The Angels Weep Tonight (2,255) - Writers Forum

zallan · 06-17-2006, 07:37 PM

Raging sand had blown over the fresh tarred highway that seemed to lie toward the very direction where the sun began to rise. The wind gradually grew warmer, leaving its summer night chill to die. On one side of this road, left if you face the sunrise, was the wild range of aging trees and foliage. Yet on the right were the sandy grassland that eventually sloped down to a small river.
Down at Ryan Creek and under the bridge that was forged several feet above it, a dark-haired girl of seventeen years awoke. She glanced at the shimmering water and relaxed. After washing off the grimy dirt in the nippy stream, she dried herself off quickly. Breakfast was short and sweet – a dry, chocolate chip granola bar and a gagging over a small gulp from the river.
“Better than being with the Reeves,” she muttered. Her foster parents, the Reeves, were her least favorite people of all. She wouldn’t even call them favorite at all, for she had another obscene name for them. And to think they wanted her to take their last name… she would be as she was originally called: Debbie Monahan.
She furiously thrust a rock, causing a ruckus among the geese that unfortunately chose to wade down Ryan Creek.
Debbie had walked countless miles and with two granola bars and a short daydream later, the sun still lingered above. She began to notice the extreme heat take its toll as miniscule beads trickled under a light blue shirt, leather jacket, and ripped jeans. She didn’t bother with sandals; instead she gladly went barefoot in the sandy grass on the side of the road.
Not before long, a glinting metal appeared in view behind her. She turned to see that a white Toyota truck came her way. She knew she shouldn’t hitchhike, but inside her, it was the only way to get out of Telaskurt and away from the Reeves.
“Do you need a ride?” a man in a plaid shirt and a cowboy hat asked.
She scoffed, “No, I just decided to take a walk.”
“Nice day for it,” the man chuckled, seemed to be unaffected.
“Are you going anywhere with this?” Debbie gave an unattractive scowl which set off a goofy, familiar smile from the driver.
“You look too young to hitchhike – are you planning on going somewhere or do you want me to drop you at home?”
“I don’t have a home anymore,” she muttered, then reluctantly hopped in the truck. “Take me to Pipersville, will ya?”
“Sure thing, miss,” he rumbled the engine to life and began off with a slow start before cruising down the highway. “You know, you’re lucky you have a guy like me to pick you up than one of those perverts that hang around the road. I’m a married man myself – so you don’t have to worry about me.”
Debbie said nothing for a while. “Can you turn on the radio for me?”
“Sure thing, miss…”
“Okay, my name isn’t Miss,” she snapped angrily.
“Well, that’s my way,” he chuckled unnervingly. “I was born with manners, I did. What’s your name? You look like an Elizabeth.”
Debbie silently listened to the acoustic rock song that was suddenly toned down by his hand.
“I can’t just drive with a stranger sitting in my truck if she’s got nothing to say but a thank-you…” the man gravely spoke.
“Look, sir – “
“The name’s Michael,” he interrupted, to her surprise. I thought you were born with manners, she almost blurted but stopped herself in time.
“Michael, I appreciate you giving me a ride and all, but I feel really, really uncomfortable talking to a stranger I just got in a car with,” she winced at the thought, and knew she had made a huge mistake. “Now that I’ve thought about it, I think I better get out. Stop the hitchhiking and all.”
“Don’t you trust me?” the man looked hurt. Debbie sighed and gradually shook her head no.
“Alright, can’t deny a woman that’s made up her mind,” Michael nodded, slowed the truck, and pulled over once again. Then it dawned over her that she was just being silly. He was willing to give her a ride but also willing to stop as well, unlike those sexual predators.
“Um, I changed my mind,” Debbie forced a smile. “If that’s okay with you.”
“Better than watching you walk,” he snorted. “I would have just driven by your side, just to make sure you got there. It’s thirty miles, quite far.”
“That’s right nice of you, Michael,” she looked straight forward, attempting to not fumble as she attached her seatbelt, just to look bold.
He continued to press harder on the pedal, “May I ask your name, if you don’t mind?”
“Ann,” she recited her foster mother’s name, hoping he wouldn’t recognize it.
“Ann Reeves, born and raised in Telaskurt, Arizona.”
“Nice introduction, Ann,” Michael gave another of his goofy smiles. “You should call me Mike. I’m just going to Pipersville to my wife and children from work. I’m a salesman, did you know? The Fourth of July and all. Busy weekend, but family’s been bugging me all month with long-distance. You got family?”
Debbie stiffened, wiping her forehead, then nodded once she realized he noticed her somber look, “Yep.”
“Ah,” he replied and seemed to know how she had felt then.
“This is why I didn’t want to talk,” she started yet didn’t finish.
“No, no – don’t explain… I should have known better.”
“I had a family,” Debbie said out of the blue. “Once, but just once.”
“What… do you usually do on Independence Day?” Mike uneasily touched the subject again.
“I was only five when they were gone,” she murmured. “I guess I can only remember so much. I remember my dad take his hot dog plain, that’s why I do too.”
“Nothing is good on the hot dogs,” Mike agreed. “But my wife buys everything like ketchup, relish, mustard. Everything.”
