The Time I Killed a Bunch of People

A young man strolled through a field, his hands stained with blood, little splatters of it decorating his face. In his hands he carried an axe, and across his back there was a string of now headless chickens leaking blood across his already dirty shirt. After a bit, he approached a small shotgun shack. He walked towards it calmly, but, upon getting closer, something seemed...wrong... The windows were open, their dirty green and blue curtains flapping in the light breeze. The door also hung ajar, but then he noticed what truly made it seem out of place. There was a gaping hole in the roof and the roof was sagging in on the house, as if some important structural beams had been wiped out. He continued with caution, and when he was about 20 feet away, it gave up and collapsed. He rushed towards it, pulling boards and beams away from the pile, attempting to find something inside. An earsplitting crack echoed across the valley, and his head jerked in the direction from which it came. Dropping the chickens, he sprinted towards the source. After summiting a small hill, his eyes focused and he saw it. A cluster of four men was gathered around a tree at the base of the hill, seemingly locked in combat. He ran down, careful to keep his distance.
"Shit, he shot Jim!"
"Well don't just stand there, kill the sumbitch!"
Three men slowly advanced on the fourth. The fourth one lashed out, throwing a flurry of violent punches at the other three. One of them doubled over, grabbing at his face.
"My nose, he broke my goddamn nose!"
The other two jumped onto the fourth, taking him to the ground.
"Get me the rope, the rope!"
They wrapped the rope tightly around the fourth one's neck before looking up.
"Who the hell is that?"
"His kid, he don't matter though, just get this one tied up real tight like!"
The boy reacted suddenly, rushing forward and throwing himself at the smaller of the two. The smaller one fell under the boy, his elbows pinned by the boy's knees. The boy sat there on his chest, wailing on the man's face with his fists until they were bloody and the small one was unconscious.
"You little bastard!"
The larger one now jumped off of the father and onto the son, punching him in the face repeatedly. The father, now unencumbered by the bulk of his attackers, jumped up and kicked the large one in the back of the head, sending him reeling. He pulled his son up and stood in front of him.
"Get the hell away from my son..."
The two conscious attacker picked up their dead and knocked out comrades and slung them onto their horses.
"This ain't over, you hear me? This is far from over..."
He slowly mounted his horse, and just as he was about to ride off, spun around and drew a revolver from his duster and fired it at the father. The force of the bullet knocked him backwards, his son going down behind him. The two men laughed hardily and rode off, leaving the boy pinned beneath his now deceased father. He squirmed out from under him, slick with blood and dirt and the mud that resulted from the two mixing. He looked at the limp figure of his father and curled up into a ball before sobbing violently.

Prologue (leave a comment, if you don't mind!)

Hi there Loller, I'm Tanya, here for a review.

An ominous "ka-thunk" echoed throughout the small valley. Birds fluttered lightly overhead, and the morning's mist began to burn off as a massive sun rose.
Ka-thunk
Ka-thunk
Ka-thunk
Ka-thunk
Ka-thunk
Ka-thunk
Ka-thunk

I would cut this part out and make it start with the young man strolling around with blood in his clothes. The ka-thunk really isn't necessary, is it?

I'm not going to review grammar any futher than this for several reasons. One, being that this was slightly confusing. It's a mix and jumble of actions and dialogue but really, we know nothing.

You begin by saying a 'young man' walks around. Then you said he's a 'boy'. Well, how old is he? Why is his father so good at fighing? Why aren't the killers worried that they were seen when the boy could describe them?

Also, when you write you have to keep in mind two things: One, the five senses. Even when you're sitting in a room, on a chair, you see, hear, feel, touch, taste, smell things. Like right now, while my palms are set on the base of my warm laptop, my fingers skimming the keys, I smell my cup of hot coffee waiting for me to sip it, I smell my apple cinnamon candle lit beside me. I smell the cat litter that needs to be done. See. Just by sitting here doing not much, I see and smell and feel things. Now take your character. What does he see? Smell? Hear? I mean, there's got to be a lot of blood around, to say the least.
The other thing is to SHOW us, not TELL us. You are telling us what the character is doing, not showing us anything. Not how he feels at seeing his father getting beaten, not having ate a fistful of punches, not the sagging destroyed house. His heart isn't hammering? Sweat isn't pouring? Hands aren't clammy?

