/lit/ - Literature

“Nicole,” I said, extending my hand as I sat. The rough paw that took it spoke of a life spent working, and the tight grip that hurt my hand a little told more still.
“Just call me Beast,” he said, his voice a deep baritone that in my imagination shook the walls.
“I’m afraid I’m not much of a Beauty,” I grinned at him.
“Don’t put yourself down,” he reassured me, “and don’t fish for compliments, neither. You’ve got the look of a girl ‘knows she’s pretty, and I’m not gonna argue the point so don’t pursue it.”
“I-“ I broke off midsentence, realising what he had said to me. I looked away, confused as to what to say next. “I’m… sorry?” I said, puzzled, hoping that it was right. I didn’t want to be arguing for the next fifty minutes.
“It’s fine,” he replied. “So, Nicole, whatcha do for a living?”
Relieved that he might be good company after all, I relaxed a little and told him that I was a student, studying mathematics at the local college.
“I always thought maths was a man’s field,” he grunted. “That and mechanics.”
“Is that how you got those callouses on your hands?” I asked, pointing at his knuckles, which he hurriedly concealed.
“Eh… in a manner of speaking. Got these in an accident at the shop I work. Those are scars, not callouses. Got a big one up me arm too, long and ragged and great for scaring kids. You want to see it?” He smirked at me, putting me a little off balance. I looked away and laughed a little, a short, nervous laugh, the kind you make when you hope someone is joking, but you just don’t know. When I looked back at him, his eyes were boring into me, waiting for my answer.

“Um… maybe later. It’d probably be pretty difficult for you to show me anyway, what with that in the way and all,” I gestured at his bag for good measure, pointing out that yes, it was in the way and no, you don’t have to, and indeed can’t, show me your horrific disfiguring scar. He gave me a hyena’s grin, and turned to look out the window. I breathed a sigh of relief, and started praying that someone would get off at the next stop, at any stop, so that I wouldn’t have to sit next to this man who called himself Beast.
Nobody did. The next ten minutes were filled with his silent gaze at the passing scenery, and my pounding heart and worried glances at him. Why does he make me so uneasy, I questioned myself, He’s just sitting there. Every time he moved the slightest inch, I practically jumped. This is stupid. I’m going to end this if it kills me. I turned towards him, took a deep breath, and thought well ahead what I was going to say.

He beat me to it.
“So where are you from, Nicole?” He asked, turning to face me after the question passed his lips. I started, and all my cleverly thought out questions and responses left my head like pigeons scattering before a bus.
“Um, the last stop along this route,” I told him. He smiled, a lopsided smirk.
“Same for me. Lived there all my life. Love the place, but I hated going to school there.”
“Why was that?” I asked, genuinely curious, and happy to divert the conversation away from myself.
“The headmaster. Mister Bittaker, I think his name was… I swear the old bastard never had a kind bone in his body.”
“Well then, I can happily tell you that things have changed for the better,” I beamed at him. “I’ve never heard of any Mister Bittaker, and I live opposite the school. When I was there, the head teacher was Miss Whyte.”
“You never do,” he said, “I live right next to the old dump!”
“Yeah, they should really clean the place up a bit. It must have been years since they painted it,” I said, even though I thought nothing of the sort. Anything to keep his attention off of me.
“There was one good teacher though… I forget her name. Blonde, though I guess she’d be grey by now, if she were alive.”
I stared at him.

“She was killed in my final year,” he explained, “her boyfriend got put away for life, but it never helped us kids who were in her class.”
“I… I’m sorry,” I said, pathetically.
“It’s ok,” he said, “it was a long time ago. I don’t even remember her name.”
The next few minutes were filled with the sound of the engine, and the dull chatter of the other passengers. I resisted the urge to look at my watch.
“So, Nicole,” he broke the silence, “is there a man in your life? A young girl like you can’t be alone forever.”
“Forever?!” I laughed, “I’m only twenty years old! There’s plenty of time to think about that when I’ve finished my course. What about you? Is there a Mrs Beast?” I gave him my best cheeky grin.

“Yep,” he replied, “married her fifteen years ago. The greatest woman that ever walked this earth.” Absently, I glanced at his hand. He saw what I was looking at, and beat me to the question.
“Lost in the accident. I don’t wear the new one at work, they’re too expensive to replace.” I nodded. He seems to be warming up now. Maybe he just had a bad day.
“So whatcha do for fun?” he asked.
“Well, I play the cello. I was in the school orchestra, but I can’t find one at college to join, so I haven’t been practising much lately.”
“That’s a skill you shouldn’t lose,” he said. “You’ll regret it if you do. You should try to avoid as many regrets as you can. There’s not one of us gets a second chance at this life - don’t waste yours.” I nodded again, and had a look at my watch. There were five minutes left, and I was reluctant to end our conversation just when he was opening up.
“How about you? What do you do with yourself when you’re not at work?”
“Me? Oh, I go down the pub. Not much excitement to this old man, I’m afraid.” He grinned that lopsided grin at me again, and I couldn’t help but smile back.
“You should come down some time, have a pint with me. Maybe I can show you my scars after all.”
“Sure I will,” I promised. He laughed at me, and gave me a condescending look that said “I know you won’t. Don’t lie to me.” I broke eye contact, and blushed a little, caught. He patted me on the shoulder, and said, “it’s ok. I know you’re only sitting there cause there was nowhere else. And I know I’m making you awkward, and I’m sorry for that. I had a rough day, and I guess I was taking it out on you earlier.” So it was just a bad day. I suddenly felt a lot better about myself, and looked him in the eye again. At that moment, the bus pulled up, and a crowd of people leaving the bus interrupted me before I could apologise.

