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Apple Ice
March 15th, 2013, 11:23 PM
I've taken it down for major improvements

hiatus
March 16th, 2013, 12:39 AM
A little heavy on the cursing, but fits into the gritty business eh? An okay read. I can picture it clearly which is all I look for. Kind of made me think of breaking bad for some reason. Nice

js1268
March 16th, 2013, 02:26 PM
not bad, not bad... good visuals... you've got some improper commas, though

also- and most importantly, imo- is that you jump around betweeen 3rd person omniscient and 3rd person limited ... for example:

"After six minutes of her listing and offering every possible way she could pay him with her used, thin body, Reece manages to get her out of his flat. He sits back and lights a joint, listening intently to the sound of it sparking quietly. Here in a shitty flat in Croydon, Reece has found the life of a drug dealer, the films made the drug lords life seem much more glamorous, but Reece wasn’t a drug lord, he was just a lowly dealer for crack whores and general scum. He wasn’t scum though, far from it he often thought, at least he’s making money. Fuck his school mates, who have gone on to university and think they’re better than him now; they don’t know what the real world is like. He will show them, he show all of those cunts.

His brother comes out from the bedroom in baggy shorts and his old white vest covered with stains of all colours, shapes and sizes. He sits opposite Reece on the comfortable sofa they had pulled out of a skip."

also...

Oh yeah, he remembers now, the man who’s buying gear for his housebound brother. He’s not the police; the suit is too obvious for it to be the police. Reece sniggers, he came to get drugs in a fucking suit. He opens the door and scans the tall pale man from head to toe. He’s well dressed and well groomed and his deep blue, focused eyes have all of their attention on Reece’s face. There’s something familiar about this man thinks Reece.


blue = 3rd person omniscient
red = 3rd person limited

... you do this throughout the story, and it's not entirely a bad thing... doing it properly makes for a very dynamic read...but arbitrarily combining perspectives confuses the reader because it at once moves the reader from being a 'fly on the wall' to 'a fly sitting on Reece's shoulder' ...if that makes sense

otherwise, great story...gritty and purposeful

Apple Ice
March 17th, 2013, 11:20 PM
Thank you both for you comments, they are much appreciated.

hiatus - the swearing is something i was a bit iffy on but the people like reece i have met swear about twice as much so i thought i would stick with it. thank you very much

js1268 - yes i see what you mean, i always have a problem with sticking to my narration, i drift off unintentionally. thank you very much for pointing this out, i wouldn't have realized otherwise. i will read through again and choose which one to stick with. thanks

bazz cargo
March 24th, 2013, 07:50 PM
Okay,
I have given this a little make over just to see what was what. The red is where I wielded my hatchet. Nice stuff, if a little rude for my taste.
Bazz

He looks in to her red, unfocused and moist eyes, the lids flickering like faulty lights. The eyes of a junky. She stares at him in desperation, trying her best to negotiate.

“Please, I can pay you in other ways, what do you want? I can suck your dick”

“Get the fuck out of here you stupid bitch, either come back when you have the money or don’t come back at all.”

After six minutes of her listing and offering every possible way she could pay him with her used, thin body, Reece manages to get her out of his flat. He sits back and lights a joint, listening intently to the sound of it sparking quietly. ()In a grubby flat in Croydon, Reece is living the life of a drug dealer, Films make a drug lord's life seem glamorous, but Reece wasn’t a drug lord, he was just a lowly dealer for crack whores and general scum. He didn’t consider himself scum, at least he’s making money. mump his school mates, who have gone on to university and think they’re better than him now; they don’t know what the real world is like. He will show them, he'd show all of those twits.

His brother comes out from the bedroom in baggy shorts and his old white vest covered with stains of all colours, shapes and sizes. He sits opposite Reece on the comfortable sofa they had pulled out of a skip.

“What was all that shouting about, Bruv?”

“Nothing, just some prick.”

His brother rolls his eyes and sparks up his own joint, slowly sucking on it and exhaling through his wide nostrils. He closes his eyes. He will go to sleep again, that’s all he mumping does thinks Reece. Here Reece is, making a living for the both of them and all this lazy prick does is get high and sleep. He looks down at his dark hands. He’s got to get out of this crap-hole, he can’t take it anymore, all this depressing crap. He will quit tomorrow and move far away, maybe back to Jamaica.

