ROUND TWO: Stranger Division

[Sensar]

INTRODUCTION

There were four strangers on the train with me.

That, along with the fact that the train was heading south, were the only two things I was certain of. With the sun but a smear stain against a topaz sky, burning through the carriage windows, they were reduced to silhouettes–we all were, shadows of shadows.

[Sensar]

ENTRY #1

There were four strangers on the train with me.

That, along with the fact that the train was heading south, were the only two things I was certain of. With the sun but a smear stain against a topaz sky, burning through the carriage windows, they were reduced to silhouettes—we all were, shadows of shadows.

I had woken up with my cheek squished against the window. In that position I could feel every bump in the tracks, every little vibration. I found peace in the chaos. Travel had always filled me with calm, even on board a plane in a storm or a ramshackle train through the jungle, I always arrived at rest. There was no shorter route to inner stillness than movement.

My sense of time had gone the way of the dodo. How many times had I fallen asleep, begrudgingly awoken, wondered these same things, then slipped back into a pleasant doze? While mildly unsettling, I consoled myself with the words of the Bard, whose dog-eared pages rested open in my lap. A dagger of the mind, a false creation, proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain... Yes, that must have been it. The air, stale to begin with, cycled and recycled over and over again, ad nauseam. It clogged the brain like nothing else.

Someone once told me you weren't supposed to rub your eyes, that it was a bad habit and if you did it enough your eyeballs would fall out. While rationally I understood this was nonsense, I have never failed to think of it when my knuckles meet my eyelids. I pushed the thought from my mind with a chuckle and in doing so, I became acutely aware of the four other passengers in my compartment. I knew them by what they read: Paperback, Newspaper, Hardcover, and Magazine.

At least they had the common courtesy to ignore my outburst, in compliance with the unspoken golden rule of public transportation. Perhaps they hadn't noticed me at all, though that seemed unlikely. I had desecrated our shrine of silence with my laughter, yet they remained defiantly unfazed, emotions hidden behind stoic features and reading material. I could not recall exchanging even a single word with any of them since our journey began. Doubling down on my blasphemy, I decided to change that.

“Um, excuse me,” I paused to clear my throat, unsure of myself. “Would any of you happen to know how much longer it will be until we get there?”

“Get where?” said Paperback, cocking her head to the side and staring at me with tremendously green eyes.

“You know, er, the next stop.”

“Oh, I don't know,” she shrugged, returning to her book as quickly as she had been torn away from it.

“Not long now, I don't think,” Magazine chimed in, checking her watch.

“You said that hours ago,” said Newspaper, “it wasn't true then and it isn't true now.”

“Well, sorry for being an optimist, I guess,” said Magazine.

Hardcover was buzzing with energy, as if about to speak, but he remained silent. In fact, we all returned to silence for several moments, each of us looking down at our print but not really processing the words. There was tension, someone was going to speak, we all knew. But who would break first?

“Excuse me,” it was Newspaper, getting up from his seat and moving towards the compartment door. There was room enough that he didn't actually have to squeeze past anyone, so his remark was based more on principle than anything else. He reached for the handle of the sliding door—his paper tucked under his other arm—and seemed to be having some trouble opening it. He jerked it around a couple of times in silent dignity, doing his best to look like he had wanted it to turn out this way from the start.

“Oh, uh, seems a bit stuck, eh?” he said finally, admitting his defeat. “Maybe it just doesn't like me. Can one of you give it a go? Maybe I'm crazy...”

Hardcover wordlessly rose from his seat, tried the door (it still didn't open), shrugged, and returned to his seat.

“Are you telling me we're trapped in here?” said Magazine.

“Relax,” said Paperback, “at least one of us came prepared.” She got up and began to rummage through the backpack tucked under her seat. “Aha! Here it is.” She was grinning and holding a pry bar. The rest of us stared on in different phases of shock and disbelief.

“Why in God's name do you have a pry bar?” said Newspaper.

“Do they even let you take pry bars on trains?” I wondered.

Paperback shrugged, immune to our negativity.

“It's for professional and emergency use only and I'd say this qualifies as an emergency. What can I say? I always like to come prepared.”

“Professional use? What sort of profession are you in?” said Magazine.