“You look like her,” he said, walking homewards beside me. “It’s the eyes. She had the same dark eyes as you.”
Puzzled, I looked at him questioningly.
“That teacher I had, the one I told you about.” Not sure how to feel about looking like a woman twenty years dead, I replied noncommittally and strode on, a little uneasy about the fact that our journey together hadn’t ended yet. Why did you have to live right next door, I complained silently, why couldn’t you live in a different part of town, or better yet a different town altogether? Why did you have to walk home next to me? I sighed quietly.
He stopped outside an alleyway, and looked sadly into it.
“Well, my house is just over there – was nice talking to you, Mr Beast,” I said, anxious to leave him alone with his memories.
“This is where it happened,” he said.
I started to leave, but he had me by the wrist.

There's no flow. Descriptions feel awkward and forced. Also work and sentence structure.

>>1864596

Thanks for the advice. Any more detailed suggestions? Which sentences in particular flowed badly? How could I make them more smooth?

i bet op is male. the girl doesn't react like a girl.

>>1864613

You'd win that bet. One of the reasons I posted here was to get some help with this, I know she doesn't act like a she.

No proper critiques? I can't make it any better without someone to point me in the right direction.

the thing is, up front, it felt awkward for her to go up to him without any kind of apparent attraction. I assume you explain that later on, but considering the fact she becomes all shy after first contact, she turns out contradicting, paradoxical.
if she's bold enough to just sit down next to him and - on top of that - being the one to first introduce herself, she acts too much like a child immediatly after!
this might have been on purpose, you know, to intrigue, but for me it was a major turn off, thus compelling me to not read on.

>>1864650
"she doesn't stay consistent" is what I wanted to explain.

>>1864650

That's fair. I think I can sort that out with some revisions. The reason she sits next to him, though is in the first paragraph:

"The bus was full, as usual.... Just once, I thought, I’d love to be able to sit down on the way home."

>>1864619
girls have to watch out for creepers. a girl would never introduce herself to a middle aged guy just because he gives her a seat. she also wouldn't tell him what stop she got off at or point out the direction of her house (unless she was deliberately lying to throw him off).

>>1864666
ups, sorry, for some reason this evaded my mind

>>1864667
this, or she wants to fuck

>>1864671
you haven't written any part of her character showing she wants to fuck.

an outgoing and confident girl would start up a conversation but again, you haven't written her as outgoing or confident.

The dialogue is really not that bad. There are a few hiccups. Try reading it out loud and think about whether it rings true. One example:

>“Forever?!” I laughed, “I’m only twenty years old! There’s plenty of time to think about that when I’ve finished my course. What about you? Is there a Mrs Beast?” I gave him my best cheeky grin.

This is pretty bad. Think about it, read it out loud. How many people say "____ years-old" when saying what their age is. No, you simply say "I'm 20." or, "I'm only 20." Also, the pacing is pretty off. This is an awkward exchange. It doesn't sound natural that she asks him the same question immediately after. It sounds too hurried. Have her answer. Create an awkward pause. Maybe a comment on the guy's reaction or even a remote note on the scenery or something. This seems like an uncomfortable topic for the narrator, and we should be shown she's inside herself about it.

>The bus was full, as usual. Resigning myself to standing for an hour as it wound its way through narrow country roads at breakneck speeds, I held on tightly and let out a sigh of disappointment. Just once, I thought, I’d love to be able to sit down on the way home. Letting my EYES rove over the sea of pensioners and students, ignoring many and recognising more, my EYES met with a grizzled-looking, middle-aged man. I looked away in embarrassment, and out of the corner of my EYE noticed him beckoning me over and shifting his luggage onto his lap. With a smile spreading across my face, I moved over to the now empty seat beside him.

Definitely a bunch of awkward sentences here. And notice my capitalizations of "eye". You're using this word far too much in too little space. Read those sentences again. You'll see how bad it sounds when you keep saying "eyes".

Your dialogue is stronger than the rest of your prose. You're not as terrible as a lot of people that post on here, but just look out for some amateur mistakes.

>>1864671
>>1864667

You're totally right. They have to talk to get his story out, so do you think I should:

1: Make him less creepy at the opening,
2: Make him lead the conversation more (which comes with its own inherent problems), or
3: Make him attractive to her in some way?

>>1864679
I wasn't op, dipshit

>>1864685
attraction is important, even if you display it as a "disgust". she acutally isn't !sexually! attracted to him in any way, but for some fucked up reason wants to fuck a man with just that quality. you know, standard psycho-stuff

>breakneck speeds
>edge of your seat thrill ride
>white knuckle from start to finish

BITCH WUT R U DOING

>>1864685
i would suggest 1. or 2.
3. has possibilities because it gives the girl more characterization but it really depends on the execution. female attraction to men is more complex than male to female.

>>1864698
u mad.

>>1864680
not op; on the premise one shouldn't use the same words too often in little space, I would say yes, but history has shown, if it's this little, no one really gives a shit.
many acclaimed authors show a sudden quirk, where in one instance they use the same word a fuckitrillion times in the same frickin paragraph.
or actually keep referencing the same fucking stimulus with the same words over and over again. "the skin crackled" george rr martin (the last book I read, thus fresh in mind)

either the narrator is lying or plain inconsistent (and is totally a dude) and on top of that pretty uninteresting

liked some of the dialogue though

the story should start at "just call me beast"
and could go a little further