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So this is a little story I started in a composition notebook, I’ve been working on it off and on for the past week or so. Alas I came to a realization yesterday, though I’m not sure how to express my sudden burst of insight in words its there. I’ve decided to post the ‘story’ here cause it helped me, for whatever reason, and I’m actually curious as to what others think of it. Its not very long at all, in fact its probably not a page long typed up, but it was enjoyable to write and someday I’d like to be able to write well in this super descriptive style. Enjoy…?

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A Beam of mid-morning light crept into the room like an unwelcome guest. It hesitated, as if having second thoughts, on the dusty window sill before dancing across the floor. The ray of light illuminated the cluttered room, revealing a minefield of hardware, tools, and various parts that were scattered across the floor before moving on. Next to the crammed desk, the light glittered over a small pool of spilt oil as it made its way to the cot-like bed. The occupant groaned, as the light flashed across his eye lids, before covering his face with a tan arm. Finally, after several more failed attempts to banish the intruder, the young man sat up with a sigh, stretched, and looked at his watch: 9:00 am. Stumbling out of bed, he made his way to the bathroom. He was very careful not to cut himself, after all, it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d sliced open his foot on a stray part. “God, I gotta pick this dump up.” He thought with a backward glance from the door.

In the bathroom he splashed icy water on his face before looking into the mirror. “Markus what the hell are you doing with yourself?” he muttered with a shake of his head. Markus’s normally bright green eyes were bloodshot with deep bags under them, the result of weeks worth of late nights. His face, though a bit pale, was handsome with high cheekbones that slopped down into a sharp, but strong, jaw. His smile was said to take the breath away from any women yet simultaneously give even the biggest man chills. His perpetually messy jet black hair only added to his look. As Markus’s eyes slid downward studying his shirtless torso, he had almost a look of pride. He was well toned, the muscles on his chest, abs, and arms clearly defined but far from bulky unlike the ‘roidheads that seemed to dominate the inner city. His hand absently glided over the ragged scar adorning his chest like a badge of honor. The scar itself started at the top of his left shoulder, angled down his chest, before finally stopping at a nasty looking gash just below his ribcage. Though it certainly wasn’t his only scar, it was easily the one he was most proud of.

Markus remembered the day clearly; it was early autumn and what few trees remained in the city were starting to turn orange and yellow. The air was crisp and clean, the road smooth under his skates. Him and his friends had gotten bored and decided to head down to the Zone, which was the place to go if you were in the mood for some action. The city was laid out in a circle and, consequently, divided up like a pie chart between the various gangs. The Zone was the dead center of the city, a war zone basically—hence the name—where the turf was never actually controlled for longer than a couple hours. When Markus and his crew started tearing up the concrete heaven that was the Zone, they were immediately confronted by the Thrashers. The bitterness between skateboarders and bladers had gone on since the two became legit street ‘sports’, that bitterness wasn’t lost on the Thrashers who were the quintessential ‘old school’ skaters of the area.

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Like I said, I kinda lost hope in this. Not so much that I don't like where its going but I'm not sure how to go on. I also realized in writing this that I'm missing something in my technique that I'd like to get down before I try and write something like this. Hell who knows maybe I'll work on it more but I'm gonna set it aside while I compose my thoughts and work on a couple other projects.