DON'T BOTHER ANSWERING IF YOU DON'T LIKE VAMPIRES. Would you keep reading? Is it interesting? Is it realistic? Is the dialogue realistic? What didn't you like? Some of this is her internal thoughts and are in italics. It's edited only for content. Looking for more opinions.
Navaeh sped down Jackson Street weaving between lanes. She cut off a blue Volkswagen before slamming her breaks and stopping short of running the red light. She rolled down the window to get some fresh air and turned up the music to distract herself from the drowsiness she was feeling. Late nights at a slamming party was fun, but getting home and sobering up was a lot of work and pain. I can make it, she told herself. I am a good driver. NO! I am a great driver.
Some 16-year-old pop star played loudly in her speakers as she dropped her speed in half to concentrate on the road. I can do this. I can make it home. Pulling to the side of the road and resting was dangerous, especially in a poor neighborhood. She watched as someone on a bike turned the corner in front of her and breathed in and out trying to clear her mind and stay alert. Her palms hurt from gripping the wheel hard, but she didn’t let go. Pain goes a long way in keeping someone awake. She gassed it around the corner, unaware that her thoughts were drifting. The streets and buildings were becoming blurry as the drowsiness got worse. She remembered to slow down again and cranked the music higher, singing to keep herself alert.
Two blocks from the expressway and 25 minutes from home. She swerved to the other side of the road as she turned the corner and barely missed hitting a blue car that stopped to let out a passenger. Instead of hitting the car, she hit the person on the bike.
* * *
The boy on the bike flipped into the air and crashed landed on the hood of her car, sliding off the hood and onto the ground in front of the tires.
“Oh my god! Oh, my god!” she said as she covered her mouth. She grabbed her cell phone from her purse and looked out the front window. She saw no one. She slowly opened the car door and got out – afraid of what she might see. She walked around the front of the car and saw the boy lying face down. Blood covered his knuckles from the abrasions from the impact and a hood covered his head. His crumpled bike was lying in the street 10 feet away.
“Are you alright?” she asked, keeping her voice calm, but after a minute her freight impaled her stomach and her voice began to quiver. Her body began shaking uncontrollably.
She reached down to touch him and he raised his head. It was Reece from the homeless shelter. His face was red and bruised and his nose was bleeding.
“Oh my god! I’m so sorry. Are you alright?”
He slowly got up and looked at her, dazed and confused. “You could have killed me!”
She watched as his body began shaking. He held his head and started mumbling incoherently.
“Maybe you should sit down.” She grabbed his arm and led him toward the sidewalk to sit down. She looked around and didn’t see any cars or people nearby.
“I’m so sorry.” She continued, “Should I call the police?”
“You hit me!”
“Look,” she whispered, “I can take you to the hospital. My parents will pay the bill and give you money for your trouble. Just don’t tell anyone. Please.”
She looked at him as he continued holding his head and stared at the pavement. His face was turning from beat red to pale white. He closed his eyes.
“I can take you home? What do you want me to do?”
His eyes gazed at her. He stared for almost a minute before he said, “I…can…go home.”
Her breathing calmed down and she smiled as he tried to get to stand on his feet. She helped him up and ran to get his bike. The front wheel was twisted and the paint was scraping off.
“We can get you another bike, too.”
She opened the trunk and tried to lift the bike inside.
What about the description? Is everything clear or do you think it needs more description?
Navaeh sped down Jackson Street weaving between lanes. She cut off a blue Volkswagen before slamming her breaks and stopping short of running the red light. She rolled down the window to get some fresh air and turned up the music to distract herself from the drowsiness she was feeling. Late nights at a slamming party was fun, but getting home and sobering up was a lot of work and pain. I can make it, she told herself. I am a good driver. NO! I am a great driver.
Some 16-year-old pop star played loudly in her speakers as she dropped her speed in half to concentrate on the road. I can do this. I can make it home. Pulling to the side of the road and resting was dangerous, especially in a poor neighborhood. She watched as someone on a bike turned the corner in front of her and breathed in and out trying to clear her mind and stay alert. Her palms hurt from gripping the wheel hard, but she didn’t let go. Pain goes a long way in keeping someone awake. She gassed it around the corner, unaware that her thoughts were drifting. The streets and buildings were becoming blurry as the drowsiness got worse. She remembered to slow down again and cranked the music higher, singing to keep herself alert.
Two blocks from the expressway and 25 minutes from home. She swerved to the other side of the road as she turned the corner and barely missed hitting a blue car that stopped to let out a passenger. Instead of hitting the car, she hit the person on the bike.
* * *
The boy on the bike flipped into the air and crashed landed on the hood of her car, sliding off the hood and onto the ground in front of the tires.
“Oh my god! Oh, my god!” she said as she covered her mouth. She grabbed her cell phone from her purse and looked out the front window. She saw no one. She slowly opened the car door and got out – afraid of what she might see. She walked around the front of the car and saw the boy lying face down. Blood covered his knuckles from the abrasions from the impact and a hood covered his head. His crumpled bike was lying in the street 10 feet away.
“Are you alright?” she asked, keeping her voice calm, but after a minute her freight impaled her stomach and her voice began to quiver. Her body began shaking uncontrollably.
She reached down to touch him and he raised his head. It was Reece from the homeless shelter. His face was red and bruised and his nose was bleeding.
“Oh my god! I’m so sorry. Are you alright?”
He slowly got up and looked at her, dazed and confused. “You could have killed me!”
She watched as his body began shaking. He held his head and started mumbling incoherently.
“Maybe you should sit down.” She grabbed his arm and led him toward the sidewalk to sit down. She looked around and didn’t see any cars or people nearby.
“I’m so sorry.” She continued, “Should I call the police?”
“You hit me!”
“Look,” she whispered, “I can take you to the hospital. My parents will pay the bill and give you money for your trouble. Just don’t tell anyone. Please.”
She looked at him as he continued holding his head and stared at the pavement. His face was turning from beat red to pale white. He closed his eyes.
“I can take you home? What do you want me to do?”
His eyes gazed at her. He stared for almost a minute before he said, “I…can…go home.”
Her breathing calmed down and she smiled as he tried to get to stand on his feet. She helped him up and ran to get his bike. The front wheel was twisted and the paint was scraping off.
“We can get you another bike, too.”
She opened the trunk and tried to lift the bike inside.
What about the description? Is everything clear or do you think it needs more description?