Two Men, One Die by Samuel Merrin - Writers Forum

SamuelMerrin · 04-02-2008, 01:23 PM

It was a game of chance. It was a game whose winner chose himself. It's beginnings took place in the Los Angeles downtown Greyhound station.

Miles carried a pair of dice in his left jeans pocket. He also carried a plastic rubber band, a melted Almond Joy, three paper clips, a dime, and a wallet full of crisp 5 dollar bills. In his right jean pocket, he held his right hand.

His left hand was waving: he was waving someone over. The man he was waving over had a beard, a grey one, with white on the tips. The man's hair could have been called "salt and pepper" by those members of the upper crust who used such terms. Salvador never used such terms. Salvador was the man's name.

Miles waved over Salvador the way one man waves over another he has known a lifetime. The truth was that Salvador and Miles had known each other only the duration of the rest stops of their respective Greyhound coaches. To be more specific, they knew each other the duration of time their respective reststops had aligned, allowing the two to meet. Salvador's rest stop was 45 minutes. Miles' rest stop involved a coach change, and he would be parked at the Los Angeles station for the entirety of three hours.

For the first 15 minutes of Salvador's rest stop, which the driver of his coach was using to eat a Dutch Crunch and ham sandwich at the rear, driver's side corner of the Greyhound bus, along with a lemon-flavored iced tea which he drank from a plastic thermos, Salvador couldn't even see Miles' face. This was because Miles was facing North, and so was Salvador. Salvador could see the back of Miles' head. In the 16th minute of Salvador's rest stop, Miles turned around, and Salvador's eyes met Miles'. Both men looked away, but in the 17th minute, Miles pulled two plastic dice out of his pocket, and juggled them in his left palm. Salvador's eyes moved to Miles' palm, centering on the dice. In the 18th minute, Miles had returned the dice to his left pocket and raised his left hand to wave Salvador over. Salvador walked the distance between the two men until the length of the distance decreased from 15 feet to 2. Miles threw the dice under a greyhound bus that belonged to neither of the two men. Salvador watched the two cubes on their sideways trajectory, a trajectory slightly marred by the curve of Miles' crooked swipe.

"Call them." This was Miles.
"Three and six." This was Sal.
"Check." Miles.

And Sal crawled under the bus. One die, he saw, was a three. At that moment, the 26th minute of Salvador's rest stop and the very close of Miles' three hours of waiting, ta bus driver that had been smoking around the corner tossed the butt of his cigarette into a station trash bin and climbed into the driver's seat. He drove two feet before Sal was dead.

Miles unwrapped the Almond Joy as the ambulance came. One man, and a pair of dice, lost.

booker41 · 04-02-2008, 01:41 PM

Quite a few punctuation and grammar mistakes. A lot of the sentences don't make sense, and seem awkward. I'm not knowledgeable enough to give it an in-depth critique, but I'm sure someone else will.

Tiamat10 · 04-02-2008, 02:15 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by SamuelMerrin

It was a game of chance. It was a game whose winner chose himself. Its beginnings took place in the Los Angeles downtown Greyhound station.

Miles carried a pair of dice in his left jeans pocket. He also carried a plastic rubber band, a melted Almond Joy, three paper clips, a dime, and a wallet full of crisp five dollar bills. His right jean pocket was empty except for his right hand, which he had stuffed inside.

With his left hand, he waved someone over. The man he was waving over had a grey beard with white on the tips. The man's hair could have been called "salt and pepper" by those members of the upper crust who used such terms. Salvador was the man's name and he never used such terms.

Miles waved over Salvador the way one man waves over another he has known a lifetime. The truth was that Salvador and Miles had known each other only for the duration of the rest stops of their respective Greyhound coaches. To be more specific, they knew each other for the duration of time their respective reststops had aligned, allowing the two to meet. Salvador's rest stop was forty-five minutes. Miles' rest stop involved a coach change, and he would be parked at the Los Angeles station for three hours.

For the first fifteen minutes of Salvador's rest stop, during which the driver was eating a Dutch Crunch and ham sandwich, Salvador couldn't even see Miles' face. This was because Miles was facing North and so was Salvador. Salvador could see the back of Miles' head. In the sixteenth minute of Salvador's rest stop, Miles turned around, and their eyes met. Both men looked away, but in the seventeenth minute, Miles pulled two plastic dice out of his pocket and juggled them in his left palm. Salvador's eyes moved to Miles' palm, centering on the dice. In the eighteenth minute, Miles had returned the dice to his left pocket and raised his left hand to wave Salvador over. When Salvador approached, Miles threw the dice under a greyhound bus that belonged to neither of the two men. Salvador watched the two cubes on their sideways trajectory, one slightly marred by the curve of Miles' crooked swipe.

