Hello there. Indelible Ink here. I'm reviewing your story per your request. I sincerely hope this will be of some benefit to you
Keep in mind that I'm not a reviewing professional. Actually, I'm not even a writing professional, either. So please do not feel offended if my views don't coincide with yours - this writing thing can be pretty humbling for even the best of writers. With that in mind, let's proceed to the feedback...
(Note: With relatively short works such as this I think it's just as easy to paste the entire story into the review and then insert my comments in a different color, like this, rather than trying to reference them by paragraph, etc.)
The scorched air seared the sheriff’s lungs, spawning coughs. Raw and burnt flesh coated his throat. Tears spilled upon his leathery cheeks, glimmering in the glow from the flames.
He struggled to rise and collapsed onto his side. The spreading darkness from his abdomen matched the swelling pain. His fingers dug into the dry earth beneath him, birthing trenches. (Two paragraphs in, I'm a bit concerned there might be too much emphasis on description - even 'over-description' if you know what I mean - and not enough on moving the story forward...)
His town was dead.
Flames licked the night sky, morphing the natural purple to a demon red. Tufting smoke swirled with malevolent fury; the bloating, savage darkness swallowed and encompassed all. Mirages of buildings flickered beneath the murderous fire. (Now, I'm even more concerned...)Bodies littered the ground in scattered heaps; the innocent as well as the sinners. A crumpled dirigible lay helpless beneath a deflated, smoldering gasbag. (For a tale seemingly set in the "Wild West", the presence of a dirigible doesn't really seem to fit. I'm no expert on the subject by any means, but I was under the impression that dirigibles were not in the United States until the late teens and really blossomed in World War I).
My town, the sheriff thought. My home.
Signs of panicked life popped in and out of his view: People screaming, clutching little ones and the last remnants of whatever meant the most to them. Wide eyes peered from ash-stained faces. Gaping mouths uttered cries of incomprehensible sorrow.
A lone man skulked in the chaos, arms raised against the flames. He spotted the sheriff, and hesitated. The figure petrified momentarily before cupping his hands around his mouth and calling out, “Sheriff! You dead?” (Personally, I like this, along with “Done kilt the sheriff,” below, as it adds to the logic of a simpler time - child-like innocence, especially with the "You dead?" question - very telling...)
The sheriff responded with a dry wheeze, which rewarded him with a sandpapery scraping along the inside of his throat.
The man loomed, walking slowly, his face childlike behind a thatchy beard. “Done kilt the sheriff,” the man breathed. The sheriff recognized him: he was the new banker, come all the way from Bedford.
A pair of men rushed past, dragging armloads of merchandise from the derelict remnants of the general store. The banker offered only a vacant stare at the affront; he was mesmerized by the eternal wall of flames. ('eternal wall of flames' just strikes me as a little over-the-top for the situation) The thieves rushed into an adjacent building – the livery stable – no doubt looking for more to loot. Fresh tears, these of frustration, sprang to life from the sheriff’s eyes. He was losing all he had sworn to protect.
The ground shivered, accompanied by a low, rumbling groan. Within seconds, the roof of the stable imploded, showering the inside with burning planks and hungry fire. The men screamed within, though not for long. (I assume you're meaning to say the men within (the stable) screamed; as written it appears the men are screaming internally.)
“My God,” murmured the banker, but his further commentary was interrupted by a sound like a thunderclap. His head snapped back, and his body tumbled in a heap, inches from the sheriff. A wet hole glistened in the center of his forehead, and his glassy eyes reflected the raging flames.
A flicker of darkness emerged from the chaos. It shimmered and trembled in the heated air, moving with ethereal and savage grace. The darkness solidified as it neared, merging from a formless obscurity to a man-shaped shade. It bore familiarity. (Up to here, I thought this paragraph was the narrator; not the sheriff, until I read the last sentence) His burning lungs were unable to thaw his suddenly frozen heart. (I particularly liked this sentence; well done)
Him.
The shadow form loped forward, a ravenous wolf cornering a wounded hare. The man wore only faded jeans and boots. Muscles bulged amidst the emaciation, trembling beneath skin the color of ink. Mismatched eyes seemed to glow from the dark skin. A revolver dangled in his grasp.
