cacafire

Hey everone. Just checking in with my latest attempt. All new members who are looking to excercise your critiquing skills and have someone return the favor, this should provide a good one.

Anyway's, this is a small break from drift, my primary story, and It is in no way finished. In fact, it's about half of the story right now. So tell me a few things: Would you read more?(Believe me, there will be more. ) The flow of the paragraphs gets a little tricky, so tell me what I did wrong there. And also, the behavior and feel of the Juvenile delinquents. Do they seem like real, fleshy characters? How do you feel about John? And last of all, what do you think of the glove?

Critique anything that rouses your interest, and I'll gladly return the favor.

:begin:

Gloving Country

* * *

John had an old leathery face. Filled with creases, and populated with well worn, distinguished features, he slumped into his ragged position like he always did each saturday, rocking back and forth on his porch. Young girls in tight-fitting clothes, hot-blooded youth in their packs, business men in their well-polished beemer's, all passed by this lane. In front of John's house, the city municipality had erected a mammoth highway; funny, because they all went by this way anyway. Though, the Highway did ease the rush hour clogging. It was hell, however, at night, when the entire neighborhood desperately struggled to find sleep.


It was when he reached out to his porch-stand, a beautifully carved antique with two glasses of tea sitting upon it, that his nose caught the particular scent wafting through the air. John sniffed, finding the particular odor in the air familiar, but what in christ's name was it? He craned his neck, looking backwards into his open doorway; It was coming from inside. With sweat beading on his skin, he hoisted himself off the sliding swing and took a swig of his ice cold tea before walking inside to investigate.


John's house, typical of a house upheld by someone living on social security, was well stocked with antique furniture. Once inside the door, he walked down a short hallway populated by peeling wallpaper on the top half, and varnished wood on the bottom half. He left the hallway and entered his cramped living quarters, which contained a dusty old couch, wooden table, and small, cathode-ray Televisor. Slowly, John pulled the chain, and a lightbulb clicked on, bathing the room in rather dim light. The windows were open, letting a summer breeze flow through the room; meanwhile, John followed his nose.


After following the scent through the multitudes of the house, trickly little scent that it was, John ended up in the attic. There he stood, hands in his pockets, amid the countless trinkets and things he had accumulated over the decades, smiling, because he had vowed never to come up here again. Some vow. The scent must have finished playing games with john, because it led him straight to it's whereabouts. Or, John could just have had a remarkable nose. Maybe this scent that succeded in bringing John to the attic had a message for him; Was it important? Probably not. Maybe it was. Regardless, John found what he was looking for, after furiously rummaging about in countless old crates in the corner, each time getting closer to whatever it was.


It was a glove. John stood back, feeling the rough, construction site fibers between his palm and thumb. A warm, earthy scent emanated from it, filling his nostrils with the odor of sawdust, concrete, and marble slabs. Holding it in his hands, it seemed to vibrate, reverberating, and john could feel a tingling sensation crawl up his arm. Slowly, John walked back to the hole in the attic floor, and proceeded to climb down. Grunting, he clutched his side and heaved his girth onto the closet shelf. Then, stepping down, he exited his rim of memories with one memory firmly tucked under his arms.


Back on the porch, John held the glove in his hand. He pondered whether the glove had belonged to him, or to someone else. As if it would help, he tugged it on. It was a firm grip. He sat forward, holding his chin in the gloved hand, and stroked his chin with a leathery thumb. On the other side of the street, John suddenly noticed three teenage boys under the highway overpass. They sported orange jumpsuits with the words, "Property of San Andreas" printed on them. The three boys carried long, pointy sticks, and large, plastic bags which were quickly filling with trash. John trained his eyes on them; Even through old age, had he retained his good senses. The three boys intrigued him; They wore expressions of shame on their faces, and handcuffs clamped around their brown wrists. Hmm... The earthy scent of the glove compelled him, some might say. Perhaps John just yearned for company that day. But for whatever reason, he promptly grabbed his cane and walked to join them.
"How do?" John saluted the three boys, who stopped picking up garbage to watch this old man who was approaching them. The closest boy gazed upon the man in shock, as if he wasn't sure he was real. then turned to the other two.


"Psst! Vatos! Come over here and take a look at this old man." He waved the other two, who were just as struck by the man's appearance, over.

"We hear tu, Marcus." The taller one nodded, spoke to John: "Que tu quiero, Hombre? What you want?" John stopped walking about 5 feet away from the three, with the glove still firmly attached to his hand. Maybe he forgot to take it off, but it was an amusing sight to see John with one hand gloved, let alone an old, antediluvian one.


