Chapter 1 - Waiting

Chapter 1

The sun burned overhead as Scott fought his way through the heaving unruly crowd of the town square.  Sweat dripped from his every pore as he walked under the collection of plastic tarps fastened overhead to block the sun.  A Spectrum of musky smells rushed through his nose as the swell of unwashed bodies passed by trapped under the tarps.  Some scents rose and fell, some hung in the air then morphed and blended into the next passing odour.

The heat, the heat I can’t stand this f*****g heat

Each footstep seemed to sizzle as his boots pressed in to the crumbling dirt road.  The abrasion of his sweat sodden jeans aggravated the now raw skin between his legs with every stride.  The hot kettle of the heaving crowd stole precious water from his body with drops of his sweat evaporating before even hitting the ground.  Steam rose from each person leaving only salted skin and dry mouths behind.  Scott’s cracked and flaking lips hung open providing a vital pathway for his ravenous lungs to hunt for the rare oxygen in the air.

The air was dry and seemed to crackle up its own pressure.  It seemed to be on the verge of snapping, as were the people of the dusty town.  Scott hated the town square and particularly despised making its acquaintance in the hot stink of the daylight hours.

Looking for somewhere to get out the midday heat Scott finally found the refuge of a shop front.  He jumped from the compacted dirt street up on to the wooden platform and pulled out his water bottle immediately choking down a series of large gulps.  Needing to conserve this water he stopped short of fully quenching his thirst and placed the flask back in his hessian backpack.  He stood under the shade of a tattered green canopy which offered little although welcomed relief from the oppressive sun above.

This building was like many of the others that bordered the large open square with its wood panel construction and corrugated iron roof.  Almost all of the paint had blistered and chipped away leaving sporadic blackened flecks of white across the rotting wooden surface.  The two small windows each side of the open iron door were cracked and had darkened from the incessant heat.  Strips of tape marked each panel with an X and seemed to be the only thing keeping the fractured panes in one piece.  A fine coating of dust and sand covered the windows and built up in each corner further darkening the view.

Dust and sand was what styled this and every town along the line of the wall.  The sand that filled every crack and crevice; every nook and cranny, even the gaps in words seemed to be filled with sand.  Gradually wearing down everything it touched, the buildings of the town, the vehicles and vegetation.  All were slowly becoming dust, even the people themselves were gradually being worn down.

The sand almost appeared to have developed sentience and made a conscious choice to hound the people of the town.  In addition to its malice it somehow held a mystical ability to find its way into everything.  If Scott was searching for anything in the plains he would always make one common and disappointing discovery.  The sand had made claim on it long before he had, eating away at its value and usefulness.

It was in his food, in his water, in the least expected of places he would find that unpleasant visitor waiting for him.  Scott like everyone hated the yellow stuff but accepted the reality of being trapped in the desert.  The desert where nothing would grow, where nothing could survive but the towns, they managed to find a way to carry on.  The place he now called home was one of many such towns situated along the kill line of the wall.  All were much the same sharing poverty and struggle in equal measures.

The towns filled the narrowest of gaps between the heat of the south and the huge and overwhelming presence of the wall to the north.  Venturing south lead to a vast fiery wasteland were the rising temperatures had wiped out almost all but the hardiest of life.  The whole area between the tropics of Cancer and Capricorn was now uninhabitable to mankind.

All the cities and towns of a bygone age now left crumbling radioactive ruins where only the pickers were permitted to travel.  The rainforests of what was formerly Central and South America were now a crisp and dry fading in the memory of the old.  The only record of their past existence was in books and a few pictures found by pickers in the rubble.

Alternatively north was a short trip to the wall where anything that crossed the yellow kill line would be blasted to pieces by huge arrays of sentry guns.  Scott as he often did was standing looking at the wall which sat like a man made mountain in the distance behind every town on the line.  Scott stared into its darkness pondering what if anything was on the other side.  He wondered what it was hiding, what was on the other side, were there people and mainly was there food.

Although he had never seen it he had heard the wall stretched beyond the land and into the mine filled sea.  Not that you could get a boat to actually find out as everyone with such a luxury and any sense had already gone during the war.  Hopefully finding somewhere cooler off the east and west coasts or managing to make it around the wall to the north.  He had considered trying to build a boat and trying to leave the continent but eventually decided it was unwise.  Too many problems and variables existed, stockpiling enough food and water being the most prevalent.  In addition the sea which he had never even seen let alone sailed in was filled with mines.    

