The city’s core hammered to the metronome of pattering rain as the lone skyscraper pulsated within the night sky. Tentatively massaging the nape of his neck, Malcolm’s gaze flickered between the contracts before him, awaiting his endorsement. His fingers echoed a rhythmic tapping on the desk, as his fountain pen hovered above the agreements, lingering over one slightly longer than the other.
Love the metronome idea - great!By signing, both parties consent to constructing residential condominiums to be retailed under the second party’s franchise… totaling in a net profit of sixty million dollars...
I don't think the elipsis adds anything here!The eruption of applause from the enterprise’s shareholders was almost audible as his pen poised above the contract, the ringing approval undeniably expanding his company further. After all, the homeless can look after themselves right? Hesitant, Malcolm withdrew and diverted his gaze to the adjacent contract.
By declaring agreement to the governmental regulations of constructing non-for-profit homeless shelters, the understanding that such housings are public amenities is assumed…
A long-suffering sigh escaped his lips, the potential outrage and plummet in reputation was mirrored by the ferocious thunderstorm outside. The series of enterprise awards glowered at his indecision, imposing an indirect threat by the parasitic stakeholders. Malcolm’s leather chair groaned as he swiveled
swivelled* it towards the wall of window, his reflection confronting him.
You've created this wonderfully calculated experience, I'm enjoying it!***
Dazzling Christmas lights illuminate, blinding Malcolm’s bloodshot eyes as he skims the waterlogged footpath, searching for a drier spot to rest with his rucksack of belongings. The laughter captures his attention as he pauses, recognizing
recognising* his brother’s house. His heart sinks. Their animated euphoria swamps him, immobilizing
immobilising* him as he absorbs the warmth through the window. A few moments of dejection pass, before he trudges onwards, aimless and hopeless. (snubbing the witnessed affection.)
I'm not sure about this last bit - not quite sure what it means?***
A roll of thunder grumbled. The perfect life Malcolm had spent years and years constructing, his comfort, early retirement and stability all possibly sabotaged, not by someone else, but by himself.
The homeless will be fine, I would know, he assured. This last bit here could do with some tweaking - I think even just adding "he assured his colleagues" just so that it makes more sense who it is directed at. The first person narration was a little bizarre, until I read it as though it was being said to someone. So just that little tweak will make things a tiny bit more precise.***
A bellow of thunder erupts. A filth-woven blanket enslaves
I think enslaves is too graphic and intense for this sentence. Malcolm’s frail limbs as the downpour offers his first shower in months. Day after day, his tin can pathetically rattles. A stampede of chills lingers and a devouring hunger gnaws, creating a ceaseless void that tortures Malcolm like an unscratchable itch. His passive façade enable
s the business officials to walk by innocently, their gazes fixated only upon society’s wealth.
“Help…please” he rasps towards the hurricane of suits trampling past him, neither noticing nor caring.
------------
***
The stock market’s turmoil and the controversial media coverage all flashed before Malcolm.
Crazed ex-homeless man throws wealth away, I'd put this in quotation marks. they’ll say. Explosions of thunder detonated near the building as a streak of lightning fractured the night sky. The fear of pandemonium drove his pen back onto the first contract.
***
The consuming black river swirls beneath the bridge, emulating the inking darkness surrounding him. His mind urges him to jump, just a little step more, there’s nothing left for you anyway, it says and slowly, he clambers over, one leg at a time. The traffic continues to thunder behind him as he perches on the edge, the wind whistling through his greasy, month-old beard. Closing his eyes, he leans forward.
Although I'm enjoying reading this a lot - if you need to cut down on words, then the place to do it is in one of these short little passages like this one. The story can go on without it, although it is better with it. So I'd be trying to put these little snippets into other areas. ***
The storm subdued to a gentle murmur of drizzle as Malcolm rummaged his finger through his pompadour, groaning at the papers before him. He supported thousands of employees and families whose salaries depended on his success. The homeless don’t need his help.
***
A hand clasps on his shoulder, steadying him again.