“Oh, don't you worry about that,” said Paperback with a smirk, moving towards the door. “Here, let me.” She wiggled the door open just a crack and wedged the pry bar in. A moment later, the door was open, but our sense of disbelief had not faded in the slightest. “There ya go! No need to thank me.”

“Yes, uh, right. Thanks...” said Newspaper, staring at the blackness of the outside. It was a complete, independent darkness, not merely defined by the absence of light; it looked as if we'd just opened the door to some pocket of empty void. “Huh, now that's a bit odd,” he added, helpfully.

“The lights are probably just off,” I reasoned, “saves power and all that.”

“I've got something for that, too!” Paperback seemed so happy to help. She did a little bit more digging through her backpack and came out with a flashlight. “Here we are.” She clicked it on and pointed it out the door, revealing nothing. The darkness seemed to churn a little, but that was it.

“I don't think that's how trains are supposed to look,” muttered Magazine, “did it look like that before?”

“I don't remember,” I said with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Hardcover looked worried. His eyes were darting back and forth between the window and the door, the sun that never quite set and the beckoning void.

“I can't remember.”

[Sensar]

ENTRY #2

[redacted]

[Sensar]

ENTRY #3

There were four strangers on the train with me.

That, along with the fact that the train was heading south, were the only two things I was certain of. With the sun but a smear stain against a topaz sky, burning through the carriage windows, they were reduced to silhouettes–we all were, shadows of shadows.

“Excuse me.” I looked to my left to see one of the strangers looking at me, the top half of his face hidden by a hood. “I’m not sure you belong here.”

“I’ll say.”

I looked back to my right so I could see the source of this new voice, only to find myself frozen. I was no longer on the train, and it was no longer sunset. Instead I was sitting in a booth of some sort of American fifties style diner and it was broad daylight. Well at least it appeared to be. There was no scenery outside, just utter white as far as the eye could see. There didn’t appear to be anyone else inside the diner, though a jukebox was keeping it from being completely quiet. I frowned to myself, trying to figure out how I had gotten here.

“Like the scenery choice?”

I nearly jumped out of my seat, turning to face the source of this voice. A gray haired, bearded man sat across from me. I was certain that he hadn’t been there before. There was alo something about him that seemed, off to me. Perhaps it was his eyes, they were an almost unnatural steel color, and seemed to glow.

“W-who are you?” I finally ventured, cautiously. I did my best to press myself against the booth seat as best I could, trying to put as much distance between this man and me as I could.

“Call me Morpheus,” he said, a wide, inviting smile on his face. “I’m a Dreamweaver or, perhaps more simply an Angel of Dreams.” I gave this man a blank stare in response. Obviously I had smoked a bit of pot, had one too many glasses of Scotch, or perhaps ate an undercooked bit of meat. It didn’t really matter what, all that mattered was that I was having some sort of lucid dream. ‘Morpheus’, simply continued to smile and cock and eyebrow at me as I thought this.

“Well, obviously you’re dreaming, though I’m afraid it’s not quite as simple as you believe.”

“Of course you know what I’m thinking, you’re just another part of my dream.” I retorted back, trying to think of ways to get myself awake. Maybe if I found a cliff and jumped off, the shock would rock me awake. I went to stand and leave, before I felt a hand grasp mind. I looked to the older man sitting across from me. The smile was gone, and his look had changed to one of seriousness.

“Just stay awhile, and listen.” He said, staring me down with those glowing steel eyes. Sighing, I plopped my butt back down onto the seat.

“Alright, you have my attention.” I pulled my hand from his, and clasped it with my other, maintaining eye contact with the mysterious figment of my imagination. “So, you’re an Angel of Dreams, what exactly do you do?” The warm smile returned, and ‘Morpheus’ leaned back not breaking his gaze. Shit, as far as I could tell he hadn’t blinked once since we started this conversation.

“We’re a sub-branch of the Reapers, the Angels of Death. We deal with near death experiences.” I raised an eyebrow, processing this. If this man dealt with near death experiences, that meant that I must be…

…oh, shit.


“What do you mean near death experiences?” I asked. It was strange, I hadn’t been willing to listen to him before. Something about how he had mentioned near death experiences. If this was all a dream, perhaps this was my mind’s way of coping with the stress of being on the precipice of death. Desperately I tried to remember the moments before the train ride, but nothing came to mind.

