/lit/ - Literature

A storm rumbled on the horizon, hanging over the setting sun incredulously, as if it was unsure when was the perfect time to release its thunderous contents. The evening cast shadows into an overgrown lot. Although the concrete structure had been abandoned over a decade ago, the field around advanced slowly; incredulous weeds crept up between cracks in the concrete, cautious in reclaiming their land. Breaking through the thicket was a teenage boy, incredulous in dress and mannerism: although he sought individuality and flirted with rebellion, it was clear part of him still longed for the simplicity of childhood.
“Stop following me!” he yelled, stepping into the clearing.
The boy barely heard the shouts of his father from beyond the thicket, his yelling carried incredulously on airwaves unsure whether they should bring the scolding to the boy. But the airwaves carried out their responsibility to physics incredulously and without joy.

Should I continue? I mean, I'm not sure if you guys want to keep reading it, but maybe its good.