"I saw you three gentlemen working out here under the overpass. Not that It matters any, but you must've been working most of the day out here, especially with those handcuffs. You've been working pretty hard, eh?" The three's jaws dropped that instant like a sack of hammers. Marcus turned to the other two, mainly to the taller one:


"Si este hombre for real, Tilo?" He turned back to John with a smile on his face. "Si, Senor. We've been working like dogs in the summer heat. You come to help us out of these pincho handcuffs?" Marcus held them out in a mock plea for help. John's eyes looked around. Cars zipped past the four of them, with their tires almost melting on the road. Gazing around, he took in the small expanse of grass that lined the streets, and abruptly came to an end under the pass. Then it hit him.


"You men don't have a guard looking over your shoulders?" The three stopped laughing and joking for a moment. Marcus was the shortest, and Tilo was the tallest. The middle height one, Delaquin, spoke up.


"He's taking a piss at the five'an'dime." He turned to marcus: "Hey cholo, stop talking about taking les esposas off, idiot. It's hard enough, knowing there's nowhere to go." John looked carefully at these ragged, almost unreal males. They wore the look of shame on their face, but did it proudly. At the same time, they hid their faces from someone's gaze, and held it boldly. John's heart beat rapidly, and the sun began to make him sweat. Finally, he slapped his pants.


"Well, I can't take those handcuffs off. Nor can I ease your debt to society," That made them wince, "but how about you join me for some tea while your boss relieves himself? How 'bout it?" John held out his gloved hand, and the three gave a strange look to each other. Tilo shrugged.


"Sure. Porque no, eh?" Tilo smiled, and gripped John's hand tightly. The four once again braved the highway, and sighed in relief once under the protective shade of John's porch.


"So, que traes con the glove?" Tilo asked. Marcus, Tilo, and Delaquin slouched around an antique table while John brought out a large pitcher of ice cold, delicious tea. Marcus sat straight up, eyeing the sweating pitcher veraciously, licking his dry, cracked lips. Tilo stiffened, and Delaquin rubbed his hands together. It would seem Juvenile delinquents didn't get much water in the facilities.


"Looks good eh?" John set the pitcher on the table gently; It still produced a loud thump. "Here, give me you glasses." Then John looked sidelong at Tilo. "The glove is a mystery." John grinned as he poured the tea into the three inmates tall glasses. Marcus instantly chugged it down, giving a sigh of relief. Finally, Marcus sat content.

"What kind of mystery?" Tilo aked, after taking a rigid sip, and delaquin also leaned forward, after enojying the tea thoroughly. John slumped down like a large sack of potatoes and wiped his crinkled face with an old rag. Taking the glove off, he slapped it on the table. "This here is gloving country." John refilled Marcus's glass, and Tilo took another sip. Leaning in, a dark shadow came across John's eyes. "Allow me to explain." He grinned mischeviously. Delaquin smiled, "Si, senor. please do."

:midpoint(intermission):

Thanks to all of you who decide to critique,
-Cacafire

__________________
Critique my pieces, and I'll gladly return the favor: Mita of the sky: II, Gloving_Country, Shared Qualms(check this one out!), Gloving country-II, , Capoeira, Father and Son, Silence Come, The Lad I Knew

bryce

Very enjoyable read, Cacafire. I wondered at first at the phenomenal dog-like talent of the old man's nose to discern the odour of the glove in the attic from way down on the porch, given all the other smells of the world that would have fought with it to be noticed. However, that aside, you tell a good story. Full of intrigue and questions. The dialogue, in particular, is very believable, as are the young delinquents. I could picture them, and that's always a big plus. The glove itself intrigued me, so much so that I found myself wondering about its history. Why don't you finish it. I'd like to read more...

Bryce

cacafire

Thanks bryce, it's always a pleasure to recieve positive feedback.
But Come on people! I'll never get better unless I know what's wrong. And I know I'm not the best...

Anyway's, thanks bryce. I'll PM you.

__________________
Critique my pieces, and I'll gladly return the favor: Mita of the sky: II, Gloving_Country, Shared Qualms(check this one out!), Gloving country-II, , Capoeira, Father and Son, Silence Come, The Lad I Knew

worldboy90

I liked it, it was good . You tell a good story, but not everyone knows spanish so some parts might get confusing for several reasons. And is John Hispanic, is that why he's understanding completely what they're saying ? Also, I can't completely picture this in my mind... so the man lives on the side of the highway,and three kids are in the middle of the road? Or what, cleaning under a bridge and he runs across to talk to them? Could put a few more descriptive words to get the picture better. Also, maybe discuss John's urges to relive his time with someone else, or his son, or tell what instinctive feeling made him go talk to the delinquets.

As a personal note, I say continue one with the story. Could make hell of a good short story . Good job overall, interesting and short enough to keep my attention.

cacafire

Thanks for the qritique, worldboy. Anyhoo... The funny thing about the spanish is that I don't speak it all to well myself, so I wrote some things that are grammatically incorrect, and that even a talented spanglish speaker wouldn't get. ("we hear tu?" Is completely wrong. lol.) Yes, John is mexican american, but he has a doctorate, so his language is a little more high class.

