Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-5614678-20161202204320/@comment-28060931-20161203224613

I wish I could say I never thought anything like this could happen to me, but with the way I've been livin' I know it was only a matter of time. I've lived in the state of Denton all my friggin' life, and we've had some real shitty winters. This city I was born in is so shitty, folks call it 'Nekropolis' because everyone here fuckin' dies early. You'll have tons of shitty winters. We're right between Ohio and Indiana, y'know? Smack-dab in the middle of the fuckin' mid-west. Canada's icey(icy) balls are plopped right on our fuckin' heads.

(Author's Note: The "K" in "Nekropolis" is intentional.)

Until recently, it's never been a problem for me. As long as I had a warm place to lay my head, I've been able to survive. But the last few years, itss(its) just been so damn cold. I've never seen it snow like this,(I would change the comma here to a colon or something else, but that's just me) for so long, and so hard.(I think the next sentance should connect with the previous.) The whole damn city shuts down. The whole world ends when it snows this hard.

I'm in a real bad spot right now, let me tell you. Me and my buddy, Jim, we got locked in here. We come to this storage shed all the time, and we've got locked in before. It would take about four hours for use(us) to either jury-rig the door open, or for someone to come and help us out. But this place isn't heated, and it's below zero outside.

I'm shaking like a pair of truck nuts on the back of a pickup going twenty over the speed limit. It's fuckin' freezing in here, and it's so goddamn dark. I have a lighter and a pack of cigs, and I ain't even smokin' 'em. I'm just usin' 'em like torches.

I'm lookin' around, and I can't find Jim. Where the hell did he go? I'm looking all around, but I can't see too much like this(the anaphora here sounds wierd.). The light from the cig and my lighter isn't very good. It's a real low, faint kinda orange tint. I can only make out what's real close to me, y'know?(I wouldn't make out my thumb in the cigarette's light, but the lighter could provide sufficient lighting if the flam was big enough.)

Oh, god. I found Jim. He's curled up in the corner, all rolled up like a ball. He ain't looking too good, and his breath is real slow and raspy. He needs an ambulence and a big fat shock of Naloxone, fast. But that isn't(if you really wanna go for the mid-western dialect(or whatever)' 'ain't' would fit in better.) gonna happen. He's twitching like crazy, and he's drooling a bit. I can't really help him, not at all. All I can do is try to make him comfortable. I turn him over on his (word missing. Also, tense change.)

Forty-five grueling minutes later, things are only getting worse. Jim isn't moving, breathing or even twitching anymore. He's just laying there like a log, totally silent. I don't think Jim is still alive. My heart sinks in my chest, and I let out a whine.

It's not getting warmer. I'm colder than I've ever been. The ciggerattes are almost gone now. I've only got two left. We didn't bring nothing except the empty bag we carried our junk in and the can of gas Jim brought for the car. I wanna start a fire, but it would spread too fast. There's nothing in the garage. It's always been empty, that's why we come here.

Nobody's coming. It was a quarter 'til midnight when we came here, and we've been locked in for what feels like hours. This place is closed on weekends, and it was Friday when we got here. The cavalry ain't coming, and there ain't no angels waiting for us.(I like this sentance.)

I have an idea, but it's not a very good one. I know that for sure. It's a fucked up, real nasty idea. One I don't like having, but I might not have a choice soon. It's the only way I'm gonna keep warm, maybe have some kind of hope of surviving tonight. (I'm taking notes as I read and before I continue I guees he's goining to sey himself on fire.)

Thirty more minutes pass, and I make up my mind. This is the worst thing I'm ever gonna do in my life, but maybe when I get out I can turn my life around. Failing that, I'll find some way to forget about this. I always do.

I pick up the can of gas, I mutter swears ( swears can also be a verb so I'd change it to 'curses' or 'swear-words' to avoid confusion.) at myself under my breath. I ain't never been a prayin' man, and I figure if I ain't doin' it now, I'll never do it. No more stalling, gotta just get it over with. I walk over to the corner. I bend over, I feel Jim's pulse. Jim(He is dead has a better ring to it, I think.) is dead, there ain't no doubt about it. There's nothing I can do to help him. It doesn't make me feel better, though.

I stand up, and I begin to pour the gas all over Jim's body(Clever bastard! I have to eat my words now!). You can probably guess what I'm planning to do next. I stand back a bit, hoping I didn't splash any on my pants or shoes, so the flame don't catch on me.('Catch on me' sound wierds, maybe 'So I don't catch fire[... Catch on fire?]

This is it. I gotta do this now. No lookin' back. Jesus Christ, I'm so fuckin' sorry, Jim. I light up my second-to-last cig, and I toss it down. The fire starts spreading slowly, and it's so damn horrible to look at. It light(lights) up the whole room, and I can finally see. The place is still pretty fuckin' orange, but it's getting better.

I'm still cold, but that's getting better too. It isn't painful anymore. I don't feel like a bunch of needles are gettin(Maybe it's just part of the characters speech, but it's annoying to read.) stabbed into me at once. I take in a deep breath, cough a bit because of the smoke, and I calm down. It's getting better now.

There's quite a lot of smoke here, but it ain't a problem. Wait, scratch that. It's kind of a problem. I'm seeing a lot of it now. It's filling up the whole ceiling. My eyes hurt really bad - what the fuck is going on?! This is so shitty.(This sounds like a joke. The character used 'shitty to describe less umm... Life-threating inconviences; the word does not capture the magnitude of the situation)

Goddamn it, I can't see anything! There's so much smoke! I can't breathe! Oh god, oh god! This is bad! This is so bad! What the fuck is going on? I gotta get outta here! The fire only started like one or two minutes ago, but it's gotten so damn big, so damn bright! The smoke is so bad - I can't fuckin' see anything!

Me and Jim, when we got locked in here, we started banging into the garage door. Slamming into it real hard, y'know? Trying to get it open. But it didn't work. I'm trying again, trying so hard to slam it open. Maybe I can just tear a whole in the door, get a little fresh air. It's not working! I feel like my arms (were missing?)

I'm starting to get dizzy now. Everything is spinning, and it's hard to even stand still. I'm coughing real hard now. I can't think straight, I can't see, I can't even stand. I'm thrashing around now, trying to tackle the door and knock it open, but I end up slamming into the walls.

I can't fight it anymore. I fall down, face-first into the concrete floor. I'd probably be reeling in pain right now, but I'm already unconcious by this point(I can still type though). The smoke is filling up the whole room and the fire is spreading. It's like hell.

The tempature outside is twelve-below zero, and the snow is thick enough to cave your roof in. My world has ended, but the snow just keeps falling. There's so much of it. Everything looks so nice, so clean. Nobody ares(cares) if two losers die in some shitty, abandoned storage locker. It's just another day in this shitty city.

But hey, at least it's warm.

I liked the story but it was littered with errors. The persective bugged me. The tenses changed like gloves, the characters speech was annoying. I mean you can keep it(it is a common tool used to immerse readers, but it has to hit that perfect point to work.) Lastly, I didn't get the ending: is the charater dead? If so, how in the fuck can he write -- no tell, because people don't write in accents -- his story. Is he having a cup of tea with the devil, telling him how he bit the dust, hence the last sentance.

Anyway, good job on the story.