The man’s mangled bottom half left a slug-like trail of guts and blood. “How’s he still alive?”

“Don’t know. But its great ain’t it.”

“Uhh, yeah, great.”

The man’s crawl was already slowing when the remains of his left leg caught on an uneven flagstone. He continued to pull for a few more moments before his head flopped and collapsed to the ground with a loud crunch.

“Right, you get the loot. I’ll keep watch,” Jonah said.

“Stuff that, you get the loot and I’ll keep watch.”

“I’ve got the knife.” Jonah waved the blade as though to prove it.

“So? Give me the knife and I’ll keep an eye out.”

“No, you idiot,” Jonah said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ve got the knife so do what you’re told or there’ll be two corpses for me to loot.”

“Come on, you’re no cutter.” Wyn caught Jonah’s dark eyes and swallowed. The urchins didn’t have many rules but harm against another brother was a big no no. “Fine. Fine. No need for that. I’ll do it.”

Wyn crept towards the corpse, eyes locked on the corpse. He dropped to a knee and paused. If I was a zombie, this is when I’d rear up and grab the stupid urchin boy who’d come to loot my remains. Holding his breath, his muscles tensed, he waited for the zombie to lunge.

“Get a move on,” Jonah called from behind. “We ain’t got all day.”

“Yeah yeah…” Wyn muttered, flicking some gunk from the corpse’s chest. Oh sh*t! He ran his hand over the revealed crest on the thick tunic. “Jonah, it’s a Messenger. A bloody Messenger!”

“What? Let me see.” Jonah stepped forward and nudged Wyn aside. “You’re right! Jackpot!”

“We need to get out of here before the Constables come. They’ll give us the long drop if we’re found with that.”

“Nah, I ain’t leaving empty handed. Get his pouch.”

Wyn backed up, his hands raised. “No chance. I’m not messing with no Messenger. Cut me if you want but I ain’t grafting a Messenger.”

Jonah cursed and sheathed his knife. “Fine. I’ll do it.” With a savage yank, he wrenched the purse from the man’s hip then turned towards Wyn. “See? No problem.”

The Messenger reared up and yanked the back of Jonah’s tunic. As Jonah fell, the purse flew from his hands and Wyn snatched it from the air.

Arms encircled Jonah’s chest, pulling him down and began to squeeze. The urchin’s eyes bulged and he thrashed to get free.

Wyn slipped the purse into a pocket and backed up, ready to run.

Jonah’s arms were thrashing but pinned on his back, with the Messenger beneath, he couldn’t get any leverage. The arms tightened and the urchin’s face started to turn blue.

Wyn backed up some more. He could be out the alley and back to Philly’s in no time. The loot would be his and no one would be the wiser. He took a step towards the exit and then stopped, listening to the strangled gasps. Jonah was a prick but no one deserved to die to a zombie. Caught lifting and taken for a long drop? Sure, that’s a risk of the life. But eaten by a zombie? No bloody way.

Spying a broken flagstone, Wyn hurried over and heaved it up. He staggered towards the Messenger, arms shaking with effort. Step by step, he closed the gap, watching Jonah’s limbs slow.

“Let him go!” he roared, dropping the slab. The slab twisted as it fell and slammed through the Messenger’s skull and the hugging arms went limp.

Jonah rolled away, eyes watering and coughing for air.

Wyn stepped around the Messenger and grabbed Jonah by the scruff of his tunic. “Come on, you can cry later. We’ve got to get out of here.”

They hurtled down the alley, skipping over the snapped crates and piles of broken glass and headed deeper into the city. Neither boy looked back.

 

[HareBrain]

I think it certainly has potential to be a good first chapter. What's not "wow" about a body falling from the sky? Having said that, I think it needs a bit more work. More detailed comments in the quote below.

Wyn was pretending to read his dime novel when the body fell from the sky.