“Let me calm you down there kid,” ‘Morpheus’ said, reaching over and placing a hand on my shoulder. “You were in an accident, four car pile up, caused by a drunk driver swerving into your lane. The reason you can’t remember is because you technically were dead for a few minutes. My partner, Osiris, was in the process of ferrying your soul away. He projected the train ride image on you and four other people who died at the same moment you did. Then you settled and I pulled you off of his ferry.”

I only continued to stare at him, taking everything in. As he said it, the memories began to flood back. I had been driving from the hospital. My mother was sick, and my father had picked now of all times to come back into our life, wanting to make amends. What’s more, my mom wanted too, despite how he had walked out on me, her, and my deceased little brother. After a brief argument, I had began driving through the rain back to the hotel I was staying at. I was in a hotel because my girlfriend and I had gotten into a nasty fight, and she had thrown me out. The last thing I remembered was seeing the flash of headlights coming towards me. Then a train, four strangers cloaked in shadow, and the sunset. God, what if he was the real deal? I snapped back to reality, my gaze having moved down to the table as I processed my memories. Returning my attention to Morpheus, I began to think of more questions I could ask. One in particular came to mind.

“Why me?” It was a simple question, but to me it was the only one that mattered at this point. There had to be other near death experiences going on. Why did I matter.

“Technically we’re only supposed to guide you into limbo, where your soul rests until your ultimate fate is decided. I personally like to reach out to wayward souls from time to time, give them my take on the It’s A Wonderful Life treatment.” I glanced around the diner trying, to avoid Morpheus’ gaze. I had a feeling I knew what he meant. But I wasn’t ready to face the truth.

“You know you had more than enough time to swerve out of the way.” He said. I merely gazed out the window, looking at the blank white space. Desperately, I wanted to ignore what he was saying. But I couldn’t; the memories were back now. I had began to swerve out of the way, before stopping, and letting the collision happen. A life without my mother, girlfriend, and with my deadbeat father wanting back into my life after twelve years of absence. I didn’t want that.

Suddenly I could hear sobbing, coming from the table, and I glanced back to gaze at it. My jaw slowly dropped as I looked down at it. Upon the table was an almost lifelike mini-figure of my girlfriend, sitting by a hospital bed in which I was laying, looking incredibly beaten and bruised. She was the source of the sobbing. And, though the tears, I could hear her speaking.

“Please, I’m sorry for what I said, I’m sorry for everything. Please don’t die, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

I sat there, staring at the image, tears forming in my own eyes. We had fought over some foolish nonsense about how I avoided talking about my issues with my dad. Things were said that I knew I didn’t mean. But I feared that she had meant her words. In my peripherals, I saw Morpheus wave his hand, and the image shifted. I was still in the bed, only this time my father was standing at the foot.

“I’m sorry for walking out on you and mom,” his image said, voice remaining even and calm. “I couldn’t say it to your face because of how ashamed I was. I only hope you can hear me now.” I could hear his voice start to crack as he spoke, as the tears welled up more. My own tears began to follow suit, as I looked at this man that I had hated. A man that I wanted to hear out.

“They say mom is getting worse,” my father continued, “I know that will change if you just wake up. What she needs is good news, to know that her baby is okay. Please, I don’t expect forgiveness to come instantly. I just want a chance to try and earn it. I don’t want to leave things this way.”

Another wave of the hand, and the image disappeared. I looked up at Morpheus, barely able to make him out through the mist in my eyes.

“Simply put, you may think you’ve hit rock bottom,” he said. As he spoke, he placed his hand over mine, and I felt myself begin to get warmer. “But in reality you do still have people that care about you, and need you.” The light from outside the diner began to enclose around us. I gazed into his glowing gray eyes one more time, one final question burning in my mind.

“Was this just a dream?” The supposed angel only shook his head at me, his smile growing wider.

“If that is what you want to believe.”

The light enclosed around me, until it was all I could see. Then, it all went dark.

