English Assignment - Short Story

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I havn't visited those forums in a while, I hope that some of you guys will remember me.

I have an assignment due on monday and it is to write a short-story. I'm looking on some input from you guys (spelling mistakes spell-check missed, improvements, etc...) . I'm not a great writer so don't expect a masterpiece

He sat on the table and ordered a whisky. The bar was quite empty; the village didn’t have many people – most of them left for the war and never returned. The ones that remained were drinking away their life into oblivion attempting to forget and be forgotten.
When young men went off they had dreams of becoming a hero set deeply into their minds. They dreamed of marching back into a country that loved them or dying for a cause they believed in. He also believed that. Back then. But after he had returned, he believed in nothing at all – he knew better than that. He had learned that belief was trust and trust was weakness. More than one scar could be shown as evidence of this past weakness of his. “Would you like another drink Tyler?” The bartender interrupted his thoughts. It was just then that Tyler realized he had nearly finished his whiskey, but instead of answering, he gulped the rest of his glass, dropped a couple of coins on the bar and gestured to the bartender indicating that he was leaving. As he started turning around and standing up a sharp pain ran through his nerves and paralyzed his muscles. It was an unpleasant reminder of an unhealed wound. Falling back on his chair Tyler drew a handful of gazes, but no one said anything – if there was one thing that people had learned it was to not ask questions.
Cursing, Tyler attempted to stand up again, more slowly this time. The pain had lessened, but not disappeared. It was not only a reminder of his wound, but also a remainder of the fact that the government he had fought for had forgotten him. Nothing was done to ease the pain of the surviving “heroes”. Hardly any hospitals operated, and the ones that did only provided services for those who could pay.
He recalled the event which had resulted in his last wound; the bullet which had pierced his shoulder centimeters away from his heart. A few centimeters were the only thing that separated him from the other half of the soldiers who were returned prone in a mass-manufactured coffin. He wished that the bullet had hit its target. Ever since the war was over he prayed, hoping for something to end his life. Until this day his prayers had not been answered.
Even though the war was over he had nothing to return to. He didn’t know anyone anymore. He didn’t know where his family was – when he had come back he had found his home burnt down and his family missing – dead for all he knew. As he watched the other veterans coming to their families the feeling of emptiness inside him only strengthened.
As he approached the door, it opened, banging loudly against the wall interrupting his thoughts for a second time. He half-closed his eyes and put his hand in front of them as the incoming light blinded him. He could see three silhouettes. As his eyes got slowly accustomed to the light he could recognize the crest on the men’s uniforms. They were soldiers like him, though they were rather large and bulky – a sure sign that they had not been in the army for some time. It was only then that he saw that they dragged a young woman of no more than 15 years of age. She was a sorry sight. She had long brown, though now very dirty, hair, her clothes were in tatters, barely covering her womanly features and her face was dry and sullen appearing almost lifeless. When Tyler noticed her he thought of her as a wilting rose - once beautiful, but now dying. Spotting Tyler’s attention she looked pleadingly at him. The soldiers laughed and one of them kicked her viciously. A quiet moan could be heard before she crumpled on the floor.
There was a time when something like this would have filled Tyler’s body with rage. A time when his pride wouldn’t let him walk away. But these times were gone. He walked past the soldiers without even looking at them.
As he was leaving he fought to suppress a feeling gnawing inside him; wanting him to run away and never look back. He realized that his emotions were like a picture. Once crumpled up it can’t be perfect again. It seemed that a part of him had died after all. Only it was not his body that was dead.

 

He sat -on- -the- table??? LOL. How ´bout: he sat in front of a table? ...Oblivion -comma- attempting to forget and -to- be forgotten...

 

Ooh Vern. You got my old portrait.

Yeah, deffinatley change the at on the table bit... say at. "As he started turning around and standing up" put in a comma after up. "if there was one thing that people had learned" another comma after learned.

[ November 17, 2002, 14:00: Message edited by: Z-Layrex ]

 

the ones "Who" remained... not "that" remained.
They had dream of becoming heroes. Not a hero. Unless its the same hero...
Same with the coffin. or coffins rather. Unless its the same coffin they all return in.
And I prefer "female features" instead of "womanly features"
The part with "as he started turning and standing up a sharp pain ..." I would have kept in just past sense. "As he turned and stood up, a sharp pain..."

Perhaps there are more, but don't get sad about my ramble. I really like the story and the picturish ending. Really emotional and well structured short story.

PS: I never forget a dane. Welcome back to SP. The other boards died out?

[ November 20, 2002, 19:04: Message edited by: Nobleman ]