“I’m quitting all this crap” he announces to his half asleep brother.

“Ha ha alright then, Reece, like when you quit last month?” says his brother without opening his eyes.

I should mumping shoot this waste of space, he’s the one dragging me down! shouts Reece in his mind. He fantasises about doing this for a good amount of time, but then the violent ring of the door interrupts his satisfying thought. He gets up unsteadily and shuffles to the door with one hand down his tracksuit bottoms. Looking through the peep hole he sees the mouth and chin of a tall young man and looks down to see he is wearing a long black coat over a nice suit.

“Who the mump are you?” demands Reece.

“We spoke on the phone” says the man confidently.

Oh yeah, he remembers now, the man who’s buying gear for his housebound brother. He’s not the police; the suit is too obvious for it to be the police. Reece sniggers, he came to get drugs in a mumping suit. He opens the door and scans the tall pale man from head to toe. He’s well dressed and well groomed and his deep blue, focused eyes have all of their attention on Reece’s face. There’s something familiar about this man.

“We spoke on the phone” says the man, cutting Reece’s thinking short.

“So you said. Come in then”

The pale man sits down on a rotting chair next to Reece’s sofa. Reece, his brother and this strange man are now making a triangle around the old wooden table lifting an impressive amount of grade A drugs, The unconscious brother does not register there is someone else in the flat. The strange man is the first to break the silence.

“A girl walked past me on the way up here, she looked rough. Do you know her?"

Reece did not reward this question with an answer; this man was starting to piss him off. He couldn’t take his eyes off this stranger, what was it that was recognisable? This man’s voice seemed too deep for his image, it takes you by surprise. Reece wonders if he’s putting it on for some reason.

“Nice flat, I used to live in one similar to this,”

No one has ever walked in here and started a conversation about property. He’s taking the mumping piss.

“What the mump do you want?”

Reece was a master at evoking fear in to people; he had to in order to do this job. He would curl his lip, focus his eyes and bark his words and this never failed to get results. This is what he had just done on this man and he had got no reaction.

“Just chatting, friend. You must have a busy night ahead of you with all of that gear.” He nods at the table as if Reece wouldn’t know anything about it.

“Yeah I used to live in a flat like this when I was at university” says the man, pressing on with the conversation, telling Reece problems he used to have with the front door.

Mump. Crap .Mumping crap. This can’t be mumping happening thinks Reece. It has dawned on him who this man is. He heard some mumping rumour that apparently two drug dealers had been killed in their homes by a lanky white man, but he didn’t believe or in fact care about it, probably just gangs. This man was still talking about his university days and about how his lecturer had a lisp. The guns in the other room and he had never actually used it before. Reece looks at the table and spots the knife he uses for everything from drug cutting to threats. He knows he’s been looking at it too long and tears his gaze away before the man notices but it’s too late. The man noticed the knife and every possible weapon the minute he walked in, but Reece did not know this. He looks over to his brother who is still unconscious and oblivious to the danger.

The man is still talking, casually looking around the room, not paying attention to any specific thing or indeed any one specific person. Reece decides it’s time to kill this mumping nutter.
As fast as Reece stands and lunges for the knife he is just as quickly sitting down again with three silent bullets nesting in his chest, forcing out a delicate stream of warm blood from each small hole. He looks at the man through darkening vision and then feebly looks across to his snoring brother. You stupid twit, he thinks. Resting his head back he closes his eyes and thinks at least he doesn’t have to live in this flat anymore.

After studying the dead drug dealer for a moment the man then looks at the other sleeping man. At least he won’t die in fear. Two bullets in the chest and one in the head. Then the strange man leaves.

Apple Ice
March 24th, 2013, 10:09 PM
Thank you Bazz, i have corrected it. I thoroughly enjoyed your swear word substitutes, they amused me greatly. One day I plan to get the technical side right.

bazz cargo
March 24th, 2013, 11:08 PM
*Big Smiley.*

The substitutes were a necessity, my way of dealing with the G rating all such posts must have.

