As an aspiring writer and avid reader, I would love some feedback on a new piece I've started. New scenes and dialogue keep popping into my head before I have time to string them together. That said, below is one such scene. Right now I'm looking for any kind of criticism concerning prose or verbiage. I usually ask my friends and family but I'm shy about this one. Thanks in advance!
Waiting is not one of Malcolm Cain’s strong suits, which is saying something because generally, he had a lot of them. Cain (as everyone referred to him) knew he was an excellent businessman, musician, liar and fighter. Although what he was best known for was a hair trigger temper. The tiny library-like room was too small and too hot for pacing but he did it anyway. There were no windows and only one door, the carpet was old and flat, the overhead lighting was too bright and the smell was stale if not dusty. There was just enough room for a small folding table in the middle with two chairs on either side. Of course she would be late, Cain said inwardly. Impatiently pacing, his train of thought was interrupted when the door finally opened and the cause of his impatience walked into the room. “We have been waiting for over twenty minutes for you.” Cain rounded, looking her over. The mousy girl was small, dirty and pale; everything that he wasn’t. Where he wore a perfectly tailored suit, in the newest fashion, this disheveled young woman wore grey sweatpants and a tight black t-shirt. The hair that framed her face was wet. He noticed only what he wanted to about her; hair was dirty and washed out, skin was oily, nails unpainted. It seemed the only thing she took care about herself was her teeth. The baby fat that lingered in the girl’s face, hips and stomach region indicated that she was probably not even 20, but her face looked much younger. Cain assumed based off her appearance the newcomer had a substance abuse problem. The corners of her eyes were red and all the color gone from her face. “I-I’m sorry, I had trouble finding the building.” She lied, finding her voice. Taking off her wet coat and tossing it over the chair closest to her, she extended her hand to Cain and scowled when he didn’t take it. “I’m Laura. I apologize for making you wait. If you’re anything like Alan, I’m sure you were early.” If Cain empathized with Laura at all, it didn’t show. His jaw was set, his stare was hard and his crossed arms while she spoke. Oh yeah, you’re every bit as unpleasant as Alan said you would be, Laura said to herself. She had decided then that Malcolm Cain was the most formidable looking man she had ever seen; a small refrigerator with perfect hair, perfect teeth and flattering features. Except Cain was a total dick. “My brother is dead,” he growled “And I’ve had twenty minutes to stew over that unfortunate fact waiting for you. ” Laura winced at these words, her mouth twitched into a frown and she looked to the room’s only other occupant. “Hi, Carl.” She gave Carl the attorney a weak, sad smile and reached for the chair. “Hey, girl.” Carl returned the smile with his own. “Feeling ok?” “I guess,” she said by way of apology and sat down. Cain moved closer to her and made a point to stand for a second too long before sitting next to her. Laura looked like tiny next to him but didn’t back down when he tried to intimidate her with his size. “Yesterday was my birthday.” She added, “Thanks for the card.” “You’re very welcome.” Carl the attorney put a hand out to touch hers. This time Laura’s smile was genuine and it made him happy. They both looked at Cain who was watching this exchange with curiosity. “I’ve known Laura for quite some time. Your brother was very fond of her.” Carl let that hang in the air in the minute and said, “Ok, let’s read this will.”
Submitted July 08, 2015 at 12:32AM by browneyed_devilwoman http://ift.tt/1NPKTkv WritersGroup
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