“Sheriff,” the Indigo Man growled.
“You were to hang,” the sheriff rasped, the words crumbling in his ashen throat. He floundered in the smoke and dust. His vacant gun belt offered no solace. He stared with hazy disbelief at the specter before him. “You were to hang.” It was the only thought that seemed capable of escaping him.
“You crossed me,” spat the Indigo Man, his features twisted with rage. “It didn’t have to happen in such a way. You all killed her. You all chose this path.”
He raised the gun. The sheriff stared into the barrel; it depths were limitless and brimming with despair. For the first time in years, his body quaked with fear.
The click of the hammer echoed amidst the roaring fire.
“She killed them boys,” the sheriff croaked. “You’n her both. She was an outlaw.” He trembled before the impending fit of coughs could escape him, and then spasmed with each horrible hack. Blood trickled onto his soot-drenched chin. “Outlaws get hung. Even the pretty ones. You reap what you sow.”
The flames raged behind him, crackling and hissing as they persisted in their feast of all. The moon winked from behind the wall of smoke, small and pale and alone. The sheriff’s eyes closed in silent prayer, and when they reopened, he found that nothing had changed.
“I’ve done many a good thing and many a bad in my time,” intoned the Indigo Man. “I’ve robbed and I’ve killed and I’ve bullied my way to where I am. Truth is, that’s the only way to live in this place. The only difference between us is I don’t wear a star on my chest.”
The sheriff said nothing, and trembled as pale teeth peeked from behind the dark skin.
“Welcome to the reaping,” snarled the Indigo Man; there was a sound like the world splitting apart, and then darkness.
Initial Impression: I really enjoyed this story; and I like your writing style. I think your early paragraphs may be a bit top-heavy in what - to me, anyway - is perhaps termed 'over-done description'. In other words, I think it's important to keep the story moving; to me it seems that early on you became more concerned with clever background than with story. Later on, I think you had a better balance as I didn't feel like the story was taking a back seat to description.
What Stood Out (Favorably): The above criticism aside, you certainly know how to tell a tale - and tell it well. I enjoyed reading it; you had me wanting to see if the sheriff was going to somehow weasel out of certain death or bite the bullet - literally.
Characters: You painted a vivid picture of the sheriff, the banker, and Indigo Man. I could see quite clearly the events as they transpired.
Story: The basic premise: 'evil vs. good in the old west - with the line between the actual good and the actual evil perhaps somewhat blurred - has certainly been done before. However, it was written with the skill that keeps a reader focused on the story regardless of the outcome.'
Background: Very detailed, and as mentioned previously, perhaps to an unnecessary degree, but there was no question about the environment or setting.
Dialog: Told with a western flair; I 'spect it 'peared dang accurate to me.
What might I suggest for improvement? Please know that any criticism(s) are offered in the spirit of helping a fellow writer: I should mention a couple of things about my review of this story:
1) I noticed you have other chapters featuring the Indigo Man; I made it a point to NOT read anything else you'd written as I wanted to give you my thoughts about this standing all on its own; I didn't want other information to perhaps influence me one way or the other.
2) This is important for you to realize: I am often criticized in my own writing for not offering enough information about my characters; I've always been more of a 'story guy' than a 'character guy' - for whatever that's worth. I've really tried to add more about my characters in recent past, and I'm actually starting to like it (a little) but the point is, I tend to be more 'story heavy' than some. I'm not saying it's right - I'm just saying that's me and it's part of my perspective - for better or worse. I'm just throwing that out there should you think I'm a bit wacky.
Best advice I can give: Keep writing. (Duh.) That's far and away the best thing a writer - at any level - can do. Like I said earlier; I like the way you spin a yarn; you have an engaging, enjoyable style. Hope there's something here you find helpful...
Final disclaimer ('Bout time, huh?): I sincerely hope this review has been of some benefit to you. If my review was less-than-flattering, just consider the source. And lastly, if I have succeeded in agitating you to the point of retaliation, I do apologize, but please make note of my address below, visit my port, and "let me have it."
Indelible Ink
indelibleink.writing.com
My review has been submitted for consideration in "Good Deeds Get CASH!" .
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