Moments later, my eyes slowly opened. The first thing that hit me was the pain. It wasn’t completely unbearable, but it was still this incredible dull ache that spread across my entire body. First thing I would be doing is requesting that my morphine dosage be increased. I initially struggled to move my neck, but swiftly realized that it was braced. In other words probably not a good idea. Instead I used me eyes and peripherals to glance around the room. Finally, out of the corner of my left side, I could see my girlfriend. She was sitting in a chair with a blanket lain over her. I smiled to myself, glad to see her. Then, to my pleasant surprise, I saw her began to stir, and her eyes open. Finally her bottle green meant my own brilliant blue, with a brief moment of silence passing between us. Finally a smile spread across her lips. Fighting through the pain, I forced myself to speak.

“Sorry I called you a cunt.”

[Sensar]

REVIEWS

Reviews for:
ENTRY #1

Short and sweet. Each character in this, unlike a few I've read so far in this competition, had a reason for being in the scene. There was a sort of nervous energy between the characters and while their interactions weren't the most interesting, I could definitely get an archetype out of each of them, if only barely. My only regret with this reading is that there isn't enough time to flesh out the situation further. It seems like the first chapter of a short novel. Good work!

---

Despite being a comparatively short piece, you really take your time easing us from the introduction to the meat of your story. You help establish a feel for the narrator: who they are, how they think, some backstory, some context. That’s really useful. I also think there’s just some great writing in there. Interesting word choice, creative phrases, good pacing.

The switch to the dialogue was interesting. I’m not a huge fan of your eliminating the shadow element. That seemed like the one defining feature of the introduction, and you kind of just… passed over it. Now the train seems fairly well-lit. He can identify what everyone is reading, even the color of someone’s eyes. What about the fading sun? Shadows of shadows? Later you return to referencing the nearly-set sky. I thought that painted a confusing image. It was a real stumble and it impeded my ability to visualize the scene as much as I’d have liked to. Besides that, perhaps nitpicking, a few technical issues arose with the use of quotes, namely when Newspaper says ‘Excuse me’ and, despite being followed by a comma, a new sentence begins, and later, when the protagonist’s thinking is included in full quotes, which was rather misleading.

Despite being fairly well-written on the whole, especially those small paragraphs before the dialogue kicked in, I walked away feeling mostly unsatisfied. The ending reveals what to us? Four people on a train, reading different types of literature, who are struggling to remember anything, one of whom oddly has a full set of tools? I thought, perhaps, it was a parable about literature, and that the characters were supposed to reflect the types of literature and their tropes, but I can’t find any real reason to think that’s true. Unfortunately, I think it’s just a story without much of a narrative. The conflict is left unresolved, the characters are left undeveloped, and nothing is really gained or lost by anyone. The nature of the whole situation remains essentially unchanged from start to finish.

---

Start: stupidly easy to follow. This was like quick-sand in terms of immersion. I also really liked what you did with the different styles of person and literary item: newspaper, hardback, etc. Clever.

Middle: there was a middle? I missed it.

End: came suddenly. This would make a great opener for a novella or even novel but was it enough for the competition, probably not? I wanted more than this. I wanted some more feeling or suspense or … flesh! There wasn't a great deal of emotion or panic, which, given finding the void, I feel there would have been?

---

So I really liked this but there


That was your story. It was well-written, really interesting, set up a mystery that intrigued me and then you just stopped. This isn't actually a story. This is a well-written excerpt that when presented as a story was really disappointing.

There's not much I saw beyond that. I'm just going to be repeating myself. The writing was strong, there were some excellent, really clever sentences. I loved the naming of the strangers based on what they were reading. They even managed to start feeling distinct in such a short time.

Some of Paperback's actions were a bit too “cute”. Her having every they needed was a little eyebrow raising and disrupted the flow. The closer we got to the end, the less the writing seemed to shine.

But yeah, this just wasn't really a story. I got to the end and felt cheated and disappointed.

---

This story blue balled me. Just when the tension starts to build…it ends! I don’t mind a cliffhanger ending, but there has to be meat to the story or some unexpected twist. Suspense needs to be built up. Just when you start to let the tension creep in, it suddenly ends. I mean it’s unsettling still, but there’s not enough of it to let me linger on it for more than five minutes after its completion.

The characters have potential to. Giving them the names of the books they’re reading is a cool touch, and gives us a false sense of similarity. How can you trust those if you don’t even know their real names? You have a cool dynamic going on. I like this. I want more. I wanted more.