“That reminds me of my mom, because she always overdoes the decorations,” Debbie broke into a smirk. “I remember holding a sparkler for the first time with my family. We were on a blanket out at night, the backyard to ourselves. The fireworks in the sky… they were beautiful.”
The radio played softly and then a sign passed: Tony’s Stop – Grill and All.
“Wanna grab a bite?” Mike asked, and without pause, she nodded. Lunch doesn’t come free as often, and even her stomach growled.
A small café-like restaurant shimmered in view, but only in a cold glare. The sky was already darkening to a dull blue, for the clouds now lingered in the path of the high noon sun. There was a rumble in the distance, making Mike squint.
“Looks like it’s going to rain soon.”
“Yeah,” Debbie’s eyes welled up, but wiped them away to avoid looking vulnerable. “Are we going to grab a bite or what?”
Mike opened the door and allowed her to go first, joking about being such a gentleman. Once Debbie was inside, she felt a strange coldness overwhelm her. The cigarette smoke, the neon pink glare, the stools for the pub, and the rustic tan walls.
But the one thing she had hoped to never see again remained in the same corner as it was since twelve years ago – the jukebox. It was out of order but it struck her numb all the same.
“Pick a booth,” he walked past her, heading for the pub to ask for a waitress. She felt obliged to do so, right next to the exit doors. The rain began to pour heavily now, she noticed. She remembered every time when it rained, her surrogate mother would say, “The angels weep tonight.” And with that, only her father would sing her to sleep by his lullaby, Daddy’s home.
“Beverages?” the waitress drew her out of a trance-like memory.
“Just Coke, thank you,” Mike replied.
“Me too,” Debbie was handed a menu, but she already knew what she had wanted. It was the same as twelve years ago, when she came here.
“I’ll be back,” the waitress replied with a snap of her gum, and departed to the kitchen in the back of the diner. She said nothing else, but somehow she anxiously felt Mike’s dark eyes burn into her.
“Your hair’s black but also blue at the same time,” he closed his menu.
“Yep, black and blue – just like my arms,” she accidentally blurted.
“Your family’s been beating you?” Mike’s eyebrows rose.
Debbie sighed mournfully, “Foster family. Ever since they had me. Chris, my foster father, meant to teach me a lesson, so I don’t become like him. Ann…”
She froze. Had he noticed?
“Oh, so you and your foster mother have both the same name? Interesting,” he said innocently, and she nodded quickly.
“Ann always defended him,” Debbie nastily spat. “I had it up to here – so that’s why I left Telaskurt. I’m not going back, not ever.”
“So,” Mike curiously asked. “What do you plan to do now?”
She looked at him squarely in the eyes, and decided to confide in him, “I wanted to hitchhike to Pipersville – they have a train there.”
“Right,” Mike nodded as if he should have known.
“I don’t expect any pity, Michael,” she suddenly caught him off guard. “I don’t.”
He stiffened and remained silent.
The waitress returned, “Have you decided what you guys want?”
“A cheeseburger, fries, and chocolate malt,” Debbie announced.
“Yum,” Mike grinned goofily. “For me, just grilled cheese and tomato soup.”
“Thank you, your food will be in shortly,” the waitress replied sweetly. “Anything else?”
“Nope,” Mike said once he saw Debbie shake her head.
“Alright,” she left immediately to give the cook their orders, and stand in the corner, secretly gazing at Michael with a stir in her heart.
“I reckon she likes you,” Debbie teased.
“Ah, but I’m married,” he reminded her. “I’m an honorable man, I keep my vows.”
For a while, she remained quiet, examining the dusty, framed pictures of clipped out newspaper articles, and the décor of fishing nets and bullhorns on the walls. The jukebox still bothered her.
The food had come, and Mike began humming a familiar tune. So familiar Debbie dropped her burger. She stole a glance at his sunken eyes and five-o-clock shadow on his face.
“Quickly, get in your covers,” she softly sang. “Close your eyes with a smile, because Daddy’s home. Daddy’s home…”
Mike stared deeply into her eyes with a growing realization. “Debbie?”
“You’re my father, aren’t you?”
“Oh Debbie… I never meant –“
“Well of course you didn’t,” Debbie snapped.
“Ever since Mommy died, you blamed me,” she continued her rant. “You brought me here. Gave me my food, and a nickel. A nickel to put into that jukebox so I can have my back on you while you abandon me! Of course you never meant to see me again! You never meant to hurt me; you just wanted a new family. A new life.”
“I am so sorry,” Michael sniffed, his eyes tearing up.
“I remember Mommy only for so long,” she sobbed. “Now I only remember her perfume and that black Hail Mary necklace. I had her hair, didn’t I?”
“Yes you did, honey,” he stood up.
“What was her name?”
“Jules.”
“Why did the hell did you leave me?”
“I had no money, Debbie! I couldn’t just bring you with me!”
“Yes, you could’ve – you just took the easy way out! Just like everybody!”
Michael couldn’t take it. He left the diner towards his truck. Debbie stood up fearfully and ran after him in the furious rain.
“No!” she screamed as he started up his truck, banging on the locked passenger door. “Don’t leave me again! Not like this!”
He mouthed two little words as an apology before revving away, leaving her to cry her heart out to the sky as she kneeled into the road. Drenched and lost, Debbie hugged herself in the cold rain. The angels weep tonight…

