WAR PAINT

A spoiled young man runs for the wild west after an argument with his father. Having dreamed of being a mountain man for years, can he do the job?

 

 

War Paint

 © Copyright 2006 W.R. Benton

Art © Copyright 2006 by Mike Lanier

 

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written permission of the author and/or the publisher.  This is the work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.  This manuscript is unedited and not intended for publication at this time.

 

 

PROLOGUE

 

My name is George Alwood the third and I am the son of a very rich man who lives in the city of Boston, where my father’s shipping business is rather successful.  His home is spacious and kept clean by a staff of twenty men and woman, who also prepare his meals, drive the carriage, and do the common day to day tasks of those who must work with their hands for a living.  I am a well educated man of twenty-two standing five feet and ten inches, with long brown hair and neatly trimmed beard.  I have the same green eyes and average build of my mother, though I wish I were a bigger man.  While I am lean of body, I have a strong mind which will be of great assistance to me on the day I take over my father’s business, if I can manage to stay in his will, though I expect to be disinherited.

            My father and I often disagreed on the simplest of things, and while I disliked it immensely, I usually give in to avoid confrontation.  I disliked arguments, fights, and disagreements whereas my father seems to thrive on them, so perhaps I take more after my mother in temperament.  Though I know I have my mother’s lean looks, my intelligence is clearly from my father’s side of the family. 

One evening as we all ate dinner he and I had a loud verbal fight over some of my friends, of which my father did not approve, so I asked him, “What is wrong with my friends?  All of them come from good families, some of the best in Boston.”  As I quickly glanced over at my mother I noticed her head was lowered, as it usually was during one of our heated arguments.

He looked over his gold framed glasses with narrowed eyes, gave sneer and replied with a sharp tongue, “Drunken riffraff are all they are and all they will ever be! I forbid you to have any contact them any longer!”

I stood quickly and was actually temped to strike my father, but instead I yelled out in deep rage, “I am not a child you can order around any longer father!  I am a man and as a man I can decide how to live my own life!  You speak against my friends once more and I’ll leave this house to never return!”

“As long as you live in this house you will do as I say and I forbid you to visit your so called friends!  This is not a request George but an order!”

“You are giving me an order?  You don’t seem to think I will leave, but I will leave,” I spoke as I pushed my chair under the table and then continued, “and I shall be gone within the hour.”

“You leave now and I’ll see you don’t get a damned penny in the future!  You’ll live to regret this George!”

As I left the room I heard my mother say to my father, “Leave him alone George until he has time to cool down a little.  You are always on him so hard.”

An hour later I had packed my gear, pulled my rifle and powder horn from the wall.  I then quickly changed into canvas trousers, a blue wool homespun shirt, and thick hunting boots.   I had hunting clothes and I’d been a hunter most of my adult life.  The last thing I did was place two loaded pistols in my belt, as well as a long and a sharp skinning knife.  As I left my room I placed a wide brimmed leather hat on my head.

I walked to stables and removed the best horse, quickly saddled it, tied my gear behind the saddle and placed my rifle in the scabbard.  I then mounted and rode from the barn, but I can still my father’s angry voice as he screamed from the courtyard after me, “You’re finished George!  You’ll never see a penny of my money, never! You leave now boy and I’ll not leave you a thing!  Do you hear me George?”

I simply laughed and kicked my horse into a slow trot, for I had made plans earlier in the day to meet my friends at a tavern down the road and together the four of us would have a few pints of beer.  Perhaps on this very evening we could all leave and move westward, if not I would go it alone.  All of us we were young lads with few worries in the world and we wanted desperately to see some of the western lands before we had to take over our father’s businesses.  We’d started to plan for the trip years before and each had placed a few dollars aside just for the needed finances of a trip of that sort.  While most of our fathers were wealthy, they would not have given any of us a dime to take a trip out west.  My only concern at the time was if all my friends could join me on such short notice and perhaps it might be only be one or two that would go along.  I wasn’t fearful of going it alone, but I felt at the time a larger group would be safer once we crossed the Mississippi River.   I’ve since leaned that at times the smaller the group traveling the safer it is, because larger groups leave more tracks, are easier seen, makes more noise, and the each member is less diligent.

I quickly dismounted at the tavern, walked into the small dimly lit business and saw all three of my friends sitting at a table in the back drinking ale.  I approached them with a smile on my face and asked, “Who wants to head out west with me this night?”