“Please don’t do this.”
He whips around, swollen eyes gazing into comforting hazel ones. A tentative smile wavers on the youthful girls lips, rubbing his shoulders as her parked hatchback exposes the shadows of the merciless torrents below them.
“Everything will be okay. I know a shelter that will help.” The girl lifts Malcolm back over the bridge, his actions entranced by her soothing words.
“In life, you always have two choices, the easy or the hard way. And you’ll always find that what’s right, is never easy. Sometimes, look at things differently.”
Spinning him around, she direct
ed his gaze to the other side of the bridge, where a full moon and constellation of stars explodes across the horizon, the immense brightness spellbinding him.
***
The crack of dawn unexpectedly erupted across the skyline, radiating streams of light into the office. Malcolm’s reflection watched him, gradually morphing, his facial creases receding as a wild, untamed beard sprouted. The hollowness within his past eyes frightened Malcolm, blinking slowly with an expression devoid of purpose.
After all, the homeless can look after themselves, right? His reflection seemed to echo, amused at Malcolm’s astonishment.
“In life, you always have two choices”
Malcolm rolled up his sleeves, pushing aside the desk’s irrelevant contents.
“The easy or the hard way”
Glancing at each contract one last time, Malcolm grabbed his fountain pen, uncapping the lid.
“And you’ll find that what’s right,”
The ghost of his former self hovered towards Malcolm, staring intently before plunging into his present self, galvanizing his revitalized emotions.
“is never easy”
He’d let himself become just another suit in the city, everything he hated on the streets. It needed to end. Gripping his pen, he scrawled his signature across the homeless contract, authorizing
authorising it in an envelope before scrunching the other proposal. Standing, he shoved all his awards off the wall, shattering their glass casing. The true currency of life isn’t measured in money.
“To hell with the shareholders, I’m doing this for me.”
-----------
***
The stark establishment erupted before him. The scaffold was mechanically mounting, the modules slotting in like jigsaws as they each provided an additional layer of complexity and stability. Construction workers scuttled around as though they were laborious honeybees, their fluorescent hardhats functioning as beacons of progress.
“Sir, we’re still at the preliminary stages. It’s not too late to-”
“No. This is the right thing to do.”
The commotion of operational drills, overhead cranes and distant commands swallowed his self-doubt.
***
Young entrepreneur rejects once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to resolve growing population, plummets in net worth.
Incoming economic recession after wasteful and misguided expenditure by our leading enterprise.
Corporate partnerships dismantled over crazed ex-homeless man’s alleged ‘moral awakening’
The above three should be in quotation marks 
The headlines sprawled across his desk, letters of outrage screaming for his attention. The shelter had only been operating for a week and already housed a thousand occupants. Did that mean nothing to them? The piercing jangle of his handset reverberates around the room, relentless with the stream of fuming shareholders demanding revocation.
“I rehabilitated a thousand people, rescued them off the streets and treated them like humans!” He hollered, ripping the handset’s connector chord.
***
Padding stretched across the entirety of the chamber, sheets of white sprawling across each mattress. The orderly rows were disrupted by the occasional banter of the occupants, laughter and light chatter energizing the room. The vagrants convened within small communal groups, organizing
organising* and redistributing their meager belongings as well as amending their physical attributes. A cleanly shaved man with a tainted button-up bustled into one of the groups, excitedly exclaiming and triggering a cheerful uproar. Malcolm watched as they rhythmically chanted, hoisting him on their backs.
“He got it! He got it! He’ll be poor no more! He got it! He got it! He’ll have a meal for sure!” The room echoed, contributing to the clamor.
Spotting Malcolm at the overhang, the crowd cascaded in ebullient applause, with random cries amongst the eruption.
“You sir are the reason why I got my job today!”
“You gave us a second chance when no one else would!”
“Thank you for believing in us!”
Malcolm beamed, tears streaking down his cheek as the gleaming reflection of the community blinded him. Some things money just can’t buy.
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Topic: Free AOS Creative Writing Marking! (Read 286422 times)