Give me more next time.

---

Ultimately this left me disappointed and I think you expected that. It started out strong and I really loved the identifying the strangers by their reading material; I thought the was clever and the fact that the narrator was reading a fifth type of literature (script) made me hopeful that this was a deliberate choice and was going to lead somewhere.

But then it just sort of fizzled out. My first clue that I was going to end up unsatisfied was when I was told that I should just ignore why the green eyed woman had a prybar. Which I don’t know whether that was more or less cringe-worthy than here conveniently having one in the first place. It’s like you were aware that the story wasn’t going anywhere or making sense by having the characters question it and not even try to explain.

Then the end was… it’s what it was. No rhyme or reason. Like you either ran out of time or just gave up; I’m not sure which, but it’s sad because like I said before, you had a good thing going there for a while.

Reviews for:
ENTRY #2

Not really sure what to say? I mean the backdrop is gorgeously rich, but so terribly vague. Why has the world turned into communes all of a sudden? Has Communism turned into the ultimate form of government and self-governance for some reason? Who are the police? Are they The police or The Police? The society has obviously broken down all over Earth, so the answer is communism. Okay, I can get that. But. There is so much good about the story, but there's also a lot that it looks like it tried to build, but never really got concretely down. The dialogue between characters is extremely well-written and I can see you put love and care into these lines, but the world building was weak. Too vague. Perhaps that was the point, making it a drearily vague and overboding atmosphere, but it feels kind of lifeless. Static in its chaos. Still, it was really, really strong. Good job.

---

I like how seamless your transition from the intro to the story was. It makes it feel like it’s a cohesive part of the whole piece, which is great. The transition from the Soviet Union to the mother is a bit clumsy, and the child’s dialogue is clumsier, but there are also some great little bits of writing. Clever, creative, interesting metaphors. You stumble at times, but you succeed a lot as well. It’s unbelievable that Johan would just go without commenting on someone saying they don’t really know where they’re going on a train – but the descriptions of their interactions are, at the same time, often beautiful. Descriptions of things like how her smile made him feel undressed and the slow building of the physical connection between the two men are just examples of great writing, honestly.

In general, I really admire your character development. Johan and Mikkel feel like unique, substantial characters in and of themselves, and that’s more than I can say about most characters in most stories in the competition thusfar. Johan’s super flavorful. When he starts talking about the terrior and things like that, he just feels truly vivid and captivating and real.

But, again, I do have some critiques. The setting is presented in a slightly confusing way. I appreciate that you don’t just spell it out for us, but the fact that trains are still running and yet apparently phones and all of society are gone seems… a little strange. I wish that was clearer. The transition into Mikkel’s sudden distrust of Johan’s intentions came a little too abruptly. The woman winking and giving a thumb’s up was lame. Mentioning that the city felt too empty in the middle of making it feel warm and inviting was only a detraction. Minor complaints like that. But in the light of some just super well-crafted sentences, which really conveyed so much feeling and realism (the world vanishing beyond arm’s length, or the impossible emptiness when he remembered Johan would be getting off at Berlin, or the way he strives to make ‘Sure’ sound light), I can forgive most of them. It’s just a beautiful little story with memorable characters and quality writing. Three months from now, when someone mentions this story, I’m going to remember the two characters and their dynamic. I can’t say that about most.

---

Start: really flowed together. The starter merged so easily it was hard to see where you started and it finished.

Middle: I'm really curious about this one. The tone and the descriptions are all pretty light but there's this ominous feeling about it … like the mention of not planning for future generations or names for kids. I am not sure the feeling and the story fit which is weird.

End: it felt like such an organic story, if that made sense. I am glad you didn't explain the disaster that was going on – only the effects. It was a great and bold move. You didn't weigh it down with check-lists and other unnecessary stuffs. I'm a bit of a mush for a nice love story moment as well … although maybe a little clichéd. Only one major comment: the writing and style led me to think the 1st person was female, then male, and back and forth. This may have been intentional or just me as I read it but it was strange? On purpose, I am not sure?

---

Heyyyyy a romance.

