The Shoes Blog

It’s not way into the plot yet, just the beginning. Really, i want to know if the characters are well described or ways i can improve?
thx in advance

Fire roared from the middle of our circle. Logs crackled as sticks popped, heated to immensity by the glowing flames as they licked the smoky night air. A low aura of light radiated from the blaze. The heat generated calmed the barely tangible chill. Because this is Florida, and if it’s cold here, then everywhere else must be covered in ice.

Greatly entertained, I stared at the dancing inferno. You know, if you look hard enough at a fire, you can see things. I don’t mean reds and oranges and yellows and blues. No, you see figures and scenes, little movies and pictures. Right now, a phoenix flew, strong and ferocious, into the stars where it burst into hundreds of sparks that gracefully glided down to wet sand and melted away to darkness.

After the spectacle ended, I glanced around at the others who watched the flames. Six driftwood benches arranged in a hexagon around the pit, each sitting one of us. On the log to the right of me, hunched over and mercilessly studying the flicker, sat Justin.

The light from the fire created awful shadows that did a number on his facial features. They blackened and hollowed-out his stormy-grey eyes, pulled his lips tight over his teeth, sharpened his nose and cheekbones, sucked in his cheeks until black holes replaced them; all intensifying the skull-like appearance of his bone structure. Darkness shaded his muscles, adding intense definition to his already intimidating physic. The ruffle of blonde-red hair glowed white. His trademark ‘I’m going to kill you’ scowl still twisted his jaw. Waves of utter hate rolled off him. No monster could compare to the five-eleven fifteen-year-old.

Even though I know Justin, he scares me sometimes. He’s a pent-up ball of rage just waiting to blow up. And when he does explode, you do not want to be anywhere near him. I’ve seen him once when his fury got the best of him. Nearly killed the poor sucker who tried to jack his VW.

I looked away before he could notice I was staring. He doesn’t like people staring at him like he’s a monster. But I have to say, he’s made his own bed.

Tony relaxed in the sand to my left, leaning carelessly against the whitewashed wood. He motionlessly watched the wall of flames, a light smirk on his glorious face. Every muscle in his chiseled body rested; stress had yet to invade. Unlike Justin, shadows heightened his attractive aspects; the smoothness of his face, the vivacity of his big, forest green eyes, the elegance of his disheveled, almond brown hair. At fifteen, he was any girl’s dream, even mine, unfortunately, and he knew it.

Which brings me to his flaw, also known as his ego. It was that size of Texas with the same cockiness. He knew he was gorgeous and used every trick up his sleeve to get what he wanted from you, whether it be money or other favors. When he wasn’t using you for selfish gain, he acted like an ass. He lacks empathy and a conscience, and the little voice that says ‘It’s time to shut up now.’ If you every see him and he’s not talking, buy a lotto ticket.

Tearing my attention from Tony, I rolled my eyes and moved onto the next boy, Jeremy, who sat cross-legged on a broad trunk. His feet busily pushing white into a castle, he stared at the base of the fire. Ticking fingers pried at the chipping bark and flicked the debris into the crosshairs. A toothy grin stretched wide when the pieces popped into little fires.

The dark child with the darkest brown eyes was only seventeen. Everyone looked at him and thought, ‘Hey, this kid can play basketball!’ Well, he can’t. Just because he’s freakishly tall at six-ten and African-American doesn’t mean he’s instantly a NBA All-Star. That’s profiling. And profiling is wrong.

However, Jeremy can run. And, man, is he fast; faster then lightning, I tell ya. You wouldn’t really be able to tell just looking at him on a typical day because of the clothes he wears; loose shirts and baggy pants with his prized Jordan’s. For a kid who can’t dunk to save his life, he loves those black and red basketball shoes. But, when he gets out on the track, there’s nothing that can stop him from setting the tartan on fire.

He has a weird tick, though. His fingers are always moving, even when he sleeps. One time, we tried to stop them from twitching by taping his fingers together. Bad things happened. I really miss that pretty little vase that sat on the table by the front door.

An inaudible giggle escaped my lips as they twisted into a smile from the memory. From Jeremy, my eyes flicked to the tall figured masked by the flames in front of me. However, the glint of silver piercings sparked through the red, indicating the next man’s face. Of course, this had to be Zeke, the oldest of us at nineteen. And being over eighteen meant no parental consent to piercings and tatto

Wow!!! I LOVED it!! Thought it was amazing! You actually managed to keep my attention even though there wasn’t really any action. *thumbs up*

Great writing, very entertaining! Keep up the good work!