One more creative writing post

[dinopoker]

Ok, I liked the others, so maybe you did too. Here's my submission. I could use critique, as well as suggestions on where to take the story. Note: I started this a year and a half ago, and I know the sitaution over there has changed a lot - that's part of the issue - it changes so fast I can't keep up. Anwyays, here it is, and I have more if you want to see it...


ONE

The desert wind had blown fiercely earlier in the day, and though it had settled with the onset of evening, dust still filled the air, and the moon was hidden by the clouds, making visibility poor. Fazir shut down the motor of his car and sat still, allowing his eyes to adjust to the gloom as he scanned the street. Shadows danced in the corners – a good night for a murder. He touched the butt of his pistol but its presence was only minimally reassuring. Danger was everywhere, and most Iraqi policemen traveled the streets with AK-47’s wearing full body armor, even in daytime. The Americans of course went one better, they rode M1 tanks.

As quietly as he possible he opened the door to his car and slid out into the street, having long ago taken the precaution of taping down the switch in the door mechanism that controlled the interior light. The air was cool this evening and the wind light, details he noted to himself because he was trained to notice everything. The street was very dark. He softly closed his door to half-latch. His was the fourth vehicle to arrive, the others being a marked red and white police car and similarly marked minivan, and another ‘official’ unmarked car. The last one was a bad sign.

The building was a two storey cube-like structure, clearly a firehouse but badly damaged. Though still more or less intact all windows were broken and the main front door hung from a single hinge. The large roll doors for the fire trucks were badly bent and hung at angles. It looked like a boxer who had taken too many body blows, badly sagging, weak at the knees – ready to go down. It did not look like a place that anyone would enter willingly.

A chain link fence had been erected around it and a sign in English and Arabic read:

NO ENTRY / BOMB DAMAGE
This structure has been found condemned by the Iraqi Civil Authority and the United States Provisional Administration

Aren’t we all, he thought.

A uniformed civil guards officer appeared silently at the open gate next to the sign, his rifle leveled but not aimed. He would have a partner backing him up who had Fazir right in his sights.

“Sir, please identify yourself.”

“Raed Fazir, Senior Investigator.” He held up his identity card.

“Yes sir, you are expected.”

“Is this your area?”

“Yes sir, we are one of the teams.” Current operations had each region of the city patrolled by three roving guard teams, each backed up by the others and in constant radio contact. The guard was young, maybe twenty. He was in full uniform, bulletproof vest and helmet that offered protection against random events, but also made one a target. His eyes were wide and his face had a faint glisten of sweat under his helmet. A simple youngster who needed the job or a hard charger? Both were common in the new regime. His nametag read al-Deen.

“Is this area secure?” Fazir asked.

“Reasonably so, sir, but I would prefer it if you would move inside. Our presence will draw attention.” Over the past months the police had been consistent targets of insurgents and their suicide attacks. More than 200 officers of the new police forces had been killed in these attacks. For some reason the danger didn’t hinder recruitment though, because young men continued to enroll in the police training program. Hunger their usual reason, but many had more complex motives

Fazir didn’t move. “Who made the discovery?”

“Originally a scavenger, sir, looking for steel or other items of value. He called us immediately and claims to have touched nothing.”

“Where is he now?”

“He was moved to headquarters – we had no effective means to hold him here.”

“You were the first on the scene?”

“Yes sir, and my partner. I entered the building to confirm the incident while he covered me. We touched nothing.”

“Very well, how long has the building been like this?”

“March last year, hit by a smart bomb looking for a bunker.”

“Was there one?”

“No sir, not here – this was a fire station.” An obvious statement in most cities, but in Baghdad of course you never knew.

“Casualties?”

“None sir, not from this bomb, the fire brigade pulled out of the area prior to the bombings.”

“Likely their departure caused the Americans to be suspicious of the building.” Why move the fire department unless there was something to hide? Or at least that must have been the reasoning.

“Possibly, sir. Is that significant?” Curious anyways – probably a hard charger.

“What is your name?”