Sat on a crate, facing away from the other urchins and the last of sun’s warmth caressing his face, he never saw the body hit the ground but he sure heard it. [You've got a great opening line, but it's not actually in his POV, because he's not aware of the body as it's falling and he isn't aware that it is a body at first. I want to know what he first hears, how it surprises him, what he thinks the noise is before he knows for sure -- all of that is missing. Actually, the more I think about it, the more that opening line troubles me. Maybe you could keep it in his POV by having it land in his line of sight: "Wyn was pretending to read his dime novel when the body landed from the sky five paces from him", or something]

The wet thud cut through the other urchins’ boastings and a rare silence fell in the small, abandoned yard which nestled between warehouses and slaughter pits and served as a meeting spot for the gang after a hard day’s grafting. [This is still a bit of an obvious cramming in of setting. I don't think it's necessary yet. Get back to the body!]

Wyn glanced back and the dime novel fell from his nerveless fingers. Nobody moved. Nobody so much as breathed. The other urchins stood frozen, eyes wide, staring at the crumpled face down body and Wyn squinted at the back of the man’s head. Sun-kissed hair? What the… [Would he really think about the man's hair colour? There had better be a good reason. Even if so, would "sun-kissed" be a trerm he'd use?]

A door slammed nearby and the spell broke. Everyone bolted…except Wyn. Not because he was slow - you didn’t last long in Steward’s City if you were slow - but because the body lay between him and yard’s exit.

The noise of the urchins jumping fences and sprinting down alleys faded, leaving him alone with the mangled corpse. Wyn muttered a curse at his fleeing brothers then pressed his back to the wall and began to shuffle past the corpse [here would be a good place to get in some details of the setting], doing his best to keep his eyes off the mess that had once been the man’s legs. [A few choice details might be good here, if you don't overdo it.] The warehouse wall scraped at his back, pulling at his clothes, slowing him and he struggled for control of the terror squeezing at his insides. Damnit, a dead body shouldn’t mess with my guts like this. [Some hint of why not? Has he seen plenty before?] He clenched his fists and kept his eyes up. There were no skyrises in this part of town and absolutely nowhere for a man to jump from. So where the hell had the body come from?

A slow rhythmic thump began at Wyn’s temples, growing with every half step. No, not now, not that. Not again. [What is this? You don't refer to it again but it feels important, like something's about to happen to him, but it doesn't.] His breath, loud and physical in his ears, filled the yard. When they’d found this place [or maybe get the setting in here], the way the city’s sounds seemed to fade had been a real draw. It had quickly become their safe place. No one bothered them here and they were left alone. Now, alone with a corpse, the loneliness of the place gained an edge.

The sight of the clear blue sky calmed his rolling guts but held no answers. A lot happened in Steward’s City but a man falling from the sky had to be a first.

“You think he’s dead?”

Wyn bit down on a scream and clutched the wall as a scuffle [scuffle implies fight. I think it's too confusing as a word choice] from the shadows became Jonah, clutching a knife.

“Well, he ain’t going to be dancing any time soon,” Wyn said, forcing a grin on to his face and doing his best to keep his voice steady. You never showed fear, not even to a brother. “Thought you’d have run with the others.”

“Nah, hiding’s smarter.”

Wyn nodded, true, and allowed his body to relax from the wall. Now Jonah was here, he realised how stupid he’d been. Dead was dead. Not anything to be scared of.

“Let’s get his stuff then get out of here.” Jonah stepped towards the corpse.

“Wait!”

Jonah glanced back with a frown. “Wait for what? The others will be back soon enough.”

He was right. The corpse’s purse bulged and even though his lower half was ruined by the fall, that tunic could be worth a dollar or two. In Steward’s City, riches like this wouldn’t last long.

“Wait…” Jonah grinned and stepped back. “You’re not scared are you?”

Wyn glared and clenched his fists. Not that he wanted to fight – he was half a foot shorter than Jonah and unarmed to boot – but he couldn’t let an insult go unanswered. “f*ck you and f*ck your fear!” Wyn strode forward and kicked the corpse.

The corpse opened its eyes and groaned.

