Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-30692970-20170111141826/@comment-28266772-20170112165411

"Please, no," the small man strapped into the metal folding chair screamed as I drove the drill through the back of his hand, a thin spray of dark red liquid splattering the plastic covering the floor and furniture, preventing blood from causing impossibly hard-to-remove stains. [This sentence is a bit long, you might want to restructure it]

"Listen, Jake," I leaned in close to him, my face inches from his. He recessed [I think you mean ‘receded’ because ‘to recess’ is an obscure verb about wall-fittings and senate hearings] into the chair, trying to get as small as possible [‘to get as small as possible’ is a wee bit awkward given, and a touch dissonant with the style you’ve used so far]. "I told you plenty of times not to make an enemy out of me. It's not my fault you crossed the line two miles back, dear friend."

He screamed the entire time I spun the 5 millimeter bit in his hand. I finally decided it was enough when the light in his eyes started to fade, his will to live disappearing like an apparition. I pulled it out, blood following suit. I grabbed a rag off the table in the corner of the room, tying it around his hand, preventing him from bleeding out. [I gotta wonder whether this sort of injury would actually make you bleed out; saying that though I’m not a doctor] He screamed and begged, trying to get me to listen to reason.

"Oh, shut up you little runt. It’s not like I’m just gonna let you leave here in anything other than a body bag. Hell, maybe I won’t even put you in a fucking bag, maybe I’ll just drag you out of here and leave your little shit body in the middle of the woods where no one will ever fucking find it."

"Please, stop. I can't do it anymore," he begged sheepishly, tears flowing down his cheek. His face was sprayed with blood. He continued to beg until I finally decided I'd had enough.

"If only I could, but you know what happens to fucking rats, don't you?" I shuffled over to the table and replaced the drill, now picking up a barbed dagger. The blade was blunted, the barbs extending only an inch off. "They get trapped." He looked at me, scared, knowing he was helpless. His pleading, dying eyes stared into my soul, hopelessly trying to wager with my feelings, trying anything to make it out alive.

"I'm not very a religious man, Jake, but if I were you right now, I'd be praying. Then again, it’s not like you’re gonna get an answer."

"Please, listen, Jon. I'm sorry, but I had to do it, they- they would've put me in prison, and I-"

"You must've been practicing that little excuse the whole time [comma] you worthless piece of shit. Making a deal with the fucking police, hoping I wouldn't find out until they caught me. You know, you weren’t always the brightest bulb in the pack," I chuckled, moving towards him.

"Jon, it's me, Jake," he tried to remind me, as if I didn't already know what he was going to say. "I'm the one who taught you all you know. I'm the guy who started you into this whole shit show."

"Yet look what you've done to yourself you little cunt. I find that the cons outweigh the pros in this." I put the dagger to his jaw.

"I thought you were done with this- this- thing years back," he informed me me [repetition], his voice wavering in fear. He was making his final, feeble attempts to survive even another day. "I thought you told me that you were out."

"That was then. This is what I've been waiting for for [possible repetition, not sure, works either way] all these years. The blood lust of a mentally unstable fuck show can't be quenched, cunt. You of all people should know that the best with what you did to Rich." I let the blade dig into his throat a bit, a small trail of blood leaking out. His eyes widened, pain creeping through his body. He twitched slightly, the blade digging in yet further. "This is the return, Jake. And you're the first victim. You should feel honored that I'm giving you such an opportunity. Now shut the fuck up and let me finish you off you tired fucking runt. You are of no use to anyone anymore, so it seems I'm doing everyone a nice favor by disposing of you," I sneered.

I pushed further, the small trail of blood becoming a flowing river. His usual shrieks became choking which, in turn, became his final sounds. His death throes were becoming intense, his body jerking back and forth, his wrists fighting against the tight zip ties holding him to the chair. His eyes rolled back, the bloodshot whites fading to a glassy, graying film. He stopped moving, his body finally coming to a rest. Jake was dead.

I untied him and dragged him to the trash bin I usually put my victims in pre-burial. I started humming, then singing, “Take me out to the back of the shed, shoot me in the back of the head. Take me out to the back of the shed, shoot me in the motherfucking head.”

I was back.

-

<p class="MsoNormal">Mechanical issues – nothing work getting excited over. For the most part the grammar was spot on, though sometimes the sentences are a little too long.

<p class="MsoNormal">Style issues – The prose was pretty good. You’ve got some creative wording, though it can be a bit dry at times. It’d be nice to get more creative imagery in there but, for the most part, the vocabulary has a nice range and it’s interesting enough to keep me immersed. The biggest issue with this story is the dialogue. It’s very hard to get dialogue right but it’s important to keep an eye on action and reaction. You have almost no reaction; it’s just Jon ranting like a bit of a pussy, if I’m honest. In fact Jon isn’t very compelling. There’s no underlying philosophy; he doesn’t strike me as a nihilist, or a sadist, or a masochist. He just swears a lot. The gist of his exchange comes down to; Jon has a wobbly, Jake dies, the end. Which brings me to….

<p class="MsoNormal">Plot issues – Not much happens in this story. Coupled with Jon’s XTREME brand of serial-killer-who-swears-a-lot left me struggling to care about him. As a character piece it could be interesting but you’re going to want to find a way to communicate your vision more effectively because as-is, Jon is fucking intolerable, and more than just a bit weeaboo.

<p class="MsoNormal">In conclusion – you can clearly write, and the prose is good. But the characters let it down.

<p class="MsoNormal">Also, feel free to message me or anyone else for a review. I always try my best to get to the stories on the workshop but it's easy to miss one so don't feel bad going out of your way to get the attention your story needs.