#1
I'll return crits. Thanks a bunch in advance for reading and commenting. I hope to continue this... Oh, can someone tell me how to indent please?


There was nothing darker than the nights in this part of the city, so the story goes. They say the moon refused to shine only on this street. They say all but one star would hide. Every night. Only on this street. It was only a fraction of a street, really. A warehouse, an apartment building, a couple of houses—all abandoned, all left to rot and fall to the ground. No one would watch these buildings collapse. No one would save them either. One by one, each wall would descend. One by one into their slow and painful death. These abandoned buildings slumped under the shadows of two large factories, both sharing the same street. Two giants casting darkness onto the forsaken buildings.
And the nights were quiet also in this part of the city. Every bit of sound that was audible during the busy days at the two factories completely disappeared. There was no drunk stumbling through the fractured street. There was no rat searching through the empty trash cans. There was not even a dim street light forming shadows on the walls. They had all long since burned out. Every man went home to the bright lights of the inner city. And every beast went looking for a better home. Beast and man both vanished from the dark, quiet nights of this street. This part of the city was truly lifeless. Every night, all but one soul would disappear.
He was not much more than a boy. A boy without a name. And, for most, a boy without a face. Only a tale, really. He did have a face, however. He had -as most tell the story- dark brown eyes, deep. Eyes of sorrow. Eyes of tragedies. He had a pale, gaunt face with one or two old and faded scars. This was perhaps the most accurate description of the boy without a name, although some versions of story said that his face had been burned or had been violently stabbed and was now hideous. They also say he never smiled. And that he always looked down. The tales spoke of his voice too. Although there was never an account of someone having spoken to him, they say he had a low, coarse voice. They say he spoke slowly, as if every word tortured him. That he spoke with the wisdom of an old man whose years have weighed down on him, yet he was only a boy. A boy without a name. A boy with so many unspoken tragedies. Never to be revealed.
That’s why the stories never gave him a past. He never had a story; he was just there. They never told of a family. They only told of a boy that had lived about 16 years. The problem was that these buildings had been abandoned for more than 25 years. It was as if this boy without a name was also a boy without an age, cursed by the story tellers to be one age for eternity. And the stories never gave him a reason either. They never said why he was there. Why he never left. Why no one ever saw him or spoke to him. They never said why he was “just there”. They never made an excuse for him. Never justified him. But they did make him real. There was never doubt that the boy without a name did exist (or, at least, had existed).
These stories told of a boy that lived in the darkest part of the city. They told of a boy that refused to leave the place he called home, even if it meant he would be forever alone. They said that he loved the calmness that teemed in between the two factories at night. He loved the absolute solitude that only he could understand. No one else would ever grasp such a notion.
His was a story that would never cease to fascinate listeners. It would even overwhelm some with sadness. Or with questions. Still, there were too many holes in every account. And a few too many fallacies. It was an incomplete tale. It had no beginning. It had no conclusion. And it only had one character. One mysterious character.
This is why, at long last, I, the boy without a name, have decided to tell my story.
#3
I'll return crits. Thanks a bunch in advance for reading and commenting. I hope to continue this... Oh, can someone tell me how to indent please?