“Are you okay?” the waitress saw her return.
“Can I… borrow a nickel?” she gasped for air, her legs uncontrollably weak. Her body shivered and her heart broke.
“Here,” she handed over the coin. Debbie took it without a word and headed for the payphone on the wall. The nickel was thrust into the slot.
A single ring came before it was picked up. She hadn’t been prepared for this.
“Hello?” a rough, coarse voice came on the other end.
“Chris?” her voice wavered. “This is Debbie. I’m at Tony’s Stop.”
“That far, huh?” his voice seemed glad, and almost proud that she had gone further than he had imagined. “I’ll come get you.”
“Chris?” she interrupted before he could hang up.
“Yeah?” he asked, a little irritated.
“I love you,” she replied. “And I’m sorry.”
He paused, “I’m sorry too… I’ll come get you.”
“Is Ann there?”
“She’s in bed… ever since you’ve been gone, she cried herself to sleep.”
Debbie was lost for words.
“She will be glad once you come home, okay? We love you, don’t forget that.”
“Never,” she shook her head, looking over her shoulder at the slick highway.
“Good-bye, I’ll see you soon,” Chris hung up.
She placed the holder on the receiver with a light click, unaware that everyone in the diner had been staring at her. She sat back in her booth, and continued to eat her cheeseburger alone as she had did twelve years ago.

zallan · 06-20-2006, 06:28 PM

You know what, there were at least 11 views since a while I've been waiting.
I absolutely need something, people! At least ten words and time to read my work, that's all I'm asking! Please...

FollowingShadow · 06-20-2006, 07:24 PM

Well, I'll give you a quick something. Your first sentence is wordy and unnatractive. Stop talking about ideas and talk about events. Events are more personable.

Off Topic:

I really dislike your sig.

Chris Miller · 06-20-2006, 08:21 PM

Hi zallan,

I tried pretty hard to read this, and sort of managed to, but it just begged to be skimmed. There's so little going on and it's presented in such a bland verbose way. It is the rare story I try to read and fail.