“Ihsan al-Deen, sir, Constable.”

“And your partner?”

“Qusai Ata Ala, also Constable.”

Fazir noted the names and ranks. “Do you routinely check the condemned buildings?”

“Rarely, sir, only if suspicious activity has been reported, or if something is amiss.”

“The same is true of the American MP patrols. This means that the interior of this structure could be undisturbed for quite a time. That is worth knowing.”

The boy nodded. This was not the only damaged building in this area, being so close to the government offices, almost 75% of buildings had been hit by some ordinance or another. “Someone should have told them that Saddam and his pals left the city long before the bombing started.” The best that could be found in the bunkers once the offensive started, and with CNN describing the capabilities of the bunker buster bombs three times a night, was maybe some senior clerks. More likely was Hussein staffing them with members of his gang that he no longer trusted. Their former leader had been the ultimate opportunist.

“They wouldn’t have listened, and whoever told them would have been shot for treason, or made into the new President. Thank you for the information, constable Al-Deen. Please if you would contact the other members of your team. I would like the perimeter pulled to the end of the street on both sides. Have Central Patrol extend the other patrols to cover the rest of your area while we work here.”

“It’s done, sir. They are on their way. Superintendent al-Badran already gave that order. He also asked that you be shown in as quickly as possible upon your arrival.”

Fazir didn’t move. “The Superintendent was called before the investigators?” This was unusual. Procedure had been that the investigators and the crime unit determine the nature of the incident prior to determining if higher authority is required. It was considered a wise policy because it kept the ‘higher authorities’ home in their beds.

“Yes sir, we received a recent change that supervising authority should be contacted for all incidents regarded as significant, which this clearly is. There was a liaison officer from the Americans present when we were briefed on the procedure change. I gather that this is the way they do it there.”

Fazir nodded. The Americans were so quick to make changes, and the new government, if it could be called that, was equally as quick to adopt them wholeheartedly. They should learn, he thought to himself, you don’t change the Middle East. The Middle East changes you.

[FortunaMaximus]

First sentence of second paragraph runs on a bit too long.

Haven't we all might be tense-correct.

Otherwise, good read.

[dinopoker]

[ QUOTE ]
First sentence of second paragraph runs on a bit too long.

Haven't we all might be tense-correct.

Otherwise, good read.

[/ QUOTE ]

Hmm, I'll think about that. For the record, this was/is hard to write because I'm trying to make the writing a little more formal, so it has the feel of something set outside the US. Because of this it's not in my usual writing style.

[FortunaMaximus]

I noticed. For comparsion, you might want to take a look at Naguib Mahfouz.

Nobel winner for literature, Egyptian, great background concepts in novel form on the Arabic point of view.

It's not the easiest of things to do, but well worthwhile if done right.

[Georgia Avenue]

Dino: I haven't read it that deeply, but 2 points:

1. Try to avoid statment about the situation and the characters feelings: Things like: "Danger was everywhere" and "He was suspicious etc" don't bring the reader into the story. Just talk about what he sees and says (tho some thoughts can work if they're interesting enough, like "you don’t change the Middle East. The Middle East changes you."

2. Have you actually been to Iraq? You have a lot of great details, and it certainly sounds real. If not, I'm impressed, but make sure that you don't jump all over reality NOR that you clog your plot with superfluous research details.

Finally, please write stories about hustling pool.

--GA

[dinopoker]

[ QUOTE ]
Dino: I haven't read it that deeply, but 2 points:

1. Try to avoid statment about the situation and the characters feelings: Things like: "Danger was everywhere" and "He was suspicious etc" don't bring the reader into the story. Just talk about what he sees and says (tho some thoughts can work if they're interesting enough, like "you don’t change the Middle East. The Middle East changes you."

2. Have you actually been to Iraq? You have a lot of great details, and it certainly sounds real. If not, I'm impressed, but make sure that you don't jump all over reality NOR that you clog your plot with superfluous research details.

Finally, please write stories about hustling pool.