"Call them," Miles said.
"Three and six."
"Check."

Sal crawled under the bus. One die, he saw, was a three. At that moment, the twenty-sixth minute of Salvador's rest stop and close to the end of Miles' three hours of waiting, the bus driver that had been smoking around the corner tossed the butt of his cigarette into a station trash bin and climbed into the driver's seat. He drove two feet before Sal was dead.

Miles unwrapped the Almond Joy as the ambulance came. One man, and a pair of dice, lost.

This was very choppy and very repetitive in some places. Also, it's very passively written, which is actually somewhat of a help since your MC is so bloody passive, himself. Some of your sentences were a little awkward too, so I gave some suggestions on how I would phrase them to improve the readability of this.

The story itself isn't bad, and I certainly didn't see the ending coming (which is something I always appreciate). You just need to touch it up some.

Sam Winchester · 04-02-2008, 03:55 PM

It was a game of chance. It was a game whose winner chose himself (How can a winner 'chose himself'?). It's (its) beginnings took place in the Los Angeles downtown Greyhound station.

Miles carried a pair of dice in his left jeans pocket. He also carried a plastic rubber band, a melted Almond Joy, three paper clips, a dime, and a wallet full of crisp, five dollar bills. In his right jean pocket, he held his right hand (What does this mean?).

His left hand was waving: he was waving someone over (you don't need this). The man he was waving over (You've said 'waving' three times in the last two sentences. You don't need to.) had a beard, a grey one, with white on the tips. The man's hair could have been called "salt and pepper" by those members of the upper crust who used such terms. Salvador never used such terms. Salvador was the man's name (which man?).

Miles waved over Salvador the way one man waves over another he has known a lifetime (So what way do you wave over someone you've just met?). The truth was that Salvador and Miles had known each other only the duration of the rest stops of their respective Greyhound coaches. To be more specific, they knew each other the duration of time their respective reststops had aligned, allowing the two to meet (These two sentences really do nothing other than take up space. You can omit half of them). Salvador's rest stop was 45 minutes. Miles' rest stop involved a coach change, and he would be parked at the Los Angeles station for the entirety of three hours.

For the first 15 minutes of Salvador's rest stop, which the driver of his coach was using to eat a Dutch Crunch and ham sandwich at the rear, driver's side corner of the Greyhound bus, along with a lemon-flavored iced tea which he drank from a plastic thermos, Salvador couldn't even see Miles' face (Honestly, this is a load of immaterial information. Does this driver play an integral part in the story? If not, why the hell should we care what he's eating?). This was because Miles was facing North, and so was Salvador. Salvador could see the back of Miles' head. In the 16th minute of Salvador's rest stop, Miles turned around, and Salvador's eyes met Miles'. Both men looked away, but in the 17th minute, Miles pulled two plastic dice out of his pocket, and juggled them in his left palm. Salvador's eyes moved to Miles' palm, centering on the dice. In the 18th minute, Miles had returned the dice to his left pocket and raised his left hand to wave Salvador over. Salvador walked the distance between the two men until the length of the distance decreased from 15 feet to 2. Miles threw the dice under a greyhound bus that belonged to neither of the two men (again, who cares?). Salvador watched the two cubes on their sideways trajectory, a trajectory slightly marred by the curve of Miles' crooked swipe.

"Call them." This was Miles.
"Three and six." This was Sal.
"Check." Miles.

And Sal crawled under the bus. One die, he saw, was a three. At that moment, the 26th minute of Salvador's rest stop and the very close of Miles' three hours of waiting, the bus driver that had been smoking around the corner tossed the butt of his cigarette into a station trash bin and climbed into the driver's seat. He drove two feet before Sal was dead.

Miles unwrapped the Almond Joy as the ambulance came. One man, and a pair of dice, lost.

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This story is confusing as hell, Samuel. I agree with Booker. Punctuation seems to be a problem. So, too, does repetivity. You've said 'Salvador' and 'Miles' about forty times in that piece. The ending kind of threw me as well.

Sam.

babeonownbike · 04-02-2008, 10:15 PM

I like the concept, but it's poorly executed. Agree with most of the comments above.