Also, I can see your point with the highway. I showed it to my mother, and she asked the same question! Basically, there are two streets: A residential street in front of John's house, and a highway in front of that. The boys are working beyond the residential street, and under the highway. So John crosses the residential street, but never crosses the highway. I'll try and fix that.
hehe... you'll see, later in the story...

__________________
Critique my pieces, and I'll gladly return the favor: Mita of the sky: II, Gloving_Country, Shared Qualms(check this one out!), Gloving country-II, , Capoeira, Father and Son, Silence Come, The Lad I Knew

gary_wagner

Excellent start to a story. It kept my interest and was easy to read.
I don't know what a "hornish pack" is.
This sentence is kind of twisted up. I'm also not sure if you should go into abbreviated slang ('cause) because it lowers the level of presentation in your story. And, "anyways" is strickly a colloquial expression and not grammatically correct. Anyway should be used.
This sentence feels a little strained also. I think you should go ahead and let the reader know that he detected a smell in this sentence instead of referring to it as "it". That just confuses this sentence. I would also get rid of the "It was when" and just tell what he did - not when he did it.
Did you mean "odor" because I don't know what "ardor" means.
This seems a little odd. What is there to make him nervous?
This seems like a strange way to describe an old TV set. It is somewhat science fiction like.
I have never seen a light bulb light up slowly and I have never heard one click.
This puts us into real time at a specific location as if the narrator is sitting in the attic telling the story. I would drop the "here:".
I wasn't sure what was so shocking to cause this strong of a reaction.
I don't know chain-gang protocol but I find it hard to believe that a guard would leave his prisoners to run into a store to take a leak.
Did you mean, let me give you glasses or give me your glasses (he already gave them and is taking them back to fill them?)

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Founding member of alliterationaholics anonymous.
Should you be a member too?

cacafire

Hey, gary. I can always count on you to tell me exactly what I did wrong. To answer a few of your questions:

"Hot blooded youth in their hornish packs" That's easy. Just imagine a bunch of horny dogs on the prowl looking to pick up girls. I admit though, I was strained to come up with something, so I used that out of desperation. Duly noted.

Yes, ardor was supposed to be odor. ^^; Also, John became nervous at the suprising resurgence of that smell. He really isn't like a dog when it comes to scent, but for some reason, the overwhelming smell of the glove seemed to call to him. That's what made him nervous. But, now that I think about it, It's too much trouble; I'll take it out.

A "Televisor" is the word, "Television", in spanish. And the lightbulb isn't like you think. It's Just a socket with a bulb, and a metal chain hanging down to turn it on. It goes slowly, because you have to pull the chain, which takes a few seconds, and the click is the sound of the chain being pulled.

Finally, The guard will resurface later in the story, and then you should see why he's such a lousy guard(think "noob").

Everything else is good critique. Thanks Gary. :*

__________________
Critique my pieces, and I'll gladly return the favor: Mita of the sky: II, Gloving_Country, Shared Qualms(check this one out!), Gloving country-II, , Capoeira, Father and Son, Silence Come, The Lad I Knew

PanoramicSolace

I like the character description of John.
This is an engaging read. Very well done.


I don't like pointing out little things to be edited. I'm sure if you glanced over it you'd see what I mean.

"Si, senor. please do."

For my understanding of Spanish, Senor should be capatalized (and have a tilda over the "n"). And "Si" without the accent mark over the "i" means "if" rather than "yes"... again, to my understanding, but that could be my poor memory.
Although maybe you can't post those sorts of symbols on this forum. (I haven't tried.)
You probably already knew that, I bet.

Anyway, I enjoyed it a lot. You have a very compelling and interesting vocabulary which really helps build on the story and make it come alive.

majormike113

This was an enjoyable read well done. I really did like how you introduced John to us very good.

Flow of the story is one of the things that bothered me a little bit while reading. There may been a slight overusage of commas. Take this one sentence for example:

"It was hell, however, at night, when the entire neighborhood..."

also:

"Finally, he blinked, brushing flecks of frost from his face, and stood to his feet."

Sorry for pointing out a gramatical error but that third comma really shouldnt be there lol.. but that slows down my pace of reading cause its a distraction.

It doesn't detract enough from the book however to make it not enjoyable to read.

__________________
Michael R. Vinickas

Fantasy of You

Lol, I don't know why someone decided to comment on a piece long forgotten, but I bet you'll get a kick when you compare this with how you write now, caca

RAlanCook

I liked the pace of the story and again a real good story. I also was confused about the location. Is he in a smaller town ro a large city? I kept picturing him in LA or another large city. Maybe a little more description of the location.

Other than that, besides the typos this story really works. I'd like to see it as a novel, slowly revealing the meaning of the Glove.