--GA

[/ QUOTE ]

Nah, I'm just making stuff up, though with a lot of research mixed in. I do it like Clavell (one of my favorites) who says he just reads everything he can on his subject matter and then starts writing.

Hustling pool? How would I know anything about that?

Actually, I am thinking about a story of a major road trip with a poker player and pool player. Kind of an epic tale. I may write a chapter of that tonight and then post it, if you want to see it.

[PokerFink]

I haven't read OOT in a while so I missed this.

The opening line is fantastic but runs too long. I think this is better: "The desert wind had blown fiercely earlier in the day, and though it had settled with the onset of evening, dust still filled the air. The moon was hidden by the clouds, and the lack of light mixed with the dust made visibility poor." I'm a fan of run-on sentences, but I don't like opening stories with them. Short sentences work much better as attention grabbers IMO. Use a better image than "shadows danced in the corner" as an intro to "good night for a murder." You came up with a great image for the opening line, why revert to a cliche? Continue with the creative imagry.

<font color="#666666"> The building was a two storey cube-like structure, clearly a firehouse but badly damaged. Though still more or less intact all windows were broken and the main front door hung from a single hinge. </font> Confusing. I think I know what you're trying to say, but you need to clear that up.

<font color="#666666"> Why move the fire department unless there was something to hide? Or at least that must have been the reasoning. </font> That's pretty obvious, you can omit that.

I like it a lot. Very official sounding. You nailed the dialogue.

Try using more physical descriptions with the dialogue. The official shifts his weight, lowers his gun, checks his watch. Whatever. It adds color.

[somapopper]

Dino, post the whole thing if you would.

[darom03]

[ QUOTE ]
I haven't read OOT in a while so I missed this.

The opening line is fantastic but runs too long. I think this is better: "The desert wind had blown fiercely earlier in the day, and though it had settled with the onset of evening, dust still filled the air. [PERIOD.]

[/ QUOTE ]

This is even better. When dust fills the air, of course the moon is going to be hidden.

Show it, don't tell it.

you have a couple of places where this kind of redundancy deters an otherwise great read. Keep it up!

[dinopoker]

Okay, this is far more raw than the first section...


The body was in the kitchen, a room adjacent to the large vehicle bay that had housed the fire engines. Like its exterior, the inside of the once-firehouse was badly damaged. The bomb that had struck had penetrated the roof and upper floor before continuing through the concrete floor and sinking to a depth of about fifty feet and exploding. The result, in addition to destroying all of the windows, had been to devastate the interior and to fill it with an extensive amount of Baghdad’s sandy soil. The crater made by the bomb was maybe twenty feet in diameter and had been surrounded by a simple plastic fence by the civil authorities. A sign warned of the danger of the open pit.

Fazir moved to the kitchen, stepping gingerly in the rubble. The crime unit had erected lights to illuminate the room, and had hung draping to keep the light from filtering outside. Nothing ruins an investigation like having an RPG fired in the window. The lights were erected at each end of the room and faced one-another to limit shadowing for the photography work. The corners were in deep darkness.

“So Fazir, you join us at last.” This was Superintendent Rhyad al-Badran. A tall man, al-Badran wore heavy spectacles and had wavy black hair. Like many of the new administrators he was clean-shaven. A regular long-distance runner, he had moved up in the police force quickly, much in part to the attrition the organization had suffered, but also because he was an intelligent and well-educated man with a keen political mind. General opinion said this was the kind of man that Saddam Hussein and the Ba’ath party had purposely kept out of government service – they preferred thugs who were easy to control. The new government sought him and others like him with gusto, however, seeking to restore professionalism to city services in the ‘new’ Iraq. Fazir knew better though – the man was a pig.

“My apologies Superintendent, moving through the city at night is never easy.”

Fazir appraised the room. A countertop was on the far wall, containing a sink, stove and microwave oven, smashed of course. There was no sign of a refrigerator, lost to scavengers most likely. The wreckage of a table was flung against it, the accompanying chairs having found their way to the corners of the room. Part of the wall separating the kitchen from the vehicle bay had buckled, loosing plasterboard into the room to mix with the sand, which was everywhere, though much had been shoveled or swept into piles to leave an open area in the center of the room.