There was nothing darker than the nights in this part of the city, so the story goes. They say the moon refused to shine only on this street. - This doesn't feel right.
They say all but one star would hide. Every night. Only on this street. - repitition should add depth and punctuation, but it doesn't to me. and It was only a fraction of a street, really. A warehouse, an apartment building, a couple of houses—all abandoned, all left to rot and fall to the ground. No one would watch these buildings collapse. No one would save them either. One by one, each wall would descend. One by one into their slow and painful death. - Too much description of the buildings desperate state. These abandoned buildings slumped under the shadows of two large factories, both sharing the same street. Two giants casting darkness onto the forsaken buildings. - Nice, if a bit burdensome.
And the nights were quiet also in this part of the city. - This could be re-phrased to be more articulate and flowing. Every bit of sound that was audible during the busy days at the two factories completely disappeared. There was no drunk stumbling through the fractured street. There was no rat searching through the empty trash cans. There was not even a dim street light forming shadows on the walls. They had all long since burned out. - Good stuff here, I liked it a lot. Every man went home to the bright lights of the inner city. And every beast went looking for a better home. Beast and man both vanished from the dark, quiet nights of this street. This part of the city was truly lifeless. Every night, all but one soul would disappear. - Too much, too much.
He was not much more than a boy. A boy without a name. And, for most, a boy without a face. - Wow, great sentence there. Only a tale, really. He did have a face, however. He had -as most tell the story- dark brown eyes, deep. Eyes of sorrow. Eyes of tragedies. He had a pale, gaunt face with one or two old and faded scars. This was perhaps the most accurate description of the boy without a name, although some versions of story said that his face had been burned or had been violently stabbed and was now hideous. They also say he never smiled. And that he always looked down. The tales spoke of his voice too. Although there was never an account of someone having spoken to him, they say he had a low, coarse voice. They say he spoke slowly, as if every word tortured him. - Cool.That he spoke with the wisdom of an old man whose years have weighed down on him, yet he was only a boy. A boy without a name. A boy with so many unspoken tragedies. Never to be revealed.
That’s why the stories never gave him a past. He never had a story; he was just there. They never told of a family. They only told of a boy that had lived about 16 years. The problem was that these buildings had been abandoned for more than 25 years. It was as if this boy without a name was also a boy without an age, cursed by the story tellers to be one age for eternity. And the stories never gave him a reason either. They never said why he was there. Why he never left. Why no one ever saw him or spoke to him. They never said why he was “just there”. They never made an excuse for him. Never justified him. But they did make him real. There was never doubt that the boy without a name did exist (or, at least, had existed). - Too much repitition of "never", but the interesting story continues to entice me to read on.
These stories told of a boy that lived in the darkest part of the city. They told of a boy that refused to leave the place he called home, even if it meant he would be forever alone. They said that he loved the calmness that teemed in between the two factories at night. He loved the absolute solitude that only he could understand. No one else would ever grasp such a notion. - Brilliant philosophy lurking here.
His was a story that would never cease to fascinate listeners. It would even overwhelm some with sadness. Or with questions. Still, there were too many holes in every account. And a few too many fallacies. It was an incomplete tale. It had no beginning. It had no conclusion. And it only had one character. One mysterious character.
This is why, at long last, I, the boy without a name, have decided to tell my story.


The ending, I knew it was going to happen. I knew you were going to say it was you. I say that because you repeated everything so much; the details were immense, and a stranger to you, - someone you dreamed up, knew or even wanted to be - you would not be able to remember and recollect all the collective images and ideas you saw at that particular moment - unless your autistic - and piece them together in this exciting fashion.
Now I don't obviously believe this has actually happened to you, this is obviously - I imagine anyway - an analogy of yourself and your lifestyle and I can totally relate to it, but its just not relatable in the story itself, the character, and you never focus on any personal notations or themes in this until the end, and then its too late. I've already spent almost half an hour reading this, re-reading it and commenting. If you had made it more personal, you know, thrown in a few curve balls to bring it back home and corrected the reader of his/her preconception of what the ending is going to be, then it could of been more of an important moment in my reading of this when I witnessed the ending.
What I would suggest is - Less repeated descriptions - even if they are really good
- One or two little curve balls to help the reader feel more at home and more conducive to the piece.

Other than that, this was excellent, a really good read. Your imagery was top notch and your word choices were brisk and often brutal. A couple of corrections if you feel you want to and this could be that little bit more pristine. But maybe the lack of perfection compliments the idea of disconnection and dirtiness the whole piece eludes to?
This could be absolutely awesome, but its just very good.

I hope you understood that.

Digitally Clean
#4
seems like it could be interesting, depending on where you decide to go with it.
ive got some small stuff i wanted to point out, ill have to come back to this tho, since i dont have time for any kind of a decent crit for something like this.
#5
To AngryGoldfish - I think i do get you. You are right about the lack of perfection complimenting the idea of disconnection and dirtiness the whole piece eludes to. That's exactly the objective, to still be a little confusing. But this cant be an excuse for me not to make this better. So thank you for the crit, because i will continue revising this.

Oh and no its not actually ME. Haha. This is a fictional piece. So, within the story, most of this is true. But it's all made up. And i plan to write on. So the things that werent clear will be revealed. I hope. Haha. But, again, thanks a BUNCH for the comments. I will crit back, if you got anything...


To sjada - Ok then, i can wait. Thanks.
#6
I'll return crits. Thanks a bunch in advance for reading and commenting. I hope to continue this... Oh, can someone tell me how to indent please?