Get the story right, then fiddle with the techie side. You are entertaining me.
Cool!

Apple Ice
March 24th, 2013, 11:51 PM
After reading through it again there is perhaps a bit too much swearing. Yeah, that's good advice, i have only been doing the first bit of that advice up until now. Thanks again

Red Heron
March 25th, 2013, 01:45 AM
I like your vigilante, he's calm and systematic rather than emotional and explosive. And even less forgiving than the usual! Shoot a man while he sleeps? That's ruthless! Makes it seem personal, despite how cold he is. Makes me want to know more.

Reece's thoughts aren't very well distinguished. I found myself wondering if I was reading what he was thinking, or what the narration was describing.

A gritty piece, fun stuff!

Apple Ice
March 25th, 2013, 02:21 PM
Thank you, red Heron. Yes I wanted him to be the cold and systematic type, I'm glad he comes across as such. As for the narration, I have been through and tried to distinguish the thoughts and narration a bit better as well as the tense. Thank you for flagging this up.

lowprofile300
March 25th, 2013, 07:22 PM
I use to live in West Croydon when I lived in England back in the day, my Dad still has a home there, so there -my connection:)
Red=Flag
Blue= Suggestion



I think this could do with a lot more description and better pace but i thought i would stick it on as it is at the moment. Hope someone enjoys it.




He looks stares into her red, unfocused and moist watery eyes, eyelids flickering like faulty lights. The eyes of a junky. She stares at him in desperation, trying her best to negotiate.

“Please, I can pay you in other ways, what do you want? I can suck your dick”

“Get the fuck out of here you stupid bitch, either come back when you have the money or don’t come back at all.”

After six minutes of her listing and offering every possible way she could pay him with her used, thin body, Reece manages to get her out of his flat. He sits back and lights a joint, listening intently to the sound of it sparking quietly. Here in a shitty flat in Croydon, Reece is living the life of a drug dealer, films made the drug lords life seem much more glamorous. Reece isn’t a drug lord, he was just a lowly dealer for crack whores and general scum. He didn't consider himself scum though, far from it he often thought, at least he’s making money. Fuck his school mates, who have gone on to university and think they’re better than him now; they don’t know what the real world is like. He will show them, he show all of those twats.

His brother comes out from the bedroom in baggy shorts and his old white vest covered with stains of all colours, shapes and sizes. He sits opposite Reece on the comfortable sofa they had pulled out of a skip.

“What was all that shouting about, Bruv?”

“Nothing, just some prick.”

His brother rolls his eyes and sparks up his own joint, slowly sucking on it and exhaling through his wide nostrils. He closes his eyes. He will go to sleep again, that’s all he fucking does thinks Reece. Here I am, making a living for the both of us and all this lazy prick does is get high and sleep. Reece looks down at his dark hands. He’s got to get out of this shithole, he can’t take it anymore, all this depressing shit, he will quit tomorrow and move far away, maybe back to Jamaica.

“I’m quitting all this shit” he announces to his half asleep brother.

“Ha ha alright then, Reece, like when you quit last month?” says his brother without opening his eyes.

I should fucking shoot this waste of space, he’s the one dragging me down, Reece thinks. He fantasizes about doing this for a good amount of time, but then the violent ring of the door interrupts his satisfying thought. He gets up unsteadily and shuffles to the door with one hand down his tracksuit bottoms. Looking through the peep hole he sees the mouth and chin of a tall young man and looks down to see he is wearing a long black coat over a nice suit.

“Who the fuck are you?” demands Reece.

“We spoke on the phone” says the man confidently.

Oh yeah, he remembers now, the man who’s buying gear for his housebound brother. He’s not the police; the suit is too obvious for it to be the police. Reece sniggers, he's come to get drugs in a fucking suit. He opens the door and scans the tall pale man from head to toe. He’s well dressed and well groomed. His deep blue and focused eyes have all of their attention on Reece’s face. There’s something familiar about this man thinks Reece.

“We spoke on the phone” says the man, cutting Reece’s thinking short.

“So you said. Come in then”

The pale man sits down on a rotting chair next to Reece’s sofa. Reece, his brother and this strange man are now making a triangle around the old wooden table lifting an impressive amount of grade A drugs. The unconscious brother does not register there is someone else in the flat. The strange man is the first to break the silence.

