TitaniumTi
Well-Known Member
I hope it is okay to post two scenes for critique, a week apart. I'll wait a while before I post anything further, but I wanted to check on clarity, the balance of showing and telling, and POV. In particular, I wanted this protagonist to have a more cosmopolitan voice, but lack experience of rural life. Is she believable? Would she have immediately realized why the birds were there and what they had done?
This scene follows on from the previously posted scene, in which Zac finds a body.
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They reached the crest of the rise. Detective Sergeant Liz Cooper scanned the scene downslope. Ignoring the pull of overworked muscles, she forced her gasping breaths into a semblance of calmness. This big-picture moment would never come again. Ever after, what she saw would be coloured by what she knew.
She couldn’t see the body. A vortex of birds, of wide-winged flapping darkness and harshly avid caws, was centred on rough ground where a gully intercepted an untidy line of bushes. A few crows perched on high branches of the surrounding gumtrees, adding their voices to the cacophony. The landscape was devoid of people, of houses, of any trappings of civilisation. Despite the burning sunlight, Liz rubbed her arms. Give me the Friday night drunks at King’s Cross, she thought. I’d rather deal with them.
Someone cursed beside her, making her jump. Constable Gurner lurched forward. He ran downhill, ungainly despite his fit appearance, windmilling his arms and shouting. What was he saying? Something that sounded like “Man-a, man-a”, Liz thought. She turned to Mick, saying “What—“, but she was talking to empty air. Mick was already in motion, gaining on Gurner. As the men reached the gully, the crows rose higher. A larger bird – some sort of eagle or hawk – ascended at a shallow angle, gradually lifting on the long, slow sweeps of its wings.
Good, Liz thought. Those birds are going. They don’t belong in my crime scene.
She stood very still, sweeping her gaze right and left. A distracting trickle of sweat ran down her back. She twisted her arm behind her, pressing shirt to skin. If she ignored the birds – which was difficult – the scene looked ordinary, or at least that dull, dusty version of ordinary that she’d become accustomed to since leaving Sydney. She saw nothing that told her anything about what had happened here. It was time to move on, into the organised chaos of the crime scene investigation.
Gurner had climbed the far wall of the gully. He was walking downhill, still calling, saying “Amanda”, not “man-a”. Liz frowned. Where was the constable who would have been left standing guard over the body? She felt her stomach drop. What had she done, bringing Gurner down to the road to guide them up, leaving the other constable alone and vulnerable.
Something about Mick’s stance was troubling, too. He was slightly hunched, holding his hand to his mouth. His chest heaved in big gulping breaths. Slowly, he straightened, looking at the circling birds. Even at this distance, Liz could read his white-faced anger.
She took one slow step, then another. Tightening her jaw, she walked down to Mick.
The body lay on its back. It reeked of blood and faeces. The facial skin was flayed back to teeth, jaw and cheekbone. The left eye was missing, but the right eye stared from a lidless hole. One arm was thrown up, revealing a wrist where tendons shone white. A loose garment – some sort of gown – was torn at the waist. Flies crawled over the raw, fleshy mass of the torso.
Liz swallowed. If only she could walk back to the car, drive back to Sydney and never return to this hell-hole. “I thought the boy said there weren’t any signs of injury,” she said.
“He did.” Mick looked at her, his expression a mixture of pity and contempt.
Contempt for me, Liz realised. Is that what he really thinks of me? There was always a distance between them, but they worked well enough together and mingled in a superficial, shall-we-go-to-the-pub-after-work sort of way.
Mick looked away. The muscles in his neck tightened. “This wasn’t how the boy found him,” he said. “The birds did this.”
*******************************************************
This is not the end of the scene. I hope it is enough to judge whether it works.
This scene follows on from the previously posted scene, in which Zac finds a body.
*********************************
They reached the crest of the rise. Detective Sergeant Liz Cooper scanned the scene downslope. Ignoring the pull of overworked muscles, she forced her gasping breaths into a semblance of calmness. This big-picture moment would never come again. Ever after, what she saw would be coloured by what she knew.
She couldn’t see the body. A vortex of birds, of wide-winged flapping darkness and harshly avid caws, was centred on rough ground where a gully intercepted an untidy line of bushes. A few crows perched on high branches of the surrounding gumtrees, adding their voices to the cacophony. The landscape was devoid of people, of houses, of any trappings of civilisation. Despite the burning sunlight, Liz rubbed her arms. Give me the Friday night drunks at King’s Cross, she thought. I’d rather deal with them.
Someone cursed beside her, making her jump. Constable Gurner lurched forward. He ran downhill, ungainly despite his fit appearance, windmilling his arms and shouting. What was he saying? Something that sounded like “Man-a, man-a”, Liz thought. She turned to Mick, saying “What—“, but she was talking to empty air. Mick was already in motion, gaining on Gurner. As the men reached the gully, the crows rose higher. A larger bird – some sort of eagle or hawk – ascended at a shallow angle, gradually lifting on the long, slow sweeps of its wings.
Good, Liz thought. Those birds are going. They don’t belong in my crime scene.
She stood very still, sweeping her gaze right and left. A distracting trickle of sweat ran down her back. She twisted her arm behind her, pressing shirt to skin. If she ignored the birds – which was difficult – the scene looked ordinary, or at least that dull, dusty version of ordinary that she’d become accustomed to since leaving Sydney. She saw nothing that told her anything about what had happened here. It was time to move on, into the organised chaos of the crime scene investigation.
Gurner had climbed the far wall of the gully. He was walking downhill, still calling, saying “Amanda”, not “man-a”. Liz frowned. Where was the constable who would have been left standing guard over the body? She felt her stomach drop. What had she done, bringing Gurner down to the road to guide them up, leaving the other constable alone and vulnerable.
Something about Mick’s stance was troubling, too. He was slightly hunched, holding his hand to his mouth. His chest heaved in big gulping breaths. Slowly, he straightened, looking at the circling birds. Even at this distance, Liz could read his white-faced anger.
She took one slow step, then another. Tightening her jaw, she walked down to Mick.
The body lay on its back. It reeked of blood and faeces. The facial skin was flayed back to teeth, jaw and cheekbone. The left eye was missing, but the right eye stared from a lidless hole. One arm was thrown up, revealing a wrist where tendons shone white. A loose garment – some sort of gown – was torn at the waist. Flies crawled over the raw, fleshy mass of the torso.
Liz swallowed. If only she could walk back to the car, drive back to Sydney and never return to this hell-hole. “I thought the boy said there weren’t any signs of injury,” she said.
“He did.” Mick looked at her, his expression a mixture of pity and contempt.
Contempt for me, Liz realised. Is that what he really thinks of me? There was always a distance between them, but they worked well enough together and mingled in a superficial, shall-we-go-to-the-pub-after-work sort of way.
Mick looked away. The muscles in his neck tightened. “This wasn’t how the boy found him,” he said. “The birds did this.”
*******************************************************
This is not the end of the scene. I hope it is enough to judge whether it works.