Wyn screamed and threw himself backwards. Zombie! Scrambling among the refuse of the yard, Wyn pulled himself away, knees and palms scraping on the sharp ground. It’s going to get me, It’s going to get me. A hand clamped down on his ankle and he kicked out.

“Whoa, relax, it’s me.” The hand released his ankle and a weight pressed down, pinning him to the floor, pushing his face into the grit. “Quit it, Mutt.”

Wyn froze. Mutt? A zombie would be too busy eating his brains to talk [Why would he think this? He already knows it's Jonah?]. “I’m alright,” he muttered through Jonah’s chest. [Through his chest? Eh?]

“What?”

“I’m alright!”

“If I let you up, you not gonna sh*t your pants?”

“….piss off.”

The weight was withdrawn and Wyn sat up, wiping the dust from his face.

Jonah, smiling, stood with a hand offered. “You ain’t going to believe this,” he said, pulling Wyn to his feet.

Wyn straightened and frowned at the dying man dragging himself through gravel and grit across the yard. The man’s mangled bottom half left a slug-like trail of guts and blood. “How’s he still alive?”

“Don’t know. But its great ain’t it.”

“Uhh, yeah, great.”

The man’s crawl was already slowing when the remains of his left leg caught on an uneven flagstone. He continued to pull for a few more moments before his head flopped and collapsed to the ground with a loud crunch.

“Right, you get the loot. I’ll keep watch,” Jonah said.

“Stuff that, you get the loot and I’ll keep watch.”

“I’ve got the knife.” Jonah waved the blade as though to prove it.

“So? Give me the knife and I’ll keep an eye out.”

“No, you idiot,” Jonah said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ve got the knife so do what you’re told or there’ll be two corpses for me to loot.”

“Come on, you’re no cutter.” Wyn caught Jonah’s dark eyes and swallowed. The urchins didn’t have many rules but harm against another brother was a big no no. “Fine. Fine. No need for that. I’ll do it.”

Wyn crept towards the corpse, eyes locked on the corpse. He dropped to a knee and paused. If I was a zombie, this is when I’d rear up and grab the stupid urchin boy who’d come to loot my remains. Holding his breath, his muscles tensed, he waited for the zombie to lunge.

“Get a move on,” Jonah called from behind. “We ain’t got all day.”

“Yeah yeah…” Wyn muttered, flicking some gunk from the corpse’s chest. Oh sh*t! He ran his hand over the revealed crest on the thick tunic. “Jonah, it’s a Messenger. A bloody Messenger!”

“What? Let me see.” Jonah stepped forward and nudged Wyn aside. “You’re right! Jackpot!”

“We need to get out of here before the Constables come. They’ll give us the long drop if we’re found with that.”

“Nah, I ain’t leaving empty handed. Get his pouch.”

Wyn backed up, his hands raised. “No chance. I’m not messing with no Messenger. Cut me if you want but I ain’t grafting a Messenger.”

Jonah cursed and sheathed his knife. “Fine. I’ll do it.” With a savage yank, he wrenched the purse from the man’s hip then turned towards Wyn. “See? No problem.”

The Messenger reared up and yanked [repeat of yank] the back of Jonah’s tunic. As Jonah fell, the purse flew from his hands and Wyn snatched it from the air.

Arms encircled Jonah’s chest, pulling him down and began to squeeze. The urchin’s eyes bulged and he thrashed to get free.

Wyn slipped the purse into a pocket and backed up, ready to run.

Jonah’s arms were thrashing but pinned on his back, with the Messenger beneath, he couldn’t get any leverage. The arms tightened and the urchin’s [referring to him as "the urchin" so many times feels a bit much. You could use "he" here and it would be clear enough who you mean] face started to turn blue.

Wyn backed up some more. He could be out the alley and back to Philly’s in no time. The loot would be his and no one would be the wiser. He took a step towards the exit and then stopped, listening to the strangled gasps. Jonah was a prick but no one deserved to die to a zombie. Caught lifting and taken for a long drop? Sure, that’s a risk of the life. But eaten by a zombie? No bloody way.