“A girl walked past me on the way up here, she looked rough. Do you know her?"

Reece does not reward this question with an answer; this man is starting to piss him off.

He can't take his eyes off this stranger, what was it that was recognisable? This man’s voice seemed too deep for his image, it's surprising. Reece wonders if he’s putting it on for some reason.

“Nice flat, I used to live in one similar to this,”

No one has ever walked in here and started a conversation about property. He’s taking the fucking piss.

“What the fuck do you want?”

Reece is a master at evoking fear in to people; he had to be in order to do this job. He would curl his lip, focus his eyes and bark his words and this never failed to get results. This is what he had just done on this man and he had got no reaction.

“Just chatting, friend. You must have a busy night ahead of you with all of that gear.” He nods at the table as if Reece wouldn’t know anything about it.

“Yeah I used to live in a flat like this when I was at university” says the man, pressing on with the conversation, telling Reece problems he used to have with the front door.

Fuck. Shit .Fucking Shit. This can’t be fucking happening thinks Reece. It has dawned on him who this man is. He heard some fucking rumour that apparently two drug dealers had been killed in their homes by a lanky white man, but he didn’t believe or in fact care about it, probably just gangs. This man was still talking about his university days and about how his lecturer had a lisp. He thinks about the gun in the other room although he had never actually used it before. Reece now looks at the table and spots the knife he uses for everything from drug cutting to threats. He knows he’s been looking at it too long and tears his gaze away before the man notices but it’s too late. The man noticed the knife and every possible weapon the minute he walked in, but Reece does not know this. He looks over to his brother who is still unconscious and oblivious to the danger.

The man is still talking, casually looking around the room, not paying attention to any specific thing or indeed any one specific person. Reece decides it’s time to kill this fucking nutter.

As fast as Reece stands and lunges for the knife he is just as quickly sitting down again with three silent bullets nesting in his chest, forcing out a delicate stream of warm blood from each small hole. He looks at the man through darkening vision and then feebly looks across to his snoring brother. You stupid prick, he thinks. Resting his head back he closes his eyes and thinks at least he doesn’t have to live in this flat anymore.

After studying the dead drug dealer for a moment the man then looks at the other sleeping man. At least he won’t die in fear. Two bullets in the chest and one in the head. The strange man leaves.

The language is not what I am use to, but that's just me. I was hoping for a climatic ending, but it was too abrupt. I suggest you expand on the last two paragraphs to achieve that. That said, I enjoyed reading it. Cheers

Apple Ice
March 25th, 2013, 09:59 PM
Ah sweet, I have no connection to the place haha. Your corrections are good I think so thank you for that. As for the ending I totally agree with you, I hit a block as I got there and have been meaning to expand on it since, I will do so. Thank you

Bakslashjack
April 3rd, 2013, 03:08 AM
Yeah there is an issue with the 3rd person limited.

The man The man The man. The other man. This is a big issue.

I see no problem with the profanity but try not to use it out of quotes. however it does at times feel relevant. Not so much after you have used it a lot inside quotes tho. don't follow a profane quote with a profane 3rd person narrative description. for some reason tho it does seem to work the opposite way. hmm interesting (me thinks to myself)

Drugs he he, I have a lot of this in my story too. its great hard hitting subject matter.

Apple Ice
April 3rd, 2013, 09:42 PM
I see, thanks for that slashjack, it's a lesson learned

Metacomet
April 9th, 2013, 09:38 AM
Nihilism has limited appeal I think. What happens next?

Apple Ice
April 9th, 2013, 02:51 PM
Nihilism has limited appeal I think. What happens next?

I'm not really sure what you mean by that. As for what happens next, it's a three part story and it's quite difficult to explain, I purposely leave a lot unexplained

Doc_Thom
April 29th, 2013, 10:10 PM
Ah, Croydon. I hope you set something in the Ikea ;)

Apple Ice
April 29th, 2013, 10:25 PM
Ah, Croydon. I hope you set something in the Ikea ;)

Haha, of course, it wouldn't be true Croydon if I didn't