Take your 1st paragraph:

Quote:

Raging sand had blown over the fresh tarred highway that seemed to lie toward the very direction where the sun began to rise. The wind gradually grew warmer, leaving its summer night chill to die. On one side of this road, left if you face the sunrise, was the wild range of aging trees and foliage. Yet on the right were the sandy grassland that eventually sloped down to a small river.

No characters. No plot. Wishy washy ("seemed to") adverbial ("gradually," "eventually") passive description. 19 out of 20 will read no further.

2nd paragraph: a girl dries her hair and eats a granola bar.

3rd paragraph: some family background, then throws a rock at some geese.

An experienced writer can make banal occurances interesting by inserting sharp ideas and observations with which the reader can relate or learn from. You are not an experienced writer. Your prose is heavy handed and painfully verbose and self conscious.

Try re-writing this story in your own words. Simplify it and just tell what is important, casually, efficiently, like you would to a friend. Many beginning writers feel the idea is to use as many words as possible to convey as little story and as few ideas as possible. In fact, the exact opposite is true.

One example of what I'm trying to say:

Quote:

Down at Ryan Creek and under the bridge that was forged several feet above it, a dark-haired girl of seventeen years awoke.

Is this how you talk? Or think? I would say, "A dark-haired, seventeen-year-old girl woke beneath the Raven Creek bridge." Is her hair color important to the story? Is she Indian? Negro? Goth?

On the plus side, your grammar and punctuation are good. (You should separate paragraphs with blank lines.) If you could tell this story in <250 words, I'd be really curious to read again? I'll bet you could too, the parts that are important, and which I feel I missed.

A Glass Thought · 06-21-2006, 01:19 AM

Don't quite know what to say about this one.

Chris is right though, the first sentence is a beating. And the first paragraph continues like that, I didn't really want to continue.
And then things normalled out when dialogue started, but they talked odd. I understood it was an attempt at a southern dialect, but it was slightly overdone in some parts.

As a story that's one of the most screwed up things I've read. Her dad leaves her than finds her and sees she's been abused then leaves her again. People wouldnt do that.

zallan · 06-21-2006, 08:19 AM

thank you

Fantasy of You · 06-21-2006, 12:04 PM

a glass for thought: when you learn to write and critique with even an grain of intellect, talk.. unless then, shut the fuk up...