All glanced up in puzzlement, but at last John grinned and replied, “I think you need to have a tankard of ale and then explain why we must leave this night.”

So over a tankard of pale ale, I explained my father’s outburst and what had transpired at our dinner table.  As I spoke I glanced at my friends and met their eyes, as I tried to read each man’s thoughts.  Finally I asked, “Who wishes to go with me?”

Joseph lowered his deep brown eyes and replied, “I cannot go as I have just entered into the family business with my father.” And then quickly raising his head he added, “This is so sudden George and if I had known before I would not hesitate to leave, but if I leave now it will hurt the family business severely.”

As I turned my head to look at William I head him say, “I will not leave either because I think this is all too brash and it lacks proper preparation for a safe trip.  A trip of this magnitude requires careful planning.”

Then meeting John’s eyes I knew right off he would go with me and as I watched he broke into a big wide grin he said, “Aye, I’ll leave with you tonight George.  My own father and I have not been seeing eye-to-eye, so it’s just a matter of time before I will be forced to leave. So, give me some time to pack my gear, gather up some tougher clothing, and I’ll meet you by the big oak near where the road splits west of town.  It’s seven now, so between eight and nine I’ll be there.”

John and I quickly departed the tavern, leaving our two friends sipping ale from their tankards without as much as a goodbye.  As we mounted our horses John spoke, “Remember to be at the oak and I’ll join you as quickly as I can get there.”

As I rode along in the darkness I thought of our future, what would John and I find once we moved across the Mississippi River?    I was not overly concerned at our being able to live off of the land, as the two of us had grown up hunting and camping together, but I had learned enough at the university to know the west could be a very dangerous place for any white man and what of the red man?  Was he a brutal savage as some suggested who usually killed any stranger who entered their lands, or a noble warrior protecting his homelands?  As I said earlier, I have a good mind and I suspected I’d learn a great deal in the near future, but of what I was unsure.  But, it would be a new land for me with new experiences and learning was just part of it all.  I wanted to see the vast lands and experience a new life.

It was near eight when I heard John approach the tree and I grinned as he called out to me from the darkened road.  I was lucky that John had chosen to ride with me, for he is a big man over six feet and six inches, two hundred and fifty pounds, and often his pure size intimates those looking for trouble.   He wore his brown hair and beard neatly trimmed, and while he looked rough he was as gentle as a lamb.

“Any problems?”  I asked as he rode up to the tree.

“Few, my father was glad to be rid of me, but I suspect my mother did not want me to leave.”

“Harsh words were exchanged then?” 

“Hardly any compared to what I expected to be said.”  I noticed him smile in the dim light of the moon.

I thought for a moment and then asked, “Should we spend the night here and leave in the morning or ride some tonight?”

“I think we should be off and right now.  We can travel slowly tonight until we get tired and then sleep for a few hours.  I want to be on our way quickly.”

 

CHAPTER 1

 

Two and half months later we sat on our horses looking across the mighty Mississippi River at the city of Saint Louis.  Since we were still on the eastern side of the river, we would have to pay to cross in a keel boat, but we had the funds to do so.  I was amazed at the width of the river and the dark muddy color of its waters and John said as much from beside me as well.

            As we sat watching the river a big fat bald man wearing filthy homespun clothing walked up and asked, “If ya need to cross the river, I’m the man that can do the job for ya and fer only a dollar piece.”

            “Does that include our horses?”  John asked as he pulled out two dollars.

The big man smiled and replied, “Sure it counts the horses, you just lead ‘em down to my keel boat down on the river and we’ll load y’all up.  You can walk ‘em right on the boat by using that big ramp I got on shore.”

John handed the man two dollars and said, “Here you go, and that’s for the two of us and our mounts.”

“Thank ya kindly.”

“You get much call for river crossings?”  I asked as we led our horses onto the big flat bottom boat.  John’s horse pranced and didn’t want to board the boat, but after a few minutes we got him aboard.

The big man grinned, revealing his broken and brown stained teeth and replied, “I get traffic from both sides of the river, so I make a fair livin’ at it.”

“From his prices he must make more than a fair living at it.”  John spoke in a low whisper, as soon as the big man walk away, and then added, “And, you can tell by his smell he doesn’t spend a dime on baths either.”

