Opinions on my writing

A while ago I posted a thread asking people to critique part of a story I had written, which is presently 45 pages long. Looking at it again, and from the feedback I got, some of my description, especially environmental description, was a little weak. I've written this short story (below) to practice and flex my descriptive skills, and I want to see what people think. Any feedback, but especially specific criticism, is appreciated. Thanks.


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by Joe Petek

He sat by himself, watching for anything, waiting for nothing. His mind was set on nothing in particular. Instead it wandered like a restless animal, a dog with its nose pressed against the glass, agitated and ready to run. It pined for attention, the bothersome tasks of the day employing a feeble whine. Yet, his body was tired… not an unpleasant tiredness, but one which can come from a good, long swim, or a hike in a quiet place. It was that kind of tiredness that set you soon to sleep, and did not linger in the morning.
He sat in the open air, on the ground. His gaze was not fixed, but lazy, unprovoked by any worrisome sight. The school grounds looked much as they always had, and the few who still remained walked with urgency, bending their heads as the rain came down. None of them came near where he sat, his head laid back against the wall, legs drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around his shins. His eyes fled to the treetops with the slow sureness of an ocean wave, rolling inexplicably up towards the shore of the horizon, until they ran up into the cloudy sky of their own accord. The clouds looked like a quilt wrapped around the sky, protecting him from the bothers of the world. No one could see him, or find him.
He closed his eyes.
The sound of the rain drowned out the sounds in his mind, the sounds which are heard in total silence and come only from within, and which make men nervous. The rain kept falling, washing away the place where he sat like wind blowing away sand to reveal a black stone pathway to nowhere. In the blackness time shrank until it was the size of a drop of rain, echoing on the ground over and over again to eternity. The rain seemed to poke gentle fun at time, while the clouds went so far as to cover and hide the clock that all men see. The clouds, the rain… they seemed like old friends, happy to do mischief for the happiness of their companion.
He was not cold, but pleasantly warm, his cotton sweater holding in the heat. The hood was pulled over his head, making a cushion on the hard wall. It was damp from a mad dash under the open air, when the rain was his oppressor, and the wind his rival. The sweater smelled like only damp cotton can, filling each of his slow, deep breaths with its odor. It reminded him of home, and a fire, and looking out the window at the rain… feeling safe.
But suddenly he yearned for air. His hands rose slowly in the blackness, timid. They pulled the hood off his head, and he leaned forward, breathing deeply. The air was cold enough that he could feel it enter his lungs like a cold drink of water on a summer day… but it tasted better than water.
His eyes opened, slow and reluctant as a man emerging from a dark cave into the light, or a sleeper arising in a cold room from under warm covers. The light poured into his eyes like water from a bucket, the color of the world faded like a child’s watercolor to his newly opening eyes… and yet everything was outlined sharply. The world before had been too colorful; the brightness of it had made colors mix and blend like the lights on a Christmas tree seen from a distance. Now all things were clean, clear, and serene. The trees swayed in the breeze, slowly dancing to the music of the wind, while yellow leaves broke away and flew exuberantly through the air like children running with all their strength out into an open field while their mother called to them in vain exasperation.
The boy stood up with the slowness of one who is very old. Then he stood among the things of the world, the trees, the grass, the buildings, the wind, the rain, the clouds, the sounds of the storm, the smells of a rainy day, and disappeared. He looked into eternity, to where the world ended in a thoughtful silence, then gently smiled. His prayer was finished, and he began walking home.

 

Thanks for the feedback. It seems like with all the similes, people are coming out of the story a little bit. Maybe the similes are too much like angry hammers, assaulting the reader like...

uhhh... yeah .

Seriously, comments have been helpful so far. Thanks.

Sorry that it has no plot, but I didn't really intend it to... just a writing exercise... an experiment.

 

The fact is, I don't think anyone has ever written anything and then looked at it 6 months later and been totally satisfied with it. I haven't touched my sci/fi thing in about a month. I'm going to look at it soon. I might decide to keep writing it, or I may decide to rewrite most of it, or just scrap the whole thing... I'm not sure. But I'm not going to "develop my writing style to my liking" first... I don't think anyone's ever happy with it.