Raging sand had blown over the fresh tarred highway[ok.. fresh tarred highway doesn't mean anything to me, its a slightly strange phrase to use and is unnecessary for the piece.. try 'over the tarred highway'] that seemed to lie toward the very direction where the sun began to rise[well, this would be a great sentence, if you organise it. I can see what you mean, that the road runs along the ground and meets the rising sun at its horizon.. but it needs change (even to what i just said if you like)]. The wind gradually grew warmer, leaving its summer night chill to die [good sentence! 'the summer night chill had died, and a warmer wind gradually replaced it' (or something) would just polish it]. On one side of this road, left if you face the sunrise[you don't need this bit of detail, just say 'on one side of the road was the...'], was the wild range of aging trees and foliage. Yet on the right were the sandy grassland that eventually sloped down to a small river[what? the left is a wasteland and the right is a paradise. if that is what you are getting at, make a sentence. 'Each side was a complete opposite to the other. One a wasteland. One a paradise'].
Down at Ryan Creek and under the bridge that was forged several feet above it, a dark-haired girl of seventeen years awoke. She glanced at the shimmering water and relaxed. After washing off the grimy dirt in the nippy stream, she dried herself off quickly. Breakfast was short and sweet – a dry, chocolate chip granola bar and a gagging over a small gulp from the river.
“Better than being with the Reeves,” she muttered. Her foster parents, the Reeves[you have made it clear the names of the people, you dont need to say again ], were her least favorite people of all. She wouldn’t even call them favorite at all[wouldn't even call them favourite at all reads awkwardly.. try.. *thinks* 'least favourite? she would not put favourite and the reeves in the same sentence'], for she had another obscene name for them. And to think they wanted her to take their last name… she would be as she was originally called: Debbie Monahan.[i like the way i learn her name]
She furiously thrust a rock[thrusting rocks would be a fettish, my child.. furiously threw is fine, dont feel you have to substitute average words for different ones], causing a ruckus [causing a ruckus of outrage?]among the geese that unfortunately chose to wade down Ryan Creek.
Debbie had walked countless miles and with two granola bars[two granola bars might be a bit of a push.. she just ate a whole one for breakfast!] and a short daydream later, the sun still lingered above. She began to notice the extreme heat[perhaps scrap the 'extreme'] take its toll as miniscule beads trickled under a light blue shirt, leather jacket, and ripped jeans[too much info here.. 'as beads of sweat trickled her brow' is FINE.. all the clothing is just a list of nothing.. i like the sentence though]. She didn’t bother with sandals; instead she gladly went barefoot in the sandy grass on the side of the road[unless she is a super chick thing her feet would burn and hurt form sand and pebbles... just dont mention this part at al].
Not before long[not before long makes no sense.. After a while.. Before long..], a glinting metal appeared in view behind her[she cant see behind her]. She turned to see that a white Toyota truck came her way. She[she she she she she.. she has a name use it] knew she shouldn’t hitchhike, but inside her, it was the only way to get out of Telaskurt and away from the Reeves.
“Do you need a ride?” a man in a plaid shirt and a cowboy hat asked.[does he stop the truck and ask from the window, get out, what?]
She scoffed, “No, I just decided to take a walk.”
“Nice day for it,” the man chuckled, seemed to be unaffected[affected by what? 'the man chuckled, casually'].
“Are you going anywhere with this?” [she is antisocial now? and no reason for it?]Debbie gave an unattractive scowl which set off a goofy, familiar[why is it familiar? i like your use here.. since its here dad n all] smile from the driver.
“You look too young to hitchhike – are you planning on going somewhere or do you want me to drop you at home?”
“I don’t have a home anymore,” she muttered, then reluctantly hopped in the truck. “Take me to Pipersville, will ya[a sudden accent.. out of the blue.. take it out of back it up]?”
“Sure thing, miss,” he rumbled the engine to life and began off with a slow start before cruising down the highway. “You know, you’re lucky you have a guy like me to pick you up than one of those perverts that hang around the road. I’m a married man myself – so you don’t have to worry about me.”
Debbie said nothing for a while. “Can you turn on the radio for me?”i dont get it, she was antisocial now shes a sweetie]
“Sure thing, miss…”
“Okay, my name isn’t Miss,” she snapped angrily. another change in her attitude]
“Well, that’s my way,” he chuckled unnervingly. “I was born with manners, I did. What’s your name? You look like an Elizabeth.”
Debbie silently listened to the acoustic rock song that was suddenly toned down by his hand.
“I can’t just drive with a stranger sitting in my truck if she’s got nothing to say but a thank-you…” the man gravely[gravely.. hes not threatening her.. its a bit strong. try 'but thankyou" the man continued..'] spoke.
“Look, sir – “
“The name’s Michael,” he interrupted, to her surprise. I thought you were born with manners, she almost blurted but stopped herself in time[why did she stop herself? she was being rude freely a moment ago. keep constant].
“Michael, I appreciate you giving me a ride and all, but I feel really, really uncomfortable talking to a stranger I just got in a car with,” she winced at the thought, and knew she had made a huge mistake. “Now that I’ve thought about it, I think I better get out. Stop the hitchhiking and all.”[another change in her personality.. i dont really understand it]
“Don’t you trust me?” the man looked hurt. Debbie sighed and gradually shook her head no.
“Alright, can’t deny a woman that’s made up her mind,” Michael nodded, slowed the truck, and pulled over once again. Then it dawned over her that she was just being silly. He was willing to give her a ride but also willing to stop as well, unlike those sexual predators[you use an accent on her once.. if you keep the accent.. she would think how she says.. she wouldnt say sexual predators shed say pervs'].
“Um, I changed my mind,” Debbie forced a smile. “If that’s okay with you.”
“Better than watching you walk,” he snorted. “I would have just driven by your side, just to make sure you got there. It’s thirty miles, quite far.”
“That’s right nice of you, Michael,” she looked straight forward, attempting to notnot to] fumble as she attached her seatbelt, just to look bold.
He continued to press harder on the pedal, “May I ask your name, if you don’t mind?”
“Ann,” she recited her foster mother’s name, hoping he wouldn’t recognize it.
“Ann Reeves, born and raised in Telaskurt, Arizona.”
“Nice introduction, Ann,” Michael gave another of his goofy smiles. “You should call me Mike. I’m just going to Pipersville to my wife and children from work. I’m a salesman, did you know? The Fourth of July and all. Busy weekend, but family’s been bugging me all month with long-distance. You got family?”[he talks very nicely here.. well done. its constant and correct]
lol... sorry i ran out of time and its really really long

basically there isnt much in it.. the girl keeps changing, but for no reason.. the start isnt really a pull.. its more of a push.. other thank that tho, you are a very good writer.. try to keep it shorter if you arent going to put alot in it

