*sigh*.
Well folks, I'm not very satisfied with this one. It's almost a thousand words long, and its a portion of the story that's required, but I'm not sure that I like it.
Something feels very.... strange. As if it were a movie with very poor acting. It feels very..... fake.
Anyway, tell me what you think, and perhaps show me how to correct it remember, if it feels like it's traveling very fast, remember that the finished product is gonna be a film. That's what I'm shooting for, and it's probably what we will end up with.
I've included the last few sentences from the last one, so you'll know where we left off, and again, my blog software ruined the formatting, so it's pretty screwed up.
Enjoy, if you can.
He scratched the dogs ears slowly. Then his brain began to function, and he thought about the sentence he'd just spoken. He began looking through his pockets for any form of identification.
He was, unfortunately, disappointed. He had nothing in his pockets but a little scrap of paper with the word “Shadow” nearly blurred to the point of unreadability by his wet jeans. He wasn't willing to give up though, so he pulled off his jean overshirt, and read the tag in the neck. Nothing but wash machine instructions.
As he was pulling his shirt back on though, he saw an inner pocket that he hadn't seen before. He reached in and pulled out a business card. Every word and letter was blurred out, except for the name “Michael”, which was almost miraculously clear.
He looked toward Gabe and said “Why would I have such a stupid name as Michael? That can't be my name!” He sat down kneeled down and leaned against a tree, while Gabe merely cocked his head. Micheal sighed, then stated resolutely, “At least it's not Dwight. I've never liked Dwight. Wait, maybe I did!” Then Michael stood up, laughing, and continued down the road.
At the edge of town, an old warehouse looked as though it were about to crumble. The windows were all boarded up, the roof was rotting, and it seemed to be leaning slightly to the left. The automatic gate out front looked to be out of order, but it's actions proved otherwise. A freshly washed, silver sports car drove up, and the gate opened as solidly and smoothly as it did when it was new. The car quickly made its way in, skillfully avoiding the puddles scattered throughout the drive. The car pulled around to the back of the warehouse, where some juvenile had painted “Hell” in orange and black. A white van was already parked and a tall man, well over six feet tall, was unloading some computer equipment and hauling it inside. He wore a black muscle shirt, and big baggy black jeans, as well as a pair of clunky combat boots, which were also black. His clothing was almost exactly opposite of Chase's, other than the color. Chase wore black slacks, a black polo shirt, and black, freshly polished dress shoes.
Farrel saw the tension on Chase's face. It was obviously that he was having difficulty in forcing himself to stay under control. Farrel was surprised Chase could do it at all, considering the circumstances. A casual observer might think that Farrel held the advantage physically, but the one time it had come to fists in the past, Chase had proved otherwise.
Chase looked at the van a few moments before saying “Fair, should we paint this thing black?”
Farrel was just coming back out for some more equipment when he responded “White's been fine, but black would give us a lot more options.”
“That's about what I was thinking. I had something planned for tonight, but we might as well wait. Lets get it painted this week.”
“Sounds good.”
Chase leaned back against his car and slid his hands into his pockets. After a moment of thinking he looked up at Farrel, who was just about to grab some more equipment, and said “Hey Fair, you want to get something to eat?” Farrel stopped and looked at his watch. “Sure. Timmy and Jake will be here in an hour, they can take care of this stuff. Lemme grab a coat.”
Farrel went inside, and returned in a few moments wearing a leather jacket and carrying a briefcase. He opened the car door and climbed in, while Chase did the same. Chase started the car, and it hummed smoothly. As carefully as he drove in, he backed out, opened the electric gate, and drove away.
“Now, lets start at the beginning.” Chase said. “What happened?”
Farrel took a deep breath, then let it out. “I'm surprised you waited this long to ask.” The car almost instantly stopped, and Farrel was slammed against the dash. Chase didn't even turn his head as he said flatly, “Don't get smart. A person can get hurt when he gets smart.”
Farrel responded while rubbing his forehead “Yeah. Ok.”
Chase resumed his driving and said “Now, lets start over. What happened?”
Michael had become used to his own name, and that of the dog. He was now starting to see a few houses here and there, and a lot of cattle. Every once in a while, a horse would run up to the fence and watch him. Donkeys would bray and warn all the other animals of this strange impostor. Gabe would meet another dog every once in a while that just happened to be an old acquaintance, and they'd play for a few minutes. Gabe would always stop playing as soon as Michael passed him. Michael would talk to Gabe since there was nobody else around, but the conversation usually ended very quickly due to its one-sidedness. This time though, Michael was going on and on, rambling about how he wasn't going to tell anybody about his situation.
“I'm not going to go crying on anybodies shoulder. I wouldn't want anybody doing that to me, so I certainly won't do it to them. My only problem is, I don't know what I would tell them.” Gabe walked beside him, looking at him. Michael continued, “I'd better make something up now, rather than later. I'd hate to have to make it up on the fly.”
He continued to ponder the situation, while looking down at his worn-out tennis shoes that might have been white at one point in there life. When he looked up again they were nearing a church. Maybe the pastor could give him some information that would be useful. He practically ran up the steps to the door, and he was about to open it, but he could hear the pastor preaching inside. The yelling stirred up something within his memory, and he tried to remember. It was pulling at him, and he was pulling at it. He sat dazed, trying to recall this painful experience. Then, the world went black.
