Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-24982950-20161204122454/@comment-28266772-20161206145311

The black weight of unconsciousness lifted and he slowly regained awareness. However it was limited and groggily he attempted to gain bearing of his surroundings. He was able to see a cobbled street at an odd angle before him, though his vision still span [spinning] [full stop] from what, he couldn’t remember. He had a metallic taste in his mouth, but it was faint so he paid it little mind. The ground beneath him was vibrating, rumbling as though he were inside the engine room of a great ship. He felt this in his palms as he attempted to push himself up off the uneven ground, rewarded only by the knowledge that he was unable to do so [this is a touch too vague]. His leg twitched. It [the connection between his leg twitching and the relief of the throb is not made clear; why would twitching his leg alleviate the throbbing in his back?[ did nothing to alleviate the dull throb, or the pressure pressing [pressure pressing; this feels a bit clunky] down on the small of his back. The rumbling continued to persist.

He looked to his left, down the narrow, uniform street flanked by rows of terraced houses at the source of the noise. As he saw it, the word ‘tiger’ flitted across his mind. But it wasn’t orange and black, as he had pictured them, rather it was only the latter, [matter of opinion; I think a full stop would be best by here] and [it] made a great clattering as it lumbered forward, growling all the while. Fear began to take hold of him; he was in the path of this beast, unable to move. If it decided to attack him, he wouldn’t stand a chance. But the dread ebbed away when he realised the tiger wasn’t focused on him, instead it was fixated down the street, past him. He looked the way the approaching beast was looking [looked/looking; repetition], but saw nothing but [but/but; repetition] empty road. If not for the tiger, he would have been able to hear the shouts of men giving directions, and the resultant roars of- '[em dash is needed. You can type -- in MS word and press ‘space’ to make one of these ->   – vs - ]'

The pain grew from its dull throb to a crescendo, the cocktail of endorphins and confusion that was his brain unable to hold it back any longer. His back turned to fire, his vision flooded and his breath came in sharp, harsh gusts. The shock as good as paralysed him, and he writhed in agony under the rubble of the destroyed wall behind him, droplets of blood escaping his mouth as he screamed. Through the watery haze he gazed from, he saw two silhouettes as they rounded the previously deserted corner, the word ‘bitch’ raced through his mind, and yet a strange hope filled him. Pivoting quickly, the pair barked in quick succession, the sound and the flashes from their muzzles assaulting the senses of the writhing man, and after a whistle and a single clang, he was aware of a brief, yet eerie quiet. [I think you’ve fallen a bit too far on the line of ambiguity by here; the events are simply incomprehensible]

Unseen by him, the tiger snarled as it turned its head, and responded. With a sound like ripping paper, a green trail flew and struck one of the shapes, puncturing and setting it alight. His vision improving slightly, he recognised the image as one he’d seen many times before: a burning self-propelled gun, it’s crew bailing and scattering from the tank that had bested them. As the other SU-76 fled from the panzer, and cursed it by yelling it’s [its] nickname, '[see I kinda figured it was this but I wasn’t sure. It wouldn’t take much to correct the imbalance]' the reality and gravity of the situation hit him. He began to scrabble and claw at the ground, desperately trying to free himself. He always thought that he was willing to die for his homeland, but surely it couldn’t happen here, not now. He’d escaped and survived death so many times; he couldn’t just become another casualty, just another point on a sadistic tally. His hands now, scraped and bloodied in their useless endeavour, were shaking with each one of his pain-wracked sobs. He thought of his home, of his family, of his past life that were now so far away from the bitter war that had torn him from them. He had to survive, had to live, had to see those things again, even if it were just once. But as his arms collapsed and he beheld the great metal tread rearing up before him, gravel and dust shaking loose as it turned, he knew there was nothing to be done.

-

Mechanical issues – only a few minor things.

Style issues – sometimes the wording was a bit obtuse but I didn’t think it was anything a second draft couldn’t fix. For what it’s worth you painted a vivid image that stuck in my mind. The imagery was very well constructed and overall I really liked this piece. The style suited the setting. Barring the issue I have already raised I think this is a good story. But like I said sometimes the events aren’t always clear (or rather they are too ambiguous). In particular the section about the ‘bitch’ absolutely perplexed me. I thought they were literal dogs.

Plot issues – Nout. The plot is short and simple. It’s not Hamlet but it’s immersive and you paint a good scene. It works and suits the length.

Recommendation? Clean up some of the wording and put it back up to get a second opinion (maybe from someone other than me so there’s a greater spectrum of opinions), but generally I think this is pretty good.