The hatred he felt for the wall had nowhere to go, just as he had nowhere to go.  The people along its border trapped like rats in its shadow meaning they could only scratch an existence in the dust of the desert.  The thought of leaving this place for greener pastures was never far from his mind and he was not sure that even reaching the capitol would appease him.

The shop roofs on the other side of the square reflected the sun into Scott’s eyes giving him more excuse to huff and wine about the town.  There was also a series of small tears in the canopy which allowed beams of light to shine through on to him.  He did his best to keep the burning sun from his face, constantly changing position as the canopy flapped in the wind.  Much of his time outside was spent fighting a losing battle between the sun and his fair skin.

Most of the structures of the square doubled as shops and dwellings while those outside the square were more modest.  The various trash heaps within a short distance of town provided the material for waist high homes for the poorest.  Many were made from scraps of metal, plastic sheets, wooden pallets and anything else that could be scavenged.  Opposite the stores of the square sat a line of street traders, setting up stalls or even just blankets displaying a staggering array of items for sale.  Everything from tools to jewellery, car parts to clothing, anything that was needed could be found here.  This layout created a narrow channel where people would flow around in a rectangle buying or trading for what they needed.

From sun up to sun down and beyond there was always some deal or some trade taking place in that square.  It was a deal that Scott was hoping to make with Trevor and it would be an amazing feat to strike one with him today.  Finding his pockets empty of anything of real value he contemplated what he could offer as he waited for his boss to arrive. 

At this point he realised his view of the wall and square was slanted, tilting his head he corrected the picture.  Examining the wooden platform he was standing on he saw that it had rotted and began to crumble at the right hand side.  He put his head back into position and instead leant against the wall at an angle keeping the horizon level.  That is what this town is he thought, Rotten, stinking and crumbling feeling particularly adverse to his surroundings that day.  He placed a hand in his pocket and jangled the change that wasn't there while he waited the arrival of Trevor.

Trevor had promised to deliver the motorbike that Scott had craved since he had discovered its existence.  In fact he had hounded Trevor the towns improvised scrap merchant and mechanic and his boss about this bike for countless months.  He had read its specifications in an old magazine and obsessed over it ever since.  Though basically a low power and cheap motorbike, Scott was certain it was more compatible with modern upgrades and modifications than any other old bike.  Once it was completed its low weight would be distributed almost perfectly on the frame.  Then with him riding it he was sure it would be the fastest thing in town.

In a flash a small girl in a floral dress no older than six had climbed on to the platform where Scott was standing.  She was approaching him as fast with her legs moving as fast as they were able to with a smile spanning ear to ear.  Hanging from her neck was a wooden box containing various knickknacks and snacks for sale but mainly she was begging for money.  Though her face was filled with smiles Scott’s face immediately overflowed with annoyance at this site.

‘No’ he snapped, as if to a misbehaving puppy. 

This one word shattered the masquerade and her face quickly soured turning into a scowl which she directed squarely at Scott.  A mix of anger and pity filled him as she went scurrying back down the steps and into the turbulent flow of the crowd.  He would never delve into his pockets at the site of these kids, even if they weren’t empty like today.  He hated how those children pestered everyone but it was something else that really struck him.  In truth it was the way they made him feel that really got to him.

Parents and children alike were all hooked on solvent and a whole herd of such children swarmed around the square.  The gangs that possessed the solvent provided boxes of useless items and snacks to small children for them to sell.  Set off at first light by their parents like windup mice they would scour the crowd for any spare change until dark.  The money would go straight to the gangs who would provide an amount of solvent for the family.  The Parents of the children did the same thing at that age and the next generation after this was sure to continue this cycle. 

Most would never learn to read or write as school was during the prime working hours of the day.  The more Scott saw of them the more he thought he needed to get out of that place.  He imagined the town filled with nothing but huge families of illiterate beggars roaming the streets.  All trying to sell each other their worthless junk and eventually starving to death whilst high on solvent.  He tried to fathom why they chose to keep having children but the only thought that was clear was that smart people don’t have children.

He told himself it was just the way it was and did his best to push the emotions from his mind.  However Instead of pushing out the feelings they mutated into memories of his own childhood.  A memory began to stir in his guts of how he felt in the children’s facility where he had spent the first thirteen years of his life.  These thoughts were something he could never seem to push aside for very long.  Now at fifteen it had been two years since he had left but in this instant he was transported back there.  His thumb rubbed between his first two fingers rapidly as he did his best to not let the memory form.

