Davie G. Porter

This is my 2nd draft of The Train. Please leave your comments and suggestions for a better title of my story. Also if someone could let me know how to make the font sizes not go all funny after pasting from word, it would be appreciated.


The station was deserted. As I sat down on the old mouldy bench, the pungent smell of urine entered my nostrils. There was a paper sitting next to me. I picked it up, but it was yesterday’s news. My body instinctively jerked forwards as the grimy lime-scale of the wall behind me stroked my neck.

I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Looking up I saw a man with greasy grey hair, wearing a dirty brown tweed suit. The man was carrying a leather bound suitcase, bursting with papers and documents. However something else caught my eye. Something I saw in his other hand. As I looked transfixed at the shiny object, the man slowly turned around and smiles at me with his yellowing jagged teeth.

Suddenly a rickety sound entered my ears. As the noise got louder, I heard the rumble of the engine slow down. A dank, dusty cloud filled my nose. I sneezed. Praying that the man was not taking the same train as me I edged towards the platform. Towards the arriving train. The train seemed as grimy and old as the station itself and equally deserted.

I entered the carriage and took my seat on one of the old, rough, maroon seats. I turned around to see to my horror that the man was also on the same carriage. My face began to burn, so I undid the top button of my shirt to release the blood from my swelling head. Still feeling like I was in a furnace, I slid open the small grubby window to let air in. The train lurched away from Bakers Street. Looking up at the map I saw that I only had six stations to go. Could I make it?

The man stood up and began to approach me. My hands began to tremble and I felt my Adams apple leap down my throat. I looked all around me. It was just me and him. The man was now towering over me like Big Ben on London. He reached out and gently opened my hand and placed the object inside it. His hands were unnaturally soft, which made a tingle ran down my backbone as if someone had dropped an ice cube down the back of my shirt. I was expecting his hands to match his rough physique. Showing me his rotting teeth again he nodded. Breaking the stony silence he softly uttered the words, “You will know what to do”.

The train slowed to a halt and the doors creaked open. Hurriedly, the man picked up his suitcase and ran out. A family entered the carriage. Noticing that I was still holding the object, I placed it in my inside pocket. A bead of sweat ran down my forehead. Filled with confusion, fear and anxiety I let out a slow yawn.

Lurching back into motion, the train left the station. As my body adjusted back to the rocky rhythm of the carriage a shrill scream pierced my eardrum. The youngest child of the family was on the carriage floor crying uncontrollably. The young girl was about seven and was wearing a dirty pink dress with a rip down one side. My eyes were so transfixed on the little girl that I was completely oblivious as to the reason for her crying. Looking up, I noticed that the family that accompanies the girl were gone. They had vanished. The carriage shook. The carriage went dark. The carriage went silent. Every thought that I had been thinking leapt out of my head in a wild swirl of confusion.

The sound of my breathing and heart thumping against my ribcage was the only thing I could hear. Slowly getting to my feet I fumbled through my pocket for my phone, to try and shed some light in the pitch-black carriage. However the phone wasn’t in my left pocket…or my right pocket. I reached into my inside coat pocket and felt something in my hand. Thinking it was my phone I pulled it out however just as abruptly as they went out, the overhead lights flickered back on.
Four bodies lying one on top of one another in a bloody heap on the floor knocked me back into my seat. I broke into a cold sweat and my body began to shake hysterically as tears ran down the side of my face. That’s when I realised that my phone wasn’t in my inside pocket at all. Reluctantly my eyes slowly turned to the object in my hand to see a knife. A knife, lathered in crimson blood.

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...And then there was Porter!

Sigg

Errr, this could definately use a proof read to weed out some of the errors, ill catch what i can real quick

careful with your tense consistency

this isn't quite the proper use of the word transfixed. what this is saying essentially is that you looked as thought you were transfixed on something, not what I think you meant to say, "As I sat there, my eyes transfixed on the..."

maybe use "over" instead of "on"

ran should be run

should be accompanied

should be were



So here's what I think about the story. The story and content was actually quite interesting and enjoyable. The problem was the delivery. Not just typos and grammatical errors either, you had a lot of repetition that didn't work for the story. You're descriptions were all kind of the same which detracted from the effect. Be careful about getting overzealous about the descriptions, it isn't necessary to tell us what enters your nostrils at every moment. While description helps paint a mental picture for the reader, too much can slow the piece down.

I definately liked the ending, it was mysterious and somewhat original. Here's what you should do, you should rewrite this story. Because it's a good story but you need to try making it flow more smoothly, and I will certainly read it again if you do.

Oh and a suggestion for the title because The Train is a little... dull. Try making it somehting about the creepy guy that gave him the knife like, "Rotting Yellow Teeth in a Tweed Suit" or something. Idunno, keep it up and repost.

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Drivin' in my Cadillac Rock Box

Chris Miller

Hey Davie,

I can see that you have put some thought and care into the writing of this piece. My guess is that you are a young writer, a beginning writer with some talent. I hope you are open to some suggestions and critiquing.

You have a good idea for a story here. The ending is a surprise, but it has no context. You have not developed your character nearly enough to foreshadow what he does. Give us some more insight into how this could have happened. Is he mentally ill? Has he been framed? Is someone or thing controlling his mind? As is, it’s just a surprise quickly forgotten.

A few tense problems aside, your grammar is okay. I can see you’ve edited and tried. Personally, I always appreciate that. Your biggest problem is that in trying so hard, your prose is self-conscious, verbose, strained. Sounds do not enter your ears; you hear things. Smells do not enter your nose; you smell things. As is, your prose is distracting and often unnecessary. A quick example:

I sat on a bench that reeked of urine.

I heard a rickety sound, like…[good simile here maybe]

I suggest you concentrate on your character and your story. Just tell it like you would to a friend. You can flesh it out with poetic devices and symbols when you are finished.

I would entitle the piece, “Why?” if I wasn’t going to go any deeper with it. Or have I missed something?

Chris

PS. You should also acknowledege your commentors (even if you feel stung), or there will be none. Also good manners. No one wants to take the time to "help" someone who appears to not be paying any attention or care.

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the fairwriting blogs

Barcelona Review story: http://www.barcelonareview.com/64/e_cm.html

Davie G. Porter

Thank you very much for your comments. They are all very much appreciated. This piece is for school coursework so it needs to be good. I will redraft this before the end of the week and post it again. Any more comments would be greatly appreciated. Good or bad. Thank you.

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...And then there was Porter!