This was well done, well written, and a nice character build. The cynical side of me wants to scoff and call Johan a naïve idealist (probably is), but at the same time, there is sincerity present. A smidge of happiness that you give us in this crumbling world. And it’s good that this apocalypse isn’t at the forefront, that the doom and gloom is only shown on the fringes. You understand that’s not meant to be the focus, that it’s merely a backdrop. The narrative works because the characters work. It’s a romance, you just have to sell us on the chemistry.

And you succeeded.

---

It’s rare that I find a story that I can’t complain about. If I had to make one criticism I’d say you laid it on a little thick in the middle which I feel like betrayed your ending a bit. I don’t mean so much that it spoiled the surprise, just that the last paragraph was something of a dulled revelation because it was evident about two-thirds of the way through that Johan and Mikkel were becoming more than friends.

Otherwise, it was a really solid, simple story. It didn’t get bogged down in action and intrigue. It didn’t waste my time with laborious metaphors or needless philosophizing; just a simple story about a beautiful thing growing in an ugly world. I’m really pleased with it.

Oh, there were a couple typos.

Reviews for:
ENTRY #3

Despite the almost limiting effect that the prompt had on the length of the story, this one feels right. Just about. I don't know what I like more about this story, the way it goes out of its way to make every character seem human, even the inhuman ones, but also how it seems that it thinks the best of people. It also admits their weaknesses. No other story had a self-critique or warning of self-destructive behavior, let along a character who was actually sad for reasons other than personal ones. There was something almost possessively human about this. I really, really liked it, even if the tone was off at times.

---

I recommend against using ambiguous wording. “Some sort of” and the like break immersion and chip away at the reader’s trust in the writer as someone really painting them a picture. They make it sound like you’re telling us something rather than really showing us what’s happening. Rather than being in “some sort of” American diner, you could have taken a few lines to describe the diner exactly and it would’ve been wonderfully better. We would’ve had a stage set for us. There didn’t “appear to be” anyone else in the diner? Tell us that the diner is barren, and completely quiet, eerily empty, devoid of all life but those two. Isn’t that vastly more interesting? “Perhaps” it was his eyes? Why not be captivated and almost hypnotized by them? Why not make them a defining, powerful thing? Why are his eyes an “almost unnatural” color? Why aren’t they unsettling, unnerving, bizarre, impossible? All of these ambiguous words create a narrative that feels flimsy and has no punch, no bite, no character.

Our protagonist has been pulled into this bizarre world, where he jumped from a train to some ethereal diner in nowhere space, and a strange man named Morpheus has introduced himself as a Dreamweaver. And our protagonist “gave him” a blank stare. And quickly dismisses this whole thing as resulting, maybe, from undercooked meat? Where’s the feeling? Where’s the panic and the confusion? I’d be okay with this being a very unnaturally cool and calm individual, but you don’t paint him that way. Cool and calm isn’t just non-responsive, it’s a characteristic in and of itself. Season him with calmness. Show us him being suave and cocky about this all being a dream, and not taking it seriously. Why does the protagonist want the dream to end? What’s wrong with having fun in a lucid dream? You spend a lot of time telling us, “I thought…” this and that, but don’t tell us the thoughts which are relevant to building and developing an interesting protagonist who acts and feels like a real person would.

The lines where you say things like, “If this was all a dream, perhaps this was my mind’s way of..” – we don’t need any of that. We understand that a character would feel scared that maybe he’s dying the moment you said, “…oh, shit.” Spoonfeeding us the protagonist’s thoughts isn’t necessary. We don’t need to know that anyone “continuing” doing anything, either. That’s never useful. There’s no place for that. Other useless sentences are how the pain “wasn’t completely unbearable” -- we don’t care what it isn’t. Describe the pain. Be vivid about exactly what it is. You take away all of its power when you preface it with something bigger that it’s not. “In other words, probably not a good idea”? What’s ‘in other words’ doing in the middle of narrative? That’s just bad writing. “I used my eyes to glance around the room”? What else would you use? Just describe the room! Don’t tell us that you used your eyes to do it. WE KNOW THAT.

The bulk of the narrative of this story is driven by one character’s explanatory dialogue and another character’s explanatory memories. You just tell us stuff that’s happening outright. Explanations are only interesting when they explain things that we care about. Standing alone, they offer us nothing. They’re dry. Your piece ends up just being ABOUT a story, rather than a story itself.