The memory of a tear falling from his eye as he sat naked and cross legged on a green tile floor came clear.  He cleared his throat, his whole body shook trying to not see what was in his mind or hear that voice, the voice he could never escape.  Hearing it as clear as a voice shouting from the crowded street ‘Stop crying you rat’ it said.  He did his best to clear his mind not wanting to ever relive his time in the facility and especially not while in view of the town.  He tried his best to focus on something else, grab any departing thought he could so not feel. 

Motorbikes!

Motorbikes that was it, he grabbed on to this rock and pulled himself out of the ocean ocean he had fallen in to.  He shaking slowly subsided as he concentrated on what he loved.  He ran over in his mind what he could do to make the soon to be delivered motorbike faster.  What upgrades he would implement first and what power output each component would produce.  Once his mind ran through the calculation he then considered how he could win the race that night.  His current bike was a real junker and had fallen apart on the first corner of the race last month. 

Most people would have thrown it on the junk pile after removing anything of value but he had spent his time fixing it since then.  He had increased the power output but only made a temporary fix to the main structural issue that caused his accident in the last race.  With the laughter of his competitors still ringing in his ears he said out loud ‘I will show those fuckers who is a loser.’ 

He then looked around wondering if anyone had heard this outburst and worse still what had he looked like during his miniature meltdown.  His fixed stare broke and swept around the area searching for any onlookers.  Embarrassment sent his cheeks pinker than the sun had already turned them when his eyes locked with hers.

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Reviews

[Cyndy Robinson]

My thoughts on a first chapter, keeping in mind what you want reviewed. First of all a book really does have length and descriptive detail, I do not think it is over done here. I think it is very well done. I actually think it is extremely well done here, perhaps the best of I have seen on this site. It is an opening chapter, and I have a glimpse of this character it is enough for the opening chapter for me. That is what an opening chapter should be. That having been said, and take my review with a grain of salt, I have never written a book yet, just recently attempted a short story, I am more of a poetry person. But I read about 4 books a week. I am not a TV person. And when I review I do try to offer something that will make it better. What I am not getting in this first chapter is a draw into it. I don't get that until the very end. A reader might not make it that far. I would suggest you maybe take the end of the chapter, and start this chapter with that. Then go into some detail. I might also suggest, because I can already tell, not having read the rest of the chapters, that all of that detail is necessary, to follow the story that you intersperse it with action/daydream or pieces of it, throughout, or consider what some books do. Usually its a map, sometimes a definition of terms. Maybe some of this could be put in that format. A thought or two.

[Jared Payne]

Your very good at creating, new raw and creative material, that I found quite interesting to read. Your work contained well descriptive language, allowing your readers to see a clear picture in their mind. The only suggestion I would make though, would be to have a better hook, so the readers get engaged faster, and try to keep the story progressive so readers stay for the whole thing! One good way to do this is to add action or a sub conflict to the plot, so the story remains complex. Good job though!

[JayG]

Take a deep breath, because this is going to sting. The first thing that hit me is that you didn’t do any significant editing. In the first sentence you say, “The sun burned overhead as Scott fought his way through the heaving unruly crowd of the town square.” But the crowd is IN the square, not of it. Things like that count, because everything that jars a reader takes then one step closer to walking away.

So never post anything but your “A” game. Had this been a query submission the first rejection point would come at this line.

• Sweat dripped from his every pore as he walked under the collection of plastic tarps fastened overhead to block the sun.

At this point, we don’t know where he is in time and space. We don’t know anything about him. And, we don’t know what’s going on, so we have no context to make sense of anything. But without context they’re just words a voice we cannot hear is speaking about someone we don’t know. And what’s entertaining about that?

• A Spectrum of musky smells rushed through his nose as the swell of unwashed bodies passed by trapped under the tarps.

Here, you, someone not on the scene or in the story, are talking about things you visualize happening. But you never give the picture to the reader. You only talk about it. You say there are tarps overhead. A foot overhead? A yard? How big is the “square? You know. The people do. But the one you wrote the story for, the reader, has no idea of where the hell they are or what’s going on.

And…a fly doesn’t stop the air under it from moving, so they can’t trap smell.

But forget that. Why would a reader care that he can smell things if HE’S not reacting to them. He’s thinking about how hot he is. And it’s HIS story. So talk about what matters to him, not you.

