Holden Blake

It was eleven thirty on a cold and dreary September night. Christopher Heinemann was walking along Canal Street, hoping the fresh air would help him gather his thoughts together. It had been an explosive twelve hours and the young man’s emotions were running high. All day he had been laboured with a throbbing headache, which did little to aid the process.

He shuffled to a halt by a set of railings at the waters edge. Bending down he exhumed a fist full of pebbles from the gravel below and attempted to skim some of the flatter ones across the surface of the water. When this failed to work, he resolved to hurling them one by one into the canal. As he continued to do so his mind became immersed in the harrowing details of his father’s revelation. A wave of anger swept through him.

The aim of his target now shifted to the boats tied up along the dock, but before he could do any real damage he ran out of stones. He cursed and kicked the ground. Gritting his teeth he began to scold himself mentally,

‘Stop it!
Stop…I can’t take this.’

He threw his hands to his ears and shook his head violently. But it was no use, he could not stop the words from replaying in his mind. He finally gave up and slumped against the railing. A dry moan was all he could muster to relieve his pain, too drain of energy to weep.

‘Chris!’

If it hadn’t sounded so familiar the breathyvoice from behind would have surely caused him to jump. Instead he winced with distaste at the thought of having to face his young lover now knowing what he knew.

‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you,’ sighed the girl, beaming gladly.

He felt her delicate hands press against his lower back, coming to rest by his waist. He gripped onto the rail so hard that his knuckles were white. But Jessica could not see the anguish build in her boyfriends face as she snuggled her head into the back of his coat. The motion caused Chris to snap and he whipped round, almost elbowing her face. Startled, the girl stumbled back.

‘Whoa..what’s wrong?’

He looked at her innocent face, a picture of confusion, and forced himself to turn away.

‘I can’t do this, Jess’ he hissed angrily

Holden Blake

Bump for my lonely story

slemay

Does it have to be that late at night? I'm wondering because it would be very hard to skip stones in the dark. Maybe you could add that there were lots of lights?

Also, you don't gather your thoughts together. You just gather your thoughts.

It sounds interesting. I would like to know what his father told him. The writing is clean. Maybe you could post some more?

Reese

"All day he had been laboured with a throbbing headache"

Labored is an awkward word to use here.

"When this failed to work, he resolved to hurling them one by one into the canal."

To much attention is given to the stone throwing. The fact that he you mentioned that he fails suggests he really cared about this pebble throwing, and it mattered to the story in some way.

I know the stone throwing somehow correlates with the built up anger and expresses it, but it seems like a trivial thing that it doesn't give full weight to what is obviously troubling the young man.

Put more emphasis on how he throws the rocks, not just on the fact that he throws them. That way his action can tell of his frustration, not how the rocks land. Know what I mean?

Maybe he hurls the rocks harder and farther as he thinks about what is troubling him. Trying to throw his troubles away into the depths of the sea.

"He looked at her innocent face, a picture of confusion, and forced himself to turn away."

The fact that you describe her face as a "picture of confusion" doesn't go well with ongoing action or dialogue. A picture suggests being still or captured in time.

Otherwise looks good. Good luck.