Do you see what I mean?

All that being said, your story pulled me in. It has a lot of potential because what the boy has experienced will be emotionally challenging. You have the opportunity to paint a very realistic scene here, simply put yourself in your character's shoes when his father's dead body weight falls upon him.

Now, my last point. Prologues aren't regarded with quiet warmth here. They aren't liked very much. Unless you can prove your story absolutely needs this prologue to move on, I highly suggest you cut it out and as it as a (reworked) scene later on in the story, maybe he could describe the event to someone, his voice thick with emotion....

Hope this was helpful, pm me if you have any questions!!

Tanya

Whoo! Feedback! Okay, I'll work on what you said, and yes, I'm gonna keep the prologue as its events set the whole story into motion.

Yo!

It was the title of this that caught my eye - so nonchalant for such a serious thing! Anyway it looks interesting.

Couple of things...

There was a gaping hole in the roof and the roof was sagging in on the house,

You used roof twice, which makes it somewhat awkward to read. How about: There was a gaping hole in the roof, which was sagging in on the house.

Or something like that!

Also the end, I thought, was rushed. Not that it has to be drawn out, since it is a prologue, but

The two men laughed hardily and rode off, leaving the boy pinned beneath his now deceased father. He squirmed out from under him, slick with blood and dirt and the mud that resulted from the two mixing. He looked at the limp figure of his father and curled up into a ball before sobbing violently.

doesn't give us time to take in what is going on. The red words don't seem to tie in with the seriousness of the situation, and the blue text, I thought, doesn't capture his real feelings.

Hop this is helpful, and it is only my opinion!

Txx

A lone figure on a horse rode slowly into the small, one street town. Sliding off slowly, he tied it up and entered the saloon, the smell of tobacco and liquor hanging heavy in the air. Sitting down, a thin bartender approached him.
"What can I get ya?"
"Whiskey."
The bartender shuffled off, and the man looked across the room at a table full of rough, tough looking men laughing uproariously. He stood and walked over.
"Hey there. I was wonderin' if you could maybe help me, uh, find somebody."
The burliest of the men looked up.
"Depends. How much you willin' to pay?"
The man dropped a wad of bills on the table.
"Male. Late 30's, early 40's. Thin. Scruffy. Once shot twice in the left arm. Goes by the name of Ezekiel."
The men at the table thought for a moment before a rotund one spoke up.
"Sounds like our local pastor. Might be who you're after."
The man walked off and left the saloon, his duster flapping in the breeze. He entered a small church, where, inside, a man was at a podium, shaking his right hand as he preached. Seeing the man in the doorway, he stopped and spoke in a soft voice.
"Hello, friend. Have a seat. I'm Pastor Ezekiel. What's your name?"
"Jeffrey."
"Hello, Jeffrey. Anyways, and then, that man shot me twice in the arm. I should have gone and returned the favor, but God spoke to me and He said, 'Ezekiel, my son, that is not my way. Forgive him. Make peace, for he is a sinner, and you are not.' And I did. I forgave that man for taking my arm..."
He continued his speech, but Jeffrey tensed up, realizing it was the man who killed his father and slowly moved to the front.
"Brother Jeffrey, are you alright?"
"Yeah, just tryin' to hear your sermon. It's really good. I wasn't much of a believer until now..."
"Well I'm glad I could bring you to the light."
He continued in monotone. Jeffrey reached into his coat, pretending to scratch himself. Then, ever so slowly, he pulled pack the hammer on his concealed revolver. Ezekiel heard it.
"Brother Jeffrey, what do you have under there?"
And then, he exploded into motion, drawing his gun and firing it at the pastor. The crowd screamed, ducking beneath their pews.
"That's for my father you sonofabitch!"
He holstered the weapon and ran to his horse, clambered on, and rode off into the desert.


Kinda short, but I don't really care!