The ending isn’t clever. I guess it’s trying to be, but it’s not. Is the whole story, like, a joke? Why did I waste my time reading and reviewing a joke?

---

Start: did you just … did you just entirely avoid the starter altogether? Rather risky.

Middle: think I spotted a few grammar errors and at least 1 spelling mistake! Sorry. It all unfortunately felt a little shallow almost? His thought process was too methodical and without the pain you'd expect from a story like this (even when he came round and his first thought was morphine).

End: I don't think this worked. It was a risk but I am not sure it was one that paid off? A nice ending though! Everybody loves a happy ending.

---

So, let's talk about something. This isn't directly related to your story's quality. However, it is related to the competition.

“I looked back to my right so I could see the source of this new voice, only to find myself frozen. I was no longer on the train, and it was no longer sunset.”

Oh, that's cool. Then you're no longer writing for the Arena either. I mean, it's not quite as simple as that, but hopefully you see my point. The whole point of the Arena is to engage with the introductions. Both of your competitors did. What you did was to almost completely ignore it. -Everyone- could pull a fast one and leave the introduction straight away if they wanted to. In Future round, Jim could have sold the beggar a sci fi space opera story and then disappeared while the next 7,000 words was that story. Six Feet could have had Carlos die and then the Cole go off to Mrs the Cole for tea. Witch Train could have had Kagiso wake up and realise it was all a dream before he went to work as a NYC Detective.

You threw the vital ingredients of the introduction out of the window (the train, the sun, the four strangers, the sense of lost) to tell a different story. And I thought that needed to be said.

Right, onto the story.

It had its moments. The use of the father who the protagonist didn't get on with worked well because it brought more than just a “we all miss you” type pleading to the proceedings. But that was only necessary because this is a pretty common story now. I mean, you mention It's a Wonderful Life in your story. But what are you really doing differently to that, or A Christmas Carol? Where's the new edge that make this story worthwhile and original? These are questions you needed to think about before writing.

I think the other problem was the writing was heavily slanted toward exposition. Everyone explained exactly what was going on. It made everything seem quite unrealistic. When confronted with a crazy old man in a diner, would someone really sit back down and go “okay, what do you do then?” Probably not. But it then gave an opportunity to the character to explain exactly what he does. And exposition is fine. It's necessary. But it made up too much of this story.

There were some nice touches, though. Some parts where you showed that you could really craft a decent story. The point where it's stated “you had enough to swerve out of the way” showed that you know how to say a lot with only a few words. That was nicely done.

---

This story takes a harsh U-turn about thirty seconds in. The prompt setting barely makes it past the actual prompt. It’s a bold strategy, and now we’re suddenly talking to Morpheus. Unfortunately, due to the expositional nature of the conversation, it feels like we’ve entered the party just when we got to the climax. As such, it’s really, really difficult to empathize with our protagonist at all. Stories can work with en media res, it’s a tradition in early poetic epics afterall, but often those are long enough to either go back to the beginning, our have us empathize with our characters as we go along, and I don’t think your story is long enough to do that.

It goes into the “It’s a Wonderful Life” Treatment, but the reason that movie works is for the reasons I stated above. It’s very well deep into the movie before the angel even appears, by that time, we’ve basically lived with our character for his entire life. With yours, I just can’t help but feel detached.

---

You lost me at Morpheus…
I read the whole thing, but that was the moment I stopped taking it seriously. Frankly, the whole thing felt dishonest. Like you were trying to capture emotions you’d never experienced, or, at the very least, didn’t try very hard to describe. It was too much without, handled too poorly and wrapped itself up like an episode of sitcom.

“Eveything is broken; I fought with my girlfriend, my dad ran out on me and my mom is sick /sob /wrists” Car smash, “Oh, I nearly died. Tragedy brngs everyone together. My girlfriend is back, my dad wants to reconcile and if I recover, my mom probably will to! This is great!”

Doesn’t work for me, it’s a tired trope .

I think the worst part is that the beginning you were given was –so- open it could have gone literally anywhere and you did this with it. Then punctuating your mega-happy ending with “cunt” just really left a bad taste.