Spying a broken flagstone, Wyn hurried over and heaved it up. He staggered towards the Messenger, arms shaking with effort. Step by step, he closed the gap, watching Jonah’s limbs slow.

“Let him go!” he roared, dropping the slab. The slab twisted as it fell and slammed through the Messenger’s skull and the hugging arms went limp.

Jonah rolled away, eyes watering and coughing for air.

Wyn stepped around the Messenger and grabbed Jonah by the scruff of his tunic. “Come on, you can cry later. We’ve got to get out of here.”

They hurtled down the alley, skipping over the snapped crates and piles of broken glass and headed deeper into the city. Neither boy looked back.

 

[barrett1987]

Thank you so much. Cleared up a lot of those confusions. Made the headaches thing a bit clearer and rearranged the description of scene so its more organic and kept the focus on the body for longer.
Good edits. I still don't think this has enough of a ''ill keep reading factor'' but then it might be cause i'm not personally liking the scene. Ill get cold eyes on it and see the feedback.

 

[barrett1987]

Posting this copy of final version for thread completion. Time to move on and thank you all for the help. Much love.

Chapter - Wyn

Wyn was pretending to read his dime novel when the body fell from the sky. The wet thud cut through the other urchins’ boastings and a rare silence fell in the small yard.

Nobody moved. Nobody so much as breathed. All eyes fixed on the crumpled face-down body.

A door slammed nearby and the spell broke. Everyone bolted. Everyone except Wyn. Not because he was slow - you didn’t last long in Steward’s City if you were slow - but because the body lay between him and yard’s exit.

The dime novel fell from Wyn’s nerveless fingers as the noise of the other boys jumping fences and sprinting down alleys faded, leaving him alone with the mangled corpse. He looked around the abandoned yard. When they’d found this place, nestled between reeking slaughter pits and warehouses, the way the city’s sounds seemed to fade had been a real draw and it had quickly become their safe place. Now, alone with a corpse, the loneliness of the place gained an edge.

He pressed his back to the wall and began to shuffle past the corpse, doing his best to keep his eyes off the mess that had once been the man’s legs. The warehouse wall scraped his back, pulling at his clothes and slowing him to a shuffle. Terror squeezed his insides. Damnit, a dead body shouldn’t mess with my guts like this. I’ve seen enough of them. His breath, loud and physical in his ears, filled the yard and a slow rhythmic thump began at his temples, growing with every half step. No, not now, not that. Not again. I can’t pass out here. He clenched his fists, the sweat of his palms clammy and warm, and kept his eyes up. There were no skyrises in this part of town and absolutely nowhere for a man to jump from. So where the hell had the body come from?

“You think he’s dead?”

Wyn bit down on a scream and clutched the wall as a scrape from the shadows became Jonah, clutching a knife.

“Well, he ain’t going to be dancing any time soon,” Wyn said, forcing a grin and keeping his voice steady. You never showed fear, not even to a brother. “Thought you’d have run with the others.”

“Nah, hiding’s smarter.”

Wyn nodded, true, and allowed his body to relax from the wall. Now Jonah was here, he realised how stupid he’d been. Dead was dead. Not anything to be scared of.

“Let’s get his stuff then get out of here.” Jonah stepped towards the corpse.

“Wait!”

Jonah glanced back with a frown. “Wait for what? The others will be back soon enough.”

He was right. The corpse’s purse bulged and even though his lower half was ruined by the fall, that tunic could be worth a dollar or two. In Steward’s City, riches like this wouldn’t last long.

Jonah grinned and stepped back. “You’re not scared are you?”

Wyn glared and clenched his fists. Not that he wanted to fight – he was half a foot shorter than Jonah and unarmed to boot – but he couldn’t let an insult go unanswered. “f*ck you and f*ck your fear!” Wyn strode forward and kicked the corpse.

The corpse opened its eyes and groaned.

“Zombie!” Wyn screamed and threw himself backwards, knees and palms scraping through refuse. It’s going to get me, It’s going to get me! A hand clamped down on his ankle and he kicked out.

