Alright. This is not all of chapter seven, just the beginning. This is a portion of my novel in progress, Project Tango. I am posting this because I want to get feedback from you guys. I really would like to know if the transition between the dream and next part is well written as well as whether its even believable. Any other critiques are also welcome. This is in the middle of a desert and the whole team has gone to sleep. So this takes place in the early morning. all the members of the team at this point is the main character, Matt, Shaun, Marc, Kevin and his girlfriend Jessica, Anthony, John, and the main character's dog Liberty. The main character is Sam. So please read this small piece and tell me what you think of it.
Chapter 7
The Bonds We Form
My dad walks into my room. “Dinner’s going to be done soon. You wouldn’t want to miss the feast, would you?”
“No, dad. I’ll be out in a sec,” I smile at him. He smiles back and walks out of the room, shutting the door behind him. I look around for something to stick in my book. An old feather is on my bed in front of me, so I just use that. I don’t want to lose my spot. The story is just getting interesting, but I’ll have to pick it up where I left off when I’m done with dinner.
I stand up and go towards the door. The room is so cluttered with meaningless things that I have to step on them to reach the knob. Someday I will clean it up, but lately I’ve just been too lazy. I open the door and step into the red hallway. The smell of fresh bread and juicy meat greets me. I float down the passageway, arriving in front of my whole family. My dad is sitting down, ready to eat. My mother stands by the stove. She smiles at me and invites me in. My brother gets out of his chair and comes around to my side of the table, pulling my chair out for me.
“Thank you,” I say to him. I take my seat next to my dad. My brother replaces himself on the opposite side of the table. He starts shoveling in the food that Mom has set
before him.
“Slow down,” she says, “you act like you haven’t eaten in weeks.”
“I know,” he looks down at his plate, which is mostly empty now, “I just love your food.”
My mom blushes and turns away. She starts washing some of the dishes in the sink. My dad is slicing some of the fresh bread. I take a plate and use my fork to lift two good-sized chunks of meat from the middle of the table. My dad hands me a slice of bread. I thank him and he says I’m welcome. My brother gets himself a second helping of meat. My mom turns around in time to see him place another three pieces of meat on his plate. “Now you don’t need to eat that much. Save some for tomorrow.”
My dad swallows some bread, “Let him eat,” he plops in another lump of white dough. “He’s a growing boy,” he says with his mouth full.
My mother points a soapy spatula at my father, “Now you swallow before you talk. Didn’t your mother teach you…” she trails off. Then she turns back to her dishes. My dad sets down his bread and walks up behind my mom. He sets his hands on her shoulder. She turns around and hugs him. “I’m sorry,” she says.
“No,” pats her back. “It’s okay. She died a long time ago, and I’m over it.”
“I know, but I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
My dad pulls her away, “It’s fine. Look,” he takes a step back showing her his full frame, “I’m alright. Now come on, let’s eat some of your delicious food.”
He takes his seat by me, and mom goes back to work on her dishes. “Sam,” my brother says.
“What?” I ask.
He looks up from his plate, “Sam!” he yells as loud as he can. I move back in my chair. I ask him again what he wants and why he’s yelling. “Sam, Sam!” he yells again. I look at my dad and ask why he has to scream, but my father’s gone. His chair is empty and his food isn’t there anymore. I turn back around. My brother is on the table, bent over with his face inches from mine when I turn around. “Sam! Sam! Sam!” his yelling knocks me out of my seat. I stagger backwards and catch myself. “Sam!” he shouts. Everything behind him turns darker, until he stands in front of blackness. “Sam!” My brother slides into the background. I reach out; afraid I won’t see him again. “Sam! Sam, get up now!”
My eyes fly open. Matt is standing above me. He lies my gun on my chest, “Sam! Get up,” he yells. I sit up and grab my gun. My right arm is still asleep and I can’t get it to move at all. Marc is lying on the floor, firing bullets into some target that stands behind me. The man falls forward, landing in my lap. In my groggy state of mind, I can make out the green suit he wears. The yellow bars are covered in red blood. I roll the Mexican soldier off me and stand up. My head spins. I blink several times until I can make out about ten or so green suited people standing before of me. One of them raises his gun and aims it at me. I look down at my fingers, which can’t figure out how to hold the gun without the aid if my right hand. I look back up at the Mexican, and his barrel stares back at me. Then the gun fires at me, screaming, “Sam!”
Somebody tackles me from me left. He stands up and grabs my arm. As Matt drags me behind Marc, my gun starts sliding down my right arm. My hand still won’t cooperate. The gun settles in the sand. Matt props me up against our sand wall. “Are you hit?” he says.
A bullet punches the dirt next to me, sending sand into my mouth. “I will be,” I start before another bullet flies over our heads, “If you don’t move out of the way and give me a gun!” He hands me a pistol from his belt and moves to the left. I take the gun in my left hand, aim down, and fire until the thing has no more bullets in the magazine. Two of the bullets hit the man shooting back at us. One cleanly enters his right leg, dropping his head into the second projectile.
Matt takes up firing again. Marc continues to shoot, too. Shaun is next to him, firing like crazy. I don’t see Kevin around, but his girlfriend is standing by Shaun, yelling every bad word I’ve ever heard, as well as a few I didn’t know existed. As each body hits the floor clutching their stomachs or necks, she yells, “Ya! You’re mine, boy!” or “Eat that crap!”
John and Anthony are leaning against a sand wall. Anthony screams as a bullet hits his left shoulder. His gun drops out of his hands. John stops firing and looks at his friend, seeing the blood flowing from down his arm. He screams, “No!” he turns around and fires six bullets into the Mexican that shot his companion. The six bullets hit different spots on the man’s neck. The soldier falls backwards, sending a plume of sand into the air. A disconnected, mustachioed face rolls out of the dust cloud. John drops his gun and grabs Anthony by his shirt and legs. John vaults over the wall and drags the screaming Anthony over with him. They disappear into a hole behind their cover.
A spray of bullets forces me to cover my face. The metal digs into the dirt and walls around me. A smoke screen of sandy dust suffocates me. More bullets fly blindly into the cloud around me. Then a big rock lands next to me. The rock rolls into my leg, and shines a brilliant, metallic color. My eyes widen and I grab the smooth rock. I’m a terrible left hand thrower, but that’s all I have right now. I stand up and fling the stone over where I remember Marc is lying.
A few second after the rock leaves my hands, an explosion quiets all the shooting. The sand around me settles back to the ground and I see my work. Some of the soldiers still lie dead around the edges of our circle, but there’s not much left of the ones that stood on the middle. An arm here, another one over there, some chunks of someone covered in dirt. The remnants of the Mexicans are scattered in the settling sand.
END OF SELECTION.
Any critiques at all will be very helpful, except "you misspelled that word," or "GRAMMAR, GRAMMAR!" there are bound to be a few grammar mistakes as I have not edited this portion yet. I more want to know how people feel about the transition and believability of the whole thing. Thanks for reading.
Weisseman has reviewed the material detailed in this post and has assured me it is adequate to post in this section of the forum.
