The Death of Daniel Gray

This is a little excerpt of a prologue from the story I'm focusing on at the moment. It seems kind of meaningless but I'm just trying to figure out what more it needs to get the feel it needs (a man sufferingfrom post traumatic stress) and just generally make it better. I know it's not much, but...

It was a warm summer’s day in Hawkins Park. A light breeze toyed with the empty swings. The multicoloured wash of flowers sang balmy scents from their sentry position around the park gates.
Daniel Gray liked the feel of the suns rays, heavy on his neck. It reminded him of homemade quilts in winter. His eyes were drifting shut, the weight of warmth making them drowsy. He was losing the battle against staying awake.
Dring dring dring dring dring dring
Adrenaline snapped his eyelids open audibly, pumping his heart in erratic rhythms as he flinched away from his bench. Daniel’s legs were tensed to run, his fist prepared to sock someone. His eyes were frantic as they raided his surroundings- but, truly, he could barely see through his panic. He was somewhere else. There was a man, caged, a prisoner, shaking his chains with sticks for bones and a hollow face.
Daniel shook and forced himself to really look at what was around him. He was in the park. His favourite park. And the noise was a boy, out early from school, running his fingers along the chain link fence. His panic subsided but there was no helping the way Daniel eyed the boy for any hints in his clothing of a weapon.
Daniel sucked in a deep gulp of air, pushing his hands into his pockets. He couldn’t enjoy the park any longer. If this boy was out of school it means others would follow in hordes, waiting for their parents while they swung, slid and sang.
He kept his head down as he took to the foot path and headed back to his absent apartment. His eyes flickered beneath his lashes the whole way, watching and waiting for anything to happen.
Lo and behold, not two minutes later, the afterschool rush of children were a mess of colours and ponytails running from the local public school’s gates, the sharp school bell squelching above the traffic. Daniel had to stop and squeeze his eyes shut.
Alarms. Alarms and then screaming. Fire and gunshots. Stench and smoke.
Petrified as a rabbit caught in a headlights glare, he stood there, listening to the kids getting closer, charging at him. The giggling, the gossip, the padding of leather soled feet closed in on his ears, deafening him. They were impairing his senses; soon they’d have a gun to his head, a click then-
Bang!
Daniel jumped high, like a threatened cat, all puffed up and hunched. His eyes were open when the girl whose balloon popped started bawling. The twisting in his chest told him to get away. There were too many distractions. He wouldn’t be able to see the real dangers. He would just keep walking.
His crossing was coming up and then he’d only be a block from his apartment. It was at that moment, with the cars of the street transforming into tanks in Daniels mind, that a small boy chased his ball into the road, one of the tanks going straight at him. It was a friend, a friend running into the battle lines. It was a trap. There went the brigade of shots. Gone, lost to death.
No, not again. This was a little boy who was about to get hit by a car.
Daniel barely had time to think as he lunged into the road after the boy. A mother screamed. All Daniel could see was the boy and the oncoming traffic that was only beginning to register anything was wrong. It was too late, though- the car was far to close.
His palms connected with the kids back and then the boy wasn’t there anymore and the car was slammed into his side with the force of one hundred elephants, sending him flying. It was his head that made it final, though, thundering into the pavement.
Daniel could feel his consciousness slipping, pulling tighter and tighter away from his body. It was an unusual sensation.
All that he could make sense of was that there was another car screeching on the opposite side of the road, making an awful racket. Also, that the clouds looked like marshmallows above his head, bordered by city buildings.


I know this ending to this piece sounds like its betraying the general rule to not write from the grave but it works for this particular story.
Rip it to shreds if you like.

(a man sufferingfrom post traumatic stress)

I don't know much about post traumatic stress disorder; from what I saw here you did a pretty good job of showing it. But, just to be safe, I think you should research it in depth, just to make sure.

Now onto your story.

It was a warm summer’s day in Hawkins Park. A light breeze toyed with the empty swings. The multicoloured wash of flowers sang balmy scents from their sentry position around the park gates.

Not the best opener. It's boring and doesn't draw me in.

Dring dring dring dring dring dring
Adrenaline snapped his eyelids open audibly, pumping his heart in erratic rhythms as he flinched away from his bench. Daniel’s legs were tensed to run, his fist prepared to sock someone. His eyes were frantic as they raided his surroundings- but, truly, he could barely see through his panic. He was somewhere else. There was a man, caged, a prisoner, shaking his chains with sticks for bones and a hollow face.
Daniel shook and forced himself to really look at what was around him. He was in the park. His favourite park. And the noise was a boy, out early from school, running his fingers along the chain link fence. His panic subsided but there was no helping the way Daniel eyed the boy for any hints in his clothing of a weapon.

I think if you replaced your beginning with this, it would draw your reader in much more efficiently. I love the descriptions you have here and I get a good sense of your main character's panic.

This was a little boy who was about to get hit by a car.

This is kind of restating the obvious. We can already infer that the boy is about to get hit in the previous paragraph, so this part isn't very necessary.

All that he could make sense of was that there was another car screeching on the opposite side of the road, making an awful racket. Also, that the clouds looked like marshmallows above his head, bordered by city buildings.

You have a very strong ending. *claps*

Overall:

So, I think you have a good idea and I'm interested to see where you take this. The only major problem I saw was that you didn't have a good hook. Other than that, great work and I hope you continue. PM me when the next part is up.

Sasha.

Good job. I second what Sasha said about the beginning and have little to add. I suggest looking over the ending again and trying to make that a bit longer and more resolving. Of course, if this is only the beginning then you might not want to resolve so much. Anyway, I think you could give it a bit more time if nothing else.

It was at that moment, with the cars of the street transforming into tanks in Daniels mind, that a small boy chased his ball into the road

This sentence could use some more action. First, the bolded phrase seems redundant to me, because by this time the reader knows well enough that it is all in Daniel's mind. Also, you don't have to restate that the cars are turning into tanks; you've already established that. So, if you focused merely on the boy chasing his ball, you could create a more enticing action-oriented sentence that would better draw the reader into the action of the last part.

Good job overall!

~greenjay