• Each footstep seemed to sizzle as his boots pressed in to the crumbling dirt road.

Okay, you said it was hot. You said he was sweating. He said he was hot. Yet you’re still giving a weather report instead of story. Story HAPPENS, and thus far he’s done nothing but walk through a place we know nothing about, and complain. In the words of James H. Schmitz, “Don’t inflict the reader with irrelevant background material—get on with the story.”

And something worth mentioning: As someone who has lived in Arizona, and spent time in the Negev, when it’s 110° in the desert you’re hot, but you aren’t wet with sweat because it evaporates as fast as it appears, and helps cool you.

• He jumped from the compacted dirt street up on to the wooden platform and pulled out his water bottle immediately choking down a series of large gulps.

You’re dwelling on visual details, describing what the reader would see were they watching the film. But that’s not story. Why do I, a reader waiting for something to happen, care that he took a drink?

Bottom line: Until he begins to “wait for Trevor,” All that happens is that he walks an unknown distance and takes a drink. But it took you 1454 words, or six pages of reading an info-dump to get there. That’s not story. It’s a history lesson, and damn few people read history books for entertainment.

Your reader comes to you for entertainment—no more and no less. They expect something interesting to happen. But nothing has. We don’t know why he’s expecting to meet Trevor, or what he expects to happen when he does. We don’t even know if we’re on Earth, or where and when.

You’ve told us it’s hot, but not made the reader share his feeling, only know he’s not happy.

You need to tell a story that will interest the reader. So set the place on fire. Have someone steal his wallet. INTRIGUE the reader. That’s story. This isn’t.

There’s a lot to writing fiction for the page that’s not obvious, just as the inner workings of any profession aren’t obvious to those outside it. A scene on the page, for example, is not at all like one on the stage. And if you don’t know what’s different, and why, you can’t write one.

There are a hundred issues like that that must be mastered. But in our schooling we were taught only nonfiction writing skills to make us useful to employers. Those skills are useless for fiction because they’re meant to inform, not entertain.

In the end, if you’re not willing to spend both time and money on your writers education you cannot claim to be serious about writing.

So keep writing, of course. But at the same time, set time aside to dig into the tricks the pros feel necessary. Visit the local library’s fiction writing section and check what publishers, agents, and teachers of writing have to say.

It’s a lot of work, yes, but so is becoming skilled in any profession.

[tynamite]

It's fairly good, but not much happens in it. Please add more action to it.

[CiNtsaLis]

*nodding head* I don't know what some people are complaining about *falls to the ground* I mean.. *picks myself up* (whispers shamefully*) "I can't even write like you" (laughs softly*) I think that it's very interesting-- but my advice is-- *smiles* (use a more appealing font) Readers may not admit it-- but it really does help them-- read it to the very last word. (other than that) It's fine *whispers* (: You're a great writer.

[Veronica Staehle]

The visual and descriptive language is great and provide a very authentic feeling and scenery to connect with as a reader. I enjoyed the subtleties and nuances created in the landscape and environment. Let that sand keep finding its way into everything in your story.

[Josh W.]

Pretty good man, as others have said though, could use a little editing. But that's the easy part :)

[Catcid]

I started reading this but then I stopped. There are many inconsistencies, grammar faults and structural misses. Some sentences looks as if you started writing them one way and then just changed your mind in the middle and wrote it in another way instead. I am not saying this is bad or that you are a bad writer. The writing is just the small part of the author's job. You write as much as your imagination allows, and then you edit. This text is in need of a work-over. I say take it down, revise it and then ask someone else to proofread it for you.

When everything has been solved and fixed, you put it up again. I promise you it will make everything better.

Now, I see a great deal of talent here. You are obviously passionate about this, and many of your descriptions are very colorful and engaging. It's just the structure and the grammar that halts it.

[Frank]

I should have read other comments! This.

[Ryan Yates]

I did mention through the whole process that there are multiple grammatical errors and that is not the feedback i am looking for. i see and understand the grammatical problems. i am interested in feedback in the plot, characters and style.

[Ryan Yates]

i have added an alternative chapter 1 which begins with a different event in the story and proceeds this point in time. please check it out and see if you prefer it. thanks

http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/Ryanyates/1723480/

[JoshuaCmngs]

Good chapter, but a bit of advice. If you want to hold your audience better, don't tell them the name of your main character until much later into the chapter. Anyways, good overall chapter.

[Ryan Yates]

thanks, hopefully you prefer the following chapters