From the bow of the boat the big man yelled out a question as we entered the river, “You boy’s headin’ out west?”

“Yep,” I replied and wondered why he’d care, but quickly continued, “we’re thinking of trapping beavers.”

“Hell fire son, you two together ain’t got the makin’s of one good mountain men.  But, if yer goin’ to give the job a try, don’t join no company men.  Find you some free trappers to go with.  Most mountain men want nothin’ to do with the Missouri Fur Company or the Rocky Mountain Fur Company, because them companies control a man too much.   I don’t know a lot about it all really, but if yer serious about this find some free trappers in Saint Louie, they’ll be all decked out in buckskins and are easy enough to spot.”  The bald man spoke as the walked down the side of the boat checking some lines in the water.

Feeling insulted by the big man’s words, but realizing I was new to the west, I simply replied in a flat voice, “We’ll look them up and you can be sure of it too.”

Conversation stopped for a few minutes of the crossing as we watched the brown water rush against the sides of the boat and as we neared the center of the river we could see huge logs rolling in the water as they past us by.

“I hope this man knows what he’s in the hell he’s doing or just one of those logs will sink us.”  John said as he held the reigns of his horse and occasionally reached over to pat its neck as he spoke in a low tone to the animal.

“I heard a man back east speak of these river people and the greatest one is named Mike Fink, I think it was, but they all know the river well.    Is your horse still skittish from boarding the boat?”

“Not as much as I am.”  John replied with a low chuckle and continued, “I’ll be glad to be back on land in a few minutes.”

The big bald man spoke between deep gasps of breath as he worked the ropes, “Son, if ya want to stay alive, avoid Mike Fink like the death he is, because he’s purely hell with a knife, gun, or even a rock.  Some men claim he’s half horse and half alligator and of that I have some doubts, but I’ve seen him fight and they jess might be right.  And, the last I heard he’s out west with Astor now, so you could end up a-meetin’ him out that ways.  We’re comin’ up on the other side, so get ready to unload yer horses.”

“We’re ready and thanks for the trip.”  I spoke as I saw the city of Saint Louis looming closer in front of us.

“Hell, son, no thanks is needed or did ya forget ya paid for the trip?  Oh, and one mo’ word of advice, there’s a few case of cholera in the city right now, so be careful where ya go.”  The river man stated as the bow of the flat boat struck the shore.

“I’m sure all the sick folks will be in a hospital, won’t they?”  I was suddenly deeply concerned because cholera is a disease that kills quickly and back only the very poor would not be under a doctor’s care. 

“Mayhap they will and then again, mayhap they won’t.  Ok, boys, ya can leave the boat now.  Good luck and I hope ya both find what you’re a-lookin’ fer out west.”

As we left the boat, John said, “This place used to belong to the French, but we got it a few years back with the Louisiana Purchase.   From what I remember from school, there are about twelve thousand folks living here now.”

“I know little of the town, except what you’ve just spoke.  But, let’s find a livery stable and an inn.  Then, come morning we’ll start looking for some free trappers to join.”

“Sounds good to me, plus they can give us an idea of the supplies and stuff we’ll need to go with them.”

The area we unloaded at was called Front Street and it really wasn’t much except a few blocks of serrated limestone along the river.   It looked to me as if a hundred men were working on the riverfront and quite a few of them were blacks.  Large loads were being carried on many of their backs and in seemed to be a constant loading and unloading of ships.  We walked up to Main Street and soon found a livery stable on A Street where we placed our horses for a weeks stay, paying in advance.   I found the city easy to navigate, since most of the streets were either a number or a letter in the alphabet.

Further down A Street we found a boarding house ran by an old woman, by the name of Nancy Clemens, who had lost her husband in the war of 1812.  Once she learned we were off soon to the shinning mountains she suggested we pay by the day instead of her usual one week in advance. Not lacking funds at the time we paid a week in advance and she informed us she’d return every penny of the unused money on the day we left. 

“Ma'am, we are both young men of substantial means, so any unused funds will be left to you upon our departure.”  I spoke to her and noticed a grin slow develop on her face.

Glancing first at me and then John she replied, “I could tell you were both gentlemen and minute I saw you.  That is why I offered to allow you to pay by the day, instead of the week.”

