Dead Man Rising

Just an experiment to write with a little more substance and attention to detail. How do you think I did?

               Dead Man Rising

      It was night and it was raining.

      A large lake, dropping out of the sky, pounding dirt and pavement, soaking grass and litter alike. The downpour roared quietly along, lulling those indoors to sleep but drowning anyone caught outside.

      One such soul stood under a street sign, not far from the outskirts of town. He stood, hunched over, as if asleep on his feet, rain pouring off of him in continuous waterfalls. A few cars passed by him, a shinny rust colored Cadillac, a SUV and even, one of the cities finest, a Westgate County, police car but no one payed the man on the sidewalk any mind, or if they did, they still didn't stop to see if he needed help or could use some spare change, or something to eat.

      The man slowly raised his head as a thought occurred to him; “it's raining!”

      Water gushed down his neck collar, drenching his back, his soaked cloths no longer an adequate barrier to the onslaught. His brown hair, of a medium cut, lay about his head like a wet mop, his face, hidden in the running rain behind which gray eyes stared out, puzzled and unsure. He wore a wrinkled, gray suit and tie, with no overcoat to protect it from the rain. His shoes were black and may have been shinny at one point in time but were covered in mud now.

      “How the hell...” He continued his thought, “could it be raining?” He looked within, seeking an answer to this outward puzzle, memories tugged at him, rushed by within his reach and out again. Slowly he began to understand even though it made no sense at all.

He brought the swirling, cascading flow of thoughts to a dead stop by stating their sum out loud to himself and the pouring rain.

        “I'm suppose to be dead.”

     He knew that wasn't quite right because he remembered having his brains splattered all over a brick wall in an alley in a bad neck of the city. He wasn't sure what hit him_a bullet or a blunt object but he remembered dropping lifeless to the brick cobbled alleyway and seeing the lights go out.

Then it all came back to him.

      “I am John Copeland. I'm a private investigator.” He stated in his head, getting reacquainted with himself.

Reviews

[Leon C]

Hey that's good, a meaty start to a story.

You dripped the information in seamlessly so that there was endless exposition.