Russia

This is the first part of my in class narrative writing. Basically, it's about an experience that helped me mature. I'll post up the second part later today or tomorrow.

*~*~*~*~*

It wasn't a good feeling. I was alone, cold and scared, but nevertheless, I was here in Russia. Just like I had heard, the weather was brutal. Rain pounded upon the windows and hail made ominous sounds on the roof. My bags sat beside me as I waited for my grandparents to pick me up and take me away from this desolate place. Here, where people had hopeless looks, sad eyes and wrinkled faces; People, who looked like they carried the burden of the world on their shoulders.
"It was a sacrifice I made." I concluded to myself, thinking back on how I promised my mother to do well here. She was depressed, too much work and too little time. Lines of worry plagued her face and as a respite, I offered to leave. Just for a while though. A small tap on my shoulder shook me out of my reveries and I turned to see my grandparents, standing stiff and tall. I was enveloped in an awkward hug. It was over as quickly as it started and I was left confused.
“Come, let’s go.” My grandmother said to me and took my hand. Our driver took my bags and went ahead of us. I stole a glance at my grandfather, who remained quiet. “Dzedo?” I whispered and tugged on his sleeve. His response was a emotionless smile and a pat.
We were driving down Moscow roads. They were cold and slippery looking, and people whizzed by as if they had no care for their lives. The rain here was dirty and left little smudges of grim on the window. The rain in California cleaned the cars, leaving them wet and shiny, like a new quarter. Now, as I looked deeply into it, the world around me was different. The grim faces of the people did nothing to comfort me as they had done in California. The stores and even the slight sun took on an aura of bleakness.
“Lilit, we’ll pick up school supplies on the way home.” My grandfather’s voice rang out clearly, not like my grandmother’s, whose voice was like the wind. I nodded and made an affirmative noise.

*~*~*~*~*
Please tell me if this part of the story could use improving. Or any suggestions on how I might make it more...emotionally foward to my readers without making it seem like an angst fest?

-Zola

It's a well-described brief interlude there. But emotionally forward without angst? That's always the trick, isn't it. ^_^

Try describing things more thoroughly--without a recurring reference to "I". A good reader will pick up subtlety, and subtlety is where you'll avoid the 'angst'.

I was alone, cold and scared, but nevertheless, I was here in Russia. Just like I had heard, the weather was brutal. Rain pounded upon the windows and hail made ominous sounds on the roof.

Here, you're cold and alone in Russia...but where in Russia? I hope not a California girl left on the streets of Moscow - not a good idea. ^_^

It's a bit hard to tell where she is then, a car, a train stop...something else?

Here, where people had hopeless looks, sad eyes and wrinkled faces; People, who looked like they carried the burden of the world on their shoulders.

Fragment above. Sometimes a good way of conveying something abstract or uncomfortable; but here it feels only as if it waiting to find its action, finish--and then it ends, incomplete. I like the description very much--try connecting it. Link it with concrete details.

And then do you (in the story) know anything of Moscow? Never been? What history?

I won't go on too long. ^_^ If it's a fragment of a story/piece itself, I can't critique on how it comes full circle - or not. Most of the description is bleakly clear, good on atmosphere. But not quite as clear on the concrete; and I think this would be more involving if we had both, concrete surroundings and your feelings/impressions, and less angst-inclined with both.



IMP