“We both thank you very much and I know we’ll be comfortable here during our stay.”  John spoke and then quickly smiled.

Our room, when compared to Boston town was small, nonetheless it was very clean.   The bed had fresh linens, the floor spotless, and the furniture, while old and used, was in very repair.  We brought our gear into the room and placed it in the far corner out of the way.  I pulled off my boots, placed my hat on the dresser, and lay down on the bed stretching out.

“She runs a clean place here.”  John spoke as he sat in a chair beside the bed.

“Yep, if she cooks half as good as she keeps this place clean we’ll eat like kings.”  I replied and then spotting a newspaper on a small round table near the far wall I spoke once more, “John, take a gander at that paper and see what it says about the fur trade.”

John got up from his chair slowly and made his way to the table.  Once there, he pulled a chair out, spread the paper out on top of the table, and started reading the hottest news in St. Louis.  According to what John read, the small town was absolutely booming with business and a lot of money was being made in both shipping and beaver fur, with shipping taking second place at the moment.  There were some other small bits and pieces on other activities, but the biggest event right then was Astor’s trip out west to trap and trade with the Indians.  It all sounded so exciting, but both of us were fools because neither of us realized just how dangerous a trip like that really was.

An hour later we left the room and walked down Main Street until we found a tavern called the Blue Bird, which had a couple of men loafing out front that looked like dock workers.  We entered, walked up to the bar, and were met by a huge man of maybe three hundred and fifty pounds with a badly soiled white cloth in his right hand.

“What will ya have gents?”  The fat man asked and as he spoke I could see most of his lower teeth were gone, his hair was long and greasy, and his beard looked like a bird’s nest.  Of course none of that helped his looks any.

“Two beers and some information.”  I spoke and gave the man a grin.

“The beers I got, but I ain’t sure ‘bout the information.  It all depends on what you want to know.”  He spoke as he poured our beers.

As I placed twenty cents on the bar top for the beers I asked, “Do you know any free trappers?”

The big ugly man laughed and replied, “Hell yes, I know a hundred of ‘em.  As a matter of fact, two of ‘em are sittin’ at the table in the rear there.”

John and I both turned our heads and saw two men dressed in dirty buckskins sitting quietly and sipping on beers.  I also noticed they were both wearing moccasins, had knives, tomahawks, pistols and other items stuck in their wide belts.

“Give me two more beers, for the gentlemen at the far table.”  I spoke, glanced at John and gave him a wink.

As soon as the bartender had given me the beers, John and I walked slowly over the table.  Neither mountain man looked up, but I knew they felt us standing there so I said, “We’re looking for some information on trapping beavers and we bought you both a beer to show we’re friendly.”

One man, the bigger of the two responded, “Son, I ain’t go time to tell you stories about the mountains or the Injuns.  You want to know about the mountains you go and read the newspaper.”

I noticed he was about my height, maybe one hundred and eighty pounds, but both his hand and shoulders were big.  His blonde hair was long, as was his beard, and his eyes were a deep blue.

“Sir, I don’t think you understand, we don’t want stories, we want to go into the mountains.”  John stated quickly and then gave a goofy looking grin.

“Did ya hear that young pup?”   The smaller of the two mountain men said and then instantly gave a loud cackle.  The man was no more than maybe five feet and two inches tall, and I guessed his weight to be around one hundred and thirty pounds.  His brown hair was worn long, but he was cleanly shaven.

“Young coon, are you serious about this or bullshitting me?”  The big man asked.

“Serious as can be, but we are new to the mountains and have much to learn.”  John replied as he lowered the beers to the table.

“You don’t say?”  The smaller man spoke once again and I realized I was starting to dislike him, especially when he followed his question with another laugh.

“Lay off the pup, Jeb.” The bigger man spoke and then added, “Pull up a chair boys and let’s talk.”

“Ok, Hawk, if that’s the way yer stick floats.” Jeb replied.

“Pull up a chair, the both of you, and tell me about this idea you got to go to the mountains with some free trappers.”  Hawk spoke, gulped the rest of his first beer and then pulled our beer in front of him.

We quickly gave our names and told our story to the two mountain men, and as soon as the last word was spoken by John, I expected Jeb to give another laugh, instead he remained quiet.  Long silence followed our comments as both mountain men thought the situation over and I suspected right then they were considering something important, only I was sure they were deciding on taking us or not.