Something feels very.... strange. As if it were a movie with very poor acting. It feels very..... fake.
Anyway, tell me what you think, and perhaps show me how to correct it remember, if it feels like it's traveling very fast, remember that the finished product is gonna be a film. That's what I'm shooting for, and it's probably what we will end up with.
I've included the last few sentences from the last one, so you'll know where we left off, and again, my blog software ruined the formatting, so it's pretty screwed up.
Enjoy, if you can.
He scratched the dogs ears slowly. Then his brain began to function, and he thought about the sentence he'd just spoken. He began looking through his pockets for any form of identification.
He was, unfortunately, disappointed. He had nothing in his pockets but a little scrap of paper with the word “Shadow” nearly blurred to the point of unreadability by his wet jeans. He wasn't willing to give up though, so he pulled off his jean overshirt, and read the tag in the neck. Nothing but wash machine instructions.
As he was pulling his shirt back on though, he saw an inner pocket that he hadn't seen before. He reached in and pulled out a business card. Every word and letter was blurred out, except for the name “Michael”, which was almost miraculously clear.
He looked toward Gabe and said “Why would I have such a stupid name as Michael? That can't be my name!” He sat down kneeled down and leaned against a tree, while Gabe merely cocked his head. Micheal sighed, then stated resolutely, “At least it's not Dwight. I've never liked Dwight. Wait, maybe I did!” Then Michael stood up, laughing, and continued down the road.
At the edge of town, an old warehouse looked as though it were about to crumble. The windows were all boarded up, the roof was rotting, and it seemed to be leaning slightly to the left. The automatic gate out front looked to be out of order, but it's actions proved otherwise. A freshly washed, silver sports car drove up, and the gate opened as solidly and smoothly as it did when it was new. The car quickly made its way in, skillfully avoiding the puddles scattered throughout the drive. The car pulled around to the back of the warehouse, where some juvenile had painted “Hell” in orange and black. A white van was already parked and a tall man, well over six feet tall, was unloading some computer equipment and hauling it inside. He wore a black muscle shirt, and big baggy black jeans, as well as a pair of clunky combat boots, which were also black. His clothing was almost exactly opposite of Chase's, other than the color. Chase wore black slacks, a black polo shirt, and black, freshly polished dress shoes.
Farrel saw the tension on Chase's face. It was obviously that he was having difficulty in forcing himself to stay under control. Farrel was surprised Chase could do it at all, considering the circumstances. A casual observer might think that Farrel held the advantage physically, but the one time it had come to fists in the past, Chase had proved otherwise.
Chase looked at the van a few moments before saying “Fair, should we paint this thing black?”
Farrel was just coming back out for some more equipment when he responded “White's been fine, but black would give us a lot more options.”
“That's about what I was thinking. I had something planned for tonight, but we might as well wait. Lets get it painted this week.”
“Sounds good.”
Chase leaned back against his car and slid his hands into his pockets. After a moment of thinking he looked up at Farrel, who was just about to grab some more equipment, and said “Hey Fair, you want to get something to eat?” Farrel stopped and looked at his watch. “Sure. Timmy and Jake will be here in an hour, they can take care of this stuff. Lemme grab a coat.”
Farrel went inside, and returned in a few moments wearing a leather jacket and carrying a briefcase. He opened the car door and climbed in, while Chase did the same. Chase started the car, and it hummed smoothly. As carefully as he drove in, he backed out, opened the electric gate, and drove away.
“Now, lets start at the beginning.” Chase said. “What happened?”
Farrel took a deep breath, then let it out. “I'm surprised you waited this long to ask.” The car almost instantly stopped, and Farrel was slammed against the dash. Chase didn't even turn his head as he said flatly, “Don't get smart. A person can get hurt when he gets smart.”
Farrel responded while rubbing his forehead “Yeah. Ok.”
Chase resumed his driving and said “Now, lets start over. What happened?”
Michael had become used to his own name, and that of the dog. He was now starting to see a few houses here and there, and a lot of cattle. Every once in a while, a horse would run up to the fence and watch him. Donkeys would bray and warn all the other animals of this strange impostor. Gabe would meet another dog every once in a while that just happened to be an old acquaintance, and they'd play for a few minutes. Gabe would always stop playing as soon as Michael passed him. Michael would talk to Gabe since there was nobody else around, but the conversation usually ended very quickly due to its one-sidedness. This time though, Michael was going on and on, rambling about how he wasn't going to tell anybody about his situation.
“I'm not going to go crying on anybodies shoulder. I wouldn't want anybody doing that to me, so I certainly won't do it to them. My only problem is, I don't know what I would tell them.” Gabe walked beside him, looking at him. Michael continued, “I'd better make something up now, rather than later. I'd hate to have to make it up on the fly.”
He continued to ponder the situation, while looking down at his worn-out tennis shoes that might have been white at one point in there life. When he looked up again they were nearing a church. Maybe the pastor could give him some information that would be useful. He practically ran up the steps to the door, and he was about to open it, but he could hear the pastor preaching inside. The yelling stirred up something within his memory, and he tried to remember. It was pulling at him, and he was pulling at it. He sat dazed, trying to recall this painful experience. Then, the world went black.