Fantasy of You · 06-21-2006, 12:07 PM

the title is a bit... 'ill put a title that will attract people' but it pulled me a way a little.. it had nothing to do with the story and its been done

Chris Miller · 06-21-2006, 01:17 PM

Quote:

a glass for thought: when you learn to write and critique with even an grain of intellect, talk.. unless then, shut the fuk up...

Foul! Game misconduct. Flag goes down. Penalty: 15 (not readily spared) IQ points.

Caution on the play. Caution.

edits:
an grain = a grain
unless then = until then
fuk = fuck

zallan · 06-21-2006, 01:38 PM

Heheh, thank you. Fantasy of You and Chris Miller, this is the criticism I prefer! Love you both

A Glass Thought · 06-21-2006, 04:10 PM

Fantasy, don't tell people they lack intellect if you intend on misspelling every other word. Oh, and wow, honestly what part lacked intellect? I'll admit it was a bit of a brief critique, but wow. Chris is right, grab some bench and we'll see you in the next half.

About what I wrote, I didn't have time to finish the entire thing because my computer crashed so it was either send what I wrote so far or just let it die.

Fantasy of You · 06-21-2006, 04:21 PM

do not say his story is shit.. it helps no one... and thats what you did..dont do it and i wont have to talk to you

A Glass Thought · 06-21-2006, 04:36 PM

I didnt say his story was shit. I didn't even get to finish saying exactly what I thought about it, but since it bothers you so much then here it is:

The Angels Weep Tonight:

Zallan, your writing is good, but the first paragraph was a bit overdone and will more likely turn readers away rather than drawing them in. I myself only read the first sentence, then almost didnt finish, but instead I went down and read Chris Millers comments first. Then I decided I'd give it a shot and did indeed read all the way through.

I live in Texas, and before that in Louisiana, so I know southern dialect, and there were a few instances in which it seemed either overdone or a typo you missed. Either way it did not do much to hurt the story, just something I wanted to point out.

About the story itself, I say it's screwed up because that's what it is. Not that it sucks, it's just screwed up. People would say the same thing about the move Hostile, which in no way makes it a bad thing.
I liked it, I did. Or at least I did until the ending, which just threw me into four different worlds of "wtf?"
There reason I think this is because I can't see people behaving like this in real life. I liked that she found her real father, but when he took off, I was dumbfounded. After all, this was the mans second chance. Usually in situations like this, people try to make amends. You build the character up to be an upright man, then it all falls apart in a few sentences. Then you have her running back to an abusive home, with both apologizing and saying "I love you."
It just makes the whole thing feel like you're keeping parts of the story from us.

Who knows, if this story is an example of the irrationality of human behavior, then it is an astounding success. In which case, I suggest not making it shorter, but longer. Dig deeper into who that girl is and what exactly she's running from. But remember to simplify on the language and flowery details, since too much will just cause headaches.

Still, I do look forward to reading more of your stuff, and don't worry too much if people don't start posting replies immediately. I've had stuff fall off the boards with 40 or so views and no replies. It happens.

zallan · 06-21-2006, 05:10 PM

Thank you.

I did mean for the father to leave her again from the start, to make him seem like a good person but too much of a coward inside to face his daughter that he left for another chance at life. But Debbie leaving foster home set the foster parents up right, they wouldn't abuse her again, and everything is okay, you see? Debbie realize that the foster family was better to her than her father ever could be. I wanted to "overdo" the scenery because I wanted to make you remember later when they talk. Most of the books I read, I forget about most of the environment. So... I kind of wanted it atmospheric, you know? But oh well, I guess sometimes it's too much.