Finally, Hawk asked, “You young n*****s sure you want to do this?  It is a dangerous life we live and many don’t survive their first year in the mountains.”

“Yep, if the critters don’t kill ya the goddamned Injuns will, or else some sickness or the other.  Think long and hard on this, the both of you, because once in the mountains there ain’t no quick way back home to momma.”  Jeb said and then chuckled quietly to himself.

“I want to go.”  John spoke with serious conviction.

“As do I.”  I quickly added.

“Ok,” Hawk spoke, quickly glanced at Jeb who nodded his head, and then continued, “we’ll take you both into the mountains.  But, we’ll have some rules for the both of you until the green wears off.”

“What green?  I am not green.” John spoke with a sense of deep confusion in his blue eyes.

Jeb laughed along with Hawk, but it was Jeb who finally said, “All new fellers to the mountains is called greenhorns and yer consider green until you become a mountain man.  Once a real mountain man your green has worn off, don’t ya see?”

“Hell,” I spoke as I raised my tankard of beer, “all I see is that I have a lot of learning to do.”

“That you do young pup that you do, but no man ever entered the mountains knowing it all, it takes time to learn.”  Hawk replied with a light laugh.

“Now, you boys will need some gear fer the trip.  Can either of you write?”  Jeb asked suddenly as he looked over the rim of his beer tankard.

“We’re both well educated, so we can write.”  I replied, proud of my university education.

“That’s just dandy, we have just asked a coupe of scholars to go into cahoots with us!  Well, one of ya go and get ink, pen, and paper, from the bartender so we can give you a list of supplies you’ll need.”  Hawk said with a big grin on his face.

“You two need money for your supplies?  If so, we can loan you some against your coming seasons skin take.”  Jeb asked out of the blue.

“We’ve got money.  Like I explained, we didn’t start this trip unprepared.”  I replied and felt my anger quickly building up.  I’d never had to borrow a dime in my life; after all, I was George Alwood the third.

Twenty minutes later the list was finished and Jeb spoke, “We’ll meet you here at sunup two days from now.    Make sure you get at least all the stuff on that list, ‘cause they ain’t none in the mountains.  Once there we live with what we have with us, do without, or we go under.”

“Go under what?”  I asked more that just a bit confused about the mountain language.

“Dead son.”  Hawk spoke, only this time he didn’t grin.

“You two greenhorns go and start gathering up all of them supplies right now.  Make sure them packhorses you get are in good shape.  Which reminds me, can you both ride?”   Jeb asked.

“We both rode from Boston and we know good stock when we see it.”  John replied quickly and I saw his face redden from the question.

“Ok, then go and get your packhorses, but one more thing you both need to remember.”  Hawk spoke seriously once more.

“What’s that?”  John asked and then finished his beer.

“Where we’re going will make your ride from Boston look like a damned picnic.”  Hawk’s reply came quickly.

Standing, I looked at both of the mountain men and said, “We’ll be ready and I’m sure you’ll find we can do the job.”

Jeb laughed once more, gulped his beer and said, “You know Hawk, I think I’m gonna like this young n****r right nice like.”

The place we bought the supplies was unlike any general store I’d ever seen before and the man had things stocked I didn’t even recognize.  We’d no sooner opened the door to the place when a small brass bell tinkled to announce our arrival.  A very tall, but rail thin, man of about thirty wearing wire rimmed glasses looked up from the ledger he was writing in and gave us a big warm smile.  Unlike many smiles we’d received in Saint Louis this day, this one seemed genuine. 

“How can I help you two young men today?”  He quickly asked as he adjusted his glasses on his long thin nose.

“We’d like to have this list filled, if you have it all.” I replied as I handed our list of supplies to him.

The clerk looked the list over, wrote a few figures on some brown paper and then said, “Gentlemen, this list is considerable and the cost will be high.  I hope you have the funds to cover it or a letter of authorization from one of the big fur companies.  I’m sorry, but I don’t extend credit to those who do not live in Saint Louis.”

“How much money are you talking about?”  John spoke and I could see the frustration in his eyes.

“Near a six hundred dollars, maybe a little more or less.”

“You take cash?”  John asked and then gave a big crooked grin.

“Well, yes of course.” 

John pulled out six hundred dollars, grinned once more and replied, “I got the money, so you just fill that list.”