It was in this area where the two crime scene attendants were at work. They wore blue coveralls and worked with steady purpose, efficient and silent; lately they had had a lot of practice working crime scenes. Only in Iraq could such a technician get the kind of experience that these men received, the proverbial forty years in a day, though the presence of the Superintendent also doubtless contributed to their silence and efficiency. The technicians had not been here long as they were still in the process of taking measurements of the general area.

The body sat in a chair in the center of the room, its head lolling to one side at a careless angle. It was the body of a man who had apparently been beaten to death. Badly beaten, Fazir noted. Naked, the body was literally covered in blood, lacerations covering the torso and arms, too many to count. The face was unrecognizable, nose smashed, blood caked on a mouth open in death, several teeth missing. One eye had been beaten closed while the other gazed sightlessly at the floor. An ear was missing, apparently torn off.

The man appeared Arabic, dark black hair, olive skin, a thick mustache now caked with blood covered his upper lip. He had been in maybe his mid-thirties. He appeared to have been extremely fit – well defined in the arms and legs, strong abdominal muscles, perhaps an athlete, or more likely a police officer or soldier. This would not be the first such case of a police officer murdered such as this, though the amount of beating this victim had suffered was unusual. Generally the factions that targeted police officers were simply out for either a quick kill or a political one. If they were going to beat and torture a police officer or a soldier, they would have told someone, released a tape or a statement to Al-Jazeera. Fazir made general notes about the condition of the corpse. Details would have to wait for the pathologist, and with conditions as they were, that might be quite a wait.

“Any weapons found?” He asked.

“Not yet,” one of the crime attendants said. His nametag read Kadem. “So much rubble here, it will take time to sort through it all.”

“Any thoughts on time of death?" Always a first question.

“Not as yet, sir.” Again this would require the pathologist. A corpse’s temperature was often the best way to determine the timing, but in cases where it had been sitting for some time a more detailed examination was required. The odor of the death was present, but not overwhelming, which suggested that it had been there some time, but probably not as long as a week.

At that moment they were interrupted by the cell phone of al-Badran, which rang with a shrill beeping. The Superintendent fumbled the phone from his pocket and activated it. All eyes turned to him. They were all aware of the presence of the American planes patrolling above hunting insurgents. The planes all had electronic sensing gear that would have already detected the Superintendent’s phone, as well as sophisticated nighttime imaging devices that would pick up the armed policemen outside. It was a recipe for disaster, for while the American planes went to great lengths to avoid firing on their own forces, firing on Iraqi service personnel wasn’t quite so well-controlled, and their little force could easily be mistaken for a group of insurgents. The American forces may struggle with random attacks and explosive devices during daytime patrols, but the night was undeniably theirs.

Al-Badran moved out of earshot to take the call. Both technicians looked at Fazir with wide eyes. He met their gaze and shrugged. “Let’s speed things up,” he suggested quietly.

Neither of them needed to be told twice. They unpacked cameras from their kit bags and hurriedly began the procedure of photographing the area, taking shots of the corpse and the room from all angles. Fazir pondered the body, looking at the man’s face for a long time, fixing the scene in his mind. Unlike the others, he did not rush. Feelings such as fear and stress were long dead to him.

“Extensive blood spatter here, sir,” said Kadem, indicating an area to the left of the body with his flashlight. Fazir made a note and Kadem’s partner took two shots with his camera. The blood was a fair distance from the corpse, a vertical splash on the wall.

Al-Badran ended his call and examined the designated spot. “Arterial spray?” he asked.

Fazir shrugged, continuing to make sketches in his notebook.




Sorry, that's all. The rest is just rambling thoughts that have no cohesion or dialog.

Please if you add comments - try and tell me what you think of the concept as well as the details. Does this story sound plausible in the current Iraq? That's what I struggle with. I'm not sure if I should continue plugging away at this or wait to see what happens over there. Are you guys interested in this man's death and where it might lead?