There was nothing darker than the nights in this part of the city, so the story goes. They say the moon refused to shine only on this street. They say all but one star would hide. Every night. Only on this street. i gotta agree with the first guy about the repition here. your trying to hard to make a point of this, but since its your first couple sentences, its already kind of highlighted by its position here It was only a fraction of a street, really. A warehouse, an apartment building, a couple of houses—all abandoned, all left to rot and fall to the ground. No one would watch these buildings collapse. No one would save them either. One by one, each wall would descend. One by one into their slow and painful death. "slow and painful death" seems a bit cliche, not to mention melodramatic. These abandoned buildings slumped under the shadows of two large factories, both sharing the same street. Two giants casting darkness onto the forsaken buildings.
other than the little things i pointed out, this is a pretty solid intro that sets the mood/scene well
And the nights were quiet also in this part of the city. sentence should be rewording. the word "also" throws you off, it sounds like youre adding the night to a list of quiet things instead of quietness to a description of the nights on the street, if that makes any sense. Every bit of sound that was audible during the busy days at the two factories completely disappeared. There was no drunk stumbling through the fractured street. There was no rat searching through the empty trash cans. There was not even a dim street light forming shadows on the walls. They had all long since burned out. Every man went home to the bright lights of the inner city. And every beast went looking for a better home. Beast and man both vanished from the dark, quiet nights of this street. This part of the city was truly lifeless. Every night, all but one soul would disappear.
good paragraph but not a great one. it works for what youre trying to get to.
He was not much more than a boy. A boy without a name. And, for most, a boy without a face. Only a tale, really. He did have a face, however. He had -as most tell the story- dark brown eyes, deep. Eyes of sorrow. Eyes of tragedies. He had a pale, gaunt face with one or two old and faded scars. these few sentences are good, the dramatic urban legend kind of feel that you use to describe the stories works well. This was perhaps the most accurate description of the boy without a name, although some versions of story said that his face had been burned or had been violently stabbed and was now hideous. They also say he never smiled. And that he always looked down. The tales spoke of his voice too. Although there was never an account of someone having spoken to him, they say he had a low, coarse voice. They say he spoke slowly, as if every word tortured him. That he spoke with the wisdom of an old man whose years have weighed down on him, yet he was only a boy. A boy without a name. A boy with so many unspoken tragedies. Never to be revealed.
a couple grammar errors here. i tihnk the lst two sentences are fragments. otherwise this is pretty consisent with the rest of the story so far.
That’s why the stories never gave him a past. He never had a story; he was just there. They never told of a family. They only told of a boy that had lived about 16 years. The problem was that these buildings had been abandoned for more than 25 years. It was as if this boy without a name was also a boy without an age, cursed by the story tellers to be one age for eternity. And the stories never gave him a reason either. They never said why he was there. Why he never left. Why no one ever saw him or spoke to him. They never said why he was “just there”. They never made an excuse for him. Never justified him. But they did make him real. There was never doubt that the boy without a name did exist (or, at least, had existed).
i dont necessarily think there are too many "never"'s, because most of them are used in the same way, adding onto each other. the sentence "why he never left" throws this off and makes it seem like there is just a mess of unrelated "nevers" so if you reworded this it might make it seem more consistant. idk, i might be wrong.
These stories told of a boy that lived in the darkest part of the city. They told of a boy that refused to leave the place he called home, even if it meant he would be forever alone. They said that he loved the calmness that teemed in between the two factories at night. calmness that teamed? im not sure thats the best wording, i cant really get an image of calmness teaming in my head. He loved the absolute solitude that only he could understand. No one else would ever grasp such a notion.
His was a story that would never cease to fascinate listeners. It would even overwhelm some with sadness. Or with questions. Still, there were too many holes in every account. And a few too many fallacies. It was an incomplete tale. It had no beginning. It had no conclusion. And it only had one character. One mysterious character.
This is why, at long last, I, the boy without a name, have decided to tell my story.

nice cliffhanger ending in a way, even if it is a little predictable.
overall this seems pretty solid. the main general problem that i noticed is you seem to repeat yourself a lot, which isnt bad in itself, but at some points you put an unnecesary amount of emphasis on things that didnt need it. if you put a lot of emphasis on every little thing, its the same as not putting emphasis on anything, since it all sounds the same. the one spot where this was probably the most useful was in the descriptions of the stories that people tell about this boy, since thats how people tell those kinds of stories anyway, and if anything, you couldve put more focus on that.
but overall this looks like a good introduction to where ever youre going with this.
if you could return the crit, id appreciate that:
https://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?t=918033
thanks
#8
Like Goldfish said, one could see the "end of the beginning" here a mile off - but it's not the immense details that make it so. "there was", "never was", "they had", "he had" - my friend, it does not pay off to undercut Hans Christian Andersen. Add some fluidity, some true storytelling of the passionate "I wasn't there, but I know these things like the back of my eyeglass lenses" sort. If you're going to surprise someone with the old jump out of the cake trick, do it with some flare, Under Siege-style, if you will. Don't give away so much - after all, you are him and he is you, and you know these dark, forlorn, luminescent streets because they are your home, and you are their lonesome king, as your passage tells me.

Speak to the audience from this kingdom, not from your daydreams.
#9
Ok thank you for the comment. The thing is that this first part i supposed to be vague, because he's not actually telling his story yet. He's telling the story that poeple tell, if that makes sense. He's introducing only what poeple already know. Now he will tell the story. But thank you for taking the time to read and then comment. I appreciate it.