As the clerk filled our order, I walked around the store looking at various things, smelling new scents and wondering what some of them were.  It was obvious to me that the folks heading west would need different tools and gear than a man back east, but I saw very few dresses and even less bonnets.  This place is a place for mountain men and river men to come and shop, and not for womenfolk, I thought as I picked up a huge knife that was stamped with the name Green River near the handle.  I took the knife to the counter and said, “Add this to the bill.”

It was over an hour before our gear was stacked before us, the clerk paid, and we started hauling it all to the boarding house.  It took us four trips before the whole back wall of our room was stacked high with all kinds of things we’d need to survive just a year in the mountains.  At that point I began to wonder what I had gotten myself into.

“You know, looking at all that gear, I think we’ll need two pack horses each.” John spoke with his hands on his hips.

“Well, let’s go get ‘em then.  Since you paid for the gear I’ll get the horses, but I suspect we’ll be almost out of funds by the time we finish buying all of this stuff.”

“I still got a hundred dollars left, and as you know that ain’t much.”

“John, where we are going in two days your money will be completely useless.”  I spoke and then laughed loudly as I slapped him on the right shoulder.

 

Author's Note

This is a first draft of the manuscript and not intended for publication at this time. This is just a peek at the book.

Reviews

[Kuandio]

I don't know if you still check your account, but here it goes.
It's not something I fully agree with, but one of the biggest bits of advice I always here going around is that you have to hook the reader asap, even with the first line if possible. I'm not saying to change what you got, but it's something to consider. The hook here could be that he expects to be disinherited.
The relationship with the father creates tension and interest right away.
I must say, you got a nice relaxed style, with a tone of the times back then. I like that you don't describe every little nuance of how something is done or said, the expression of each character, jamming the story with similes and metaphors the way most people write nowadays. The simplicity with which you write makes it easy to read, and allows the reader to imagine. But I'd consider throwing in a witty description or two now and then just to break the levelness of the prose.
So the main character had all these weapons, like a soldier, but his dad treats him like a little boy? How'd he come by all the weapons?
Seems like they should say goodbye to their friends at the tavern
This line needs to be fixed, "the west could be a very dangerous place for any white man and what of the red man?"
I think six hundred dollars back then would've been close to enough to buy that supply store
All in all, I liked it a lot. There wasn't much tension, but the title in itself, War Paint, leads me to expect that there will definitely be

[Nick Anthony]

W... Its been a long time since I have read a western, thank you for bringing me back to those glory days of yesteryear. As to the story, I usually give almost a line item edit but because of your warning at time I will only touch on a few suggestions.

1...You are using an old style introduction into your story of backstory. Sometimes it works, sometimes it does not. In this case, all the backstory given really did not draw me into the characters or the story. My suggestion would be to start the story with the story and allow the back story to show in bits and pieces where needed. If you are going traditional publishing, this will be something to consider because the agents and editors will be looking at this type of opening as well. If you are going POD, then ignore my suggestions because they do not care.

2...Your dialogue is fairly well constructed. But I would suggest try cutting down on unneeded tags here and there. Again, this is a editors preference in tags should only be used when needed to show who is speaking or any interaction when needed. You do well, just a bit of tightening up.

3...Finally, the first rule of writing, show don't tell. In many places you fall out of POV or never establish a firm POV because you the writer are stepping on the stage and telling passively in places what is happening, has happened, etc. This is like going to a rodeo and instead of seeing the bull riders and ropers, the announcer in the stands tells you what you are going to see while the bull riders and clowns just stand in the areana, waiting for a signal. Show us from what ever POV you chose for the scene, in all their sense's; not only sight, but use the other senses as well. Hearing, taste, touch, smell, and internal thoughts. Don't tell me he did this or that, thought this or that. Show me his action, show me his thoughts as he thinks them. Show me what he smells, hears. This paints a bigger picture and draws the readers in more to your characters. And we writers do want the readers to connect to our characters. Remember, stories are about characters, all the action and plot is secondary.

Ok, hope this helps and remember, these are only my basic suggestions. Take what works and ignore the rest.

Nick.

[Vagus]

Seems like a great story! I would suggest introducing the characters more in the prologue so you don't have to use "my father" so much. Also a better description of the friends would help understand why the father doesn't like them. Other than more desciptions, I like the story.