“Whoa, relax, it’s me.” The hand released his ankle and a weight pressed down, pinning him to the ground, pushing his face into sharp grit. “Quit it, Mutt.”

Wyn froze. A zombie would be too busy eating his brains to talk. “I’m alright,” he muttered into the ground.

“What?”

“I’m alright!” Shards of stone stuck to his tongue and he wanted to spit.

“If I let you up, you not gonna sh*t your pants?”

“….Piss off.”

The weight was withdrawn and Wyn sat up, wiping the dust from his face.

Jonah, smiling, stood with a hand offered. “You ain’t going to believe this,” he said, pulling Wyn to his feet.

Wyn straightened and frowned at the dying man dragging himself across the yard, leaving a slug-like trail of guts and blood. “How’s he still alive?”

“Don’t know. But its great ain’t it.”

“Uhh, yeah, great.”

The man’s left leg caught on an uneven flagstone. He continued to pull for a few more moments before his head flopped to the ground with a loud crunch.

“Right, you get the loot. I’ll keep watch,” Jonah said.

“Stuff that, you get the loot and I’ll keep watch.”

“I’ve got the knife.” Jonah waved the blade to prove it.

“So? Give me the knife and I’ll keep an eye out.”

“No, you idiot,” Jonah said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ve got the knife so do what you’re told or there’ll be two corpses for me to loot.”

“Come on, you’re no cutter.” Wyn caught Jonah’s dark eyes and swallowed. The urchins didn’t have many rules but harm against another brother was a big no-no. “Fine. Fine. No need for that. I’ll do it.” He crept towards the corpse, eyes locked on the corpse. When he dropped to a knee, he paused. If I was a zombie, this is when I’d rear up and grab the stupid boy who’d come to loot my remains. Holding his breath, his muscles tensed, he waited for the zombie to lunge.

“Get a move on,” Jonah called from behind. “We ain’t got all day.”

“Yeah yeah…” Wyn muttered, flicking some gunk from the corpse’s chest. Oh sh*t! He ran his hand over the revealed crest on the thick tunic. “Jonah, it’s a Messenger. A bloody Messenger!”

“What? Let me see.” Jonah stepped forward and nudged Wyn aside. “You’re right! Jackpot!”

“We need to get out of here before the Constables come. They’ll give us the long drop if we’re found with that.”

“Nah, I ain’t leaving empty handed. Get his pouch.”

Wyn backed up, his hands raised. “No chance. I’m not messing with no Messenger. Cut me if you want but I ain’t grafting a Messenger.”

Jonah cursed and sheathed his knife. “Fine. I’ll do it.” With a savage wrench, he wrenched the purse from the man’s hip then turned towards Wyn. “See? No problem.”

The Messenger reared up and yanked the back of Jonah’s tunic. As Jonah fell, the purse flew from his hands and Wyn snatched it from the air.

Arms encircled Jonah’s chest, pulling him down and began to squeeze. His eyes bulged and his limbs thrashed but pinned on his back, with the Messenger beneath, he couldn’t get any leverage. The arms tightened and the urchin’s face started to turn blue.

Wyn slipped the purse into a pocket and backed up, ready to run. He could be out the alley and back to Philly’s in no time. The loot would be his and no one would be the wiser. He took a step towards the exit and then stopped, listening to the strangled gasps. Jonah was a prick but no one deserved death by zombie. Caught lifting and taken for a long drop? Sure, that’s a risk of the life. But eaten by a zombie? No bloody way.

Spying a broken flagstone, Wyn hurried over and heaved it up. He staggered towards the Messenger, arms shaking with effort. Step by step, he closed the gap, watching Jonah’s limbs slow.

“Let him go!” he roared, dropping the slab. It twisted as it fell and slammed through the Messenger’s skull. The arms went limp and Jonah rolled away, eyes watering and coughing for air.

Wyn grabbed Jonah by the scruff of his tunic. “Come on, you can cry later. We’ve got to get out of here.”

They hurtled down the alley, skipping over snapped crates and piles of broken glass, and headed deeper into the city. Neither boy looked back.