The game was not going as planned.Decent voice, but I am immediately impatient with the way you're withholding information. What violence?
It was a short season, eight games compared to the ten they’d played last year. With only one stadium, the rotation of football, baseball, and soccer was now shared with track and wrestling teams, in hopes that the added variety would quell the worst of the violence.
It had the opposite effect. The feet of thousands of fans stomped, rocking the stadium in the frigid wind. They were hungry, literally, and wanting entertainment, wanting, Alex Winter knew, as he lifted his head and panned the throngs, to kill someone.Ok, some good tension. But still no clue for the reader, dammit. Really? The crowd wants to kill someone? Why??
Long ago they’d changed the scoring system. Alex was six when the meteors plunged to the earth, but days before that chaos he remembered sitting with his brother Garrett, eating popcorn from a ceramic bowl, watching football.That's it. I'm lost, and getting pissed off. What