Just an opening (200 words)

[reiver33]

Woke up with this scene in my head a couple of days ago and it’s been niggling at me since. Maybe writing it down will help...

I reached the darkness on the edge of town; open road but sporting a scatter of speed cameras to deter boy racers. Enough rain to bring the night in close, not enough to cloak the headlights hanging back in my rearview mirror. Wiper beat bleeding into the low burble of ‘Jazz Club’ on FM; relaxing, distracting but not soporific. Keeping to the speed limit, zero standout, nothing to see here. Just another commuter wending his way home to a rural retreat.

Honest.

Gear stick slick with blood. Transfer from my hand otherwise employed in pressing a now-sodden scarf into the wound. The pain was bad, real bad, only held at bay by vodka, inside and out. Stoli as battlefield anaesthetic.

My revolver lying there on the passenger seat; empty, but still reassuring. A one-handed reload wasn’t on the cards, not while moving. I needed space, time, from pulling over to my tail catching up.

Stretched my lead some, but couldn’t shake the white sedan. Round the next bend and Long Wood came up; poker straight avenue of oaks crowding the roadway. No place to hide. For either of us.

So, time to see who had more to lose.

 

[Yozh]

Woke up with this scene in my head a couple of days ago and it’s been niggling at me since. Maybe writing it down will help...

I reached the darkness on the edge of town; open road but sporting a scatter of speed cameras to deter boy racers. Enough rain to bring the night in close, not enough to cloak the headlights hanging back in my rearview mirror. Wiper beat bleeding into the low burble of ‘Jazz Club’ on FM; relaxing, distracting but not soporific. Keeping to the speed limit, zero standout, nothing to see here. Just another commuter wending his way home to a rural retreat.

Honest.

I think you do a good job of setting the scene and the tone in this very concise opening. References to the edge of town and commuters conjuring image of not too-crowded highway leading out of the city too small to have suburbs, but large enough to draw commuters. "Boy racers" clues that this is going to be a story set in a male world, main character's listening to jazz, so he's probably older.

Some nitpicks: when I read the first sentence, I thought of "the darkness" as a place that he reached by car, like some kind of localized supernatural phenomenon or magical curse--I guess because this is fantasy and science fiction forum. But reading further, it seems like it's just regular nightfall. Would make more sense to say something like "I reached the edge of town as darkness fell."

Gear stick slick with blood. Transfer from my hand otherwise employed in pressing a now-sodden scarf into the wound. The pain was bad, real bad, only held at bay by vodka, inside and out. Stoli as battlefield anaesthetic.

My revolver lying there on the passenger seat; empty, but still reassuring. A one-handed reload wasn’t on the cards, not while moving. I needed space, time, from pulling over to my tail catching up.

Stretched my lead some, but couldn’t shake the white sedan. Round the next bend and Long Wood came up; poker straight avenue of oaks crowding the roadway. No place to hide. For either of us.

So, time to see who had more to lose.

So now you've quickly established that this is a story about men, guns, and cars. Main character is a hard drinking tough guy. Not my thing but if it were I'd probably keep reading.

Some issues with the physical description: you start out describing the gear shift as slick with blood, which leads the reader to think that main character is gripping the gear shift (and therefore feels that it is slick). But then say that character doesn't have his hand on the gear shift, that the shifting hand is occupied staunching a wound. We don't know where on the body that wound is. it's kind of confusing.

 

[J Riff]

Good. Are street names sposed to be in italics ?

 

[reiver33]

The above was cut down to fit a 200 word limit on another site. The following snippet may place it in context for here...

I yanked the wheel over, hauled on the hand-break. The back end broke away, slewing round on the slick tarmac, pulling a one-eighty. We rocked on two wheels, heavy into the turn, then straightened up as I gunned the engine, back down the road.

A game of chicken? Call that a plan?

“Feel free to jump in with a better idea, anytime you like.”

You’re the one who insists I’m just a figment of your imagination, so anything I come up with, you’ve already thought of.

“Multiple personality disorder, in touch with my feminine side, don’t care. No reasonable offer-“

Too late.

Oncoming headlights swept round the bend, full beam. I accelerated into the glare, straddling the centre line.

 

[Swank]

Transfer from my hand otherwise employed in pressing a now-sodden scarf into the wound.

Ay caramba! Does this feel easy to read and punchy in the manner of the piece? Or do you have to slow down and pick it apart to understand it?

 

[msstice]

I liked the first part (first post). It has a distinctive style that fits detective noire. I'd read further. The addendum is a bit too chatty. It somehow doesn't fit with the first part.

 

[ColGray]

Agree with @msstice on the tone shift. The initial post is hard boiled noir detective after a bad night and a solid tone and introduction.

The second part is jarring in context.

This line, in particular:

You’re the one who insists I’m just a figment of your imagination

My own pet peeve, but i detest that trope framed so openly. It sucks the power from the relationship, as well the reveal and humor. It also has an off-putting (to me) effect when the character says, I'm insane--but I'm aware I'm insane, so am i reeeeeally insane? The only fun twist I've seen was this kind of overt reveal followed by the person not being insane and there actually being a second version of themselves talking to them.

You can rework your dialogue into something more in line with hard boiled noir. Just a quick once over:

"Jousting?"
"Playing chicken."
"Chicken's not a plan."
"Feel free to jump in with a better idea."
"You're the idea guy."
"We're the idea guy."
"If you say so."
Oncoming headlights swept round the bend, full beam. I accelerated into the glare, straddling the centre line.
"Too late for anything else."
"If you go, do i go, too?"

 

[reiver33]

My thanks for the comments and suggestions! I'll just say that the narrator isn't mentally ill, he's just trying to convince himself that he is, given the alternative.