Hi guys!
How is this part of a story I wrote (be honest)
Might be a bit confusing because spacing is messed up and you can’t do italics.
April 4th, 2009
6:15 AM
Ittoqqortoormiit, Greenland, Kingdom of Denmark
Michael Anderson
Michael Anderson sat in dead silence in the back of the old truck, gazing out at the array of colorful houses littered over the rocky ground. In the distance lay the wide expanse of the Arctic Ocean and rolling mountain-like hillsides. Over the water he could see a glorious sunset shedding its light over the sparkling waters.
He hated the sight. He blinked through his oval glasses with near boredom.
From the front seat, the driver looked back at him with a grin.
“Er den hvad jer antaget, bekendt?” He asked, in Danish.
Michael sighed in irritation at the broken silence. “Ja , beklageligvis.”
Insulted, the driver turned back to the wheel. Michael in turn returned to gazing out of the window as the car drove to a dock spreading out over the shoreline. Three cars had already arrived.
The truck slowed to a stop next to them, and Anderson immediately stepped out into the cold. He saw that his driver was collecting his bags for him, and he quickly ran over to him.
“Jeg får mine egne ting, mange tak,” he said through gritted teeth. The man looked annoyed but gave him the bags anyway.
Michael walked down the shoreline to a fellow in a jacket and jeans. He was a Danish man with a dark mustache and an excited expression.
Wondering how the man could stand the cold in clothes like those, Michael reluctantly reached his hand forward to shake, and the man took it immediately
The man looked him up and down. “So, you’re Michael Anderson, I presume?”
“Yeah. What’s yours?”
The man smiled. “I assume you mean my name. I’m Gabriel Flemming. I’ll be your guide during your trip.” He had a strong Danish accent.
He gestured toward the rest of the group, which consisted of a tall, tan-haired man in a thick coat who was shivering uncontrollably, a black-haired European lady with a jacket who seemed completely at home, and a brown-haired Italian who, like the other man, was shivering.
“These are the other winners you will be spending time with for the next week. You’ll want to get to know them well, how do you say it? ASAP, as you’ll be working together and need to gain trust amongst yourselves.”
Though Michael wanted nothing of the sort, and doubted he ever would, he begrudgingly told them his name.
The tall man stepped forward, holding out a thickly gloved hand that was shaking in the cold.
“G’day, Mike. I’m Ethan. Ethan Brett. Great to meet ya, mate.” Michael was surprised to hear Ethan’s confident Australian voice. It didn’t match his current look at all.
The woman raised her hand in greeting. “Morning, Michael. I’m Emily Larson.” She had a strong British accent.
The Italian man said nothing.
After waiting awkwardly for a moment, Gabriel turned toward the rest of the group. “And this,” he said with obvious annoyance, “is Antonio Barrochi.”
He then turned towards the wide expanse of ocean before them, all signs of irritation gone, and stretched his arms dramatically. “Just wait until you see what we have planned for you! The sights you will see will blow-”
He was interrupted when another car drove up. The car door opened and a very fat man practically rolled out of it. He trudged down the road towards them in only a T-shirt and shorts, munching a bag of potato chips. Behind him, his driver struggled to carry the man’s massive duffel bag, and Michael wondered what could possibly be inside. Food, probably.
The man reached out a pudgy, potato chip-covered hand and shook that of the surprised Gabriel.
“Hey, guys!” he said to the group through a full mouth. “I’m Carl. Sorry I’m late. Bad luck, y’know. So where are we off to? Himalayas?” (No one bothered pointing out that those were in Asia.)
Antonio muttered something.
Gabriel, on the other hand, seemed positively overjoyed to finally meet another person as happy (and stupid, thought Michael) as he was. He led everyone to a large motorboat at the dock with De Verdrinkende Dame painted on the side with black paint.
“’The Drowning Lady’?” Emily exclaimed incredulously. “What kind of name for a boat is that?”
Gabriel laughed. “Hey, I didn’t name it.” He jumped up on the deck of the boat, gesturing for them to follow. Everyone did, Michael last. He had to help Carl onto the boat. Carl grinned when this nigh-impossible feat was complete.
“Thanks, man! Can I call you Mike?” he asked hopefully.
“No,” muttered Michael as their bags were loaded on deck. “And get some thicker clothes on, or you’ll freeze.”
“No thanks, Mike. I’m fine.”
Mike swore under his breath with exasperation.
Looking up, he saw that Gabriel had gone to the wheel, grasping it with a firm hand.
“Here we go everyone!” he shouted dramatically. An assistant revved the engine and the De Verdrinkende Dame began to move over
(continuing from end)
the clear, shining waves into the unknown expanse of the Arctic Ocean.
“Wait! We forgot my bag!” Carl shouted ten minutes in.
Michael sighed. It’s gonna be a long week.
