Greg:
I've just found a short story which I wrote some years ago and I thought "Hey, you could continue writting", but I'm not sure if it's worth. Thus, I decided to let some people read the story and they should tell me afterwards if it's woth, and so I decided to post it here, because there are a lot of people, especially whoch are interested in English and so I'll get more useful answers than anywhere else.
So my question is:
Is it worth to keep on writting, concerning the story (is it interessting enough?)
By the way, please just overlook my mistakes is long long time ago and my English wasn't that good!
Here we go:
Chapter -1-
“Our blind society“
It’s a foggy and rainy November evening in “Driftown”. The wind is blowing through the empty streets and twirling up old newspapers high in the sky. The sky looks very dark and appallingly. The sirens of police cars are howling and interrupt the hectic live of the city for some seconds, but nobody notice it, because everybody is used to hear the strange sounds which signals a criminal activity. Everybody knows about the murders and robbers, the rapists and frauds, but nobody cares about it. Everybody is glade about that he isn’t the sacrifice. There is a very dangerous quarter in the city. Some people name it ‘Cainzone’, because ‘Cain’ was the son of Adam and Eva who murdered his own brother and this quarter is based on criminality. In ‘Cainzone’ there is more criminality than anywhere else on the world. There you find all, what the word ‘criminality’ describes.
The most popular street in ‘Cainzone’ is the ‘13th Avenue’ where you can find all what you want, from biological weapons over children to forged money, if you have the right connections. And the terrifying is that the police can’t do anything, because the criminality groups have their members in every business in ‘Cainzone’.
Only some people are at the ‘13th Avenue’ at this evening. And from a side street of the ‘13th Avenue’ there are coming some strange noises. A moaning sounds out of the dead-end street. A very young voice whispered painfully ‘Help me, I need help’. A young boy is lying on the dirty and wet street und is bending himself under heavy pains. He’s whole body is covered in blood and his clothes are shredded. He is crawling from the dark side street to the ‘13th Avenue’ and a stream of blood is fleeting next to him into a water channel. He is reaching the ‘13th Avenue’ and in the middle of the sidewalk he is breaking down. His bloody face is lying in a puddle of mud and he is breathing very slowly. Some people are going on the sidewalk but nobody is noticing him, or better don’t want notice him.
Ten minutes later a taxi is driving on the road. The taxi driver is noticing the injured boy and he is stopping at the edge of the sidewalk. He is jumping out of his car and is running to the boy. He is rolling the boy on the side and is trying to speak with him. ‘Can you hear me?’ is the taxi driver asking and is clapping the boy at his cheek. He is trying again and is asking ‘Hello, can you hear me? Hey, boy can you hear me?’, but the young boy does not react.
The taxi driver is going back to his taxi and is taking his mobile. He is calling ‘911’ for the ambulance.
Chapter -2-
“The Hospital”
The young boy is lying on a bed in a room which seems to be a room from a hospital. He’s covered from a white bed covering. Medical instruments stand on both sides of his bed which are showing in different ways some information about the boy’s health. The boy’s chest is naked and it’s linked with some cables to the machines. His wounds got cleaned and bandaged. He’s breathing very slowly which a strange noise who could be a sign that the boy has pneumonia.
He’s opening his eyes slowly and is looking, with a tired expression, from the left to the right side of the room. The room looks very sterile and cold, curtains are closed and behind them it’s dark, so it has to be night, is the boy thinking. In front of him is a big mirror which is showing him his expression of desperation. The boy’s trying to sit up, but is breaking down on the bed, because he doesn’t have the energy for standing up. He is putting his bed covering away and can see all the wounds and bruises he has. He can’t believe it, and it’s even more dreadful that he doesn’t know how it happened. He’s trying to remembering it, but can’t still remember what, when and how it happened, he can’t neither remember his age nor his home not even his name. Now he’s feeling very anxiously and alone, he’s just looking up at the ceiling and is trying again to remember something, he’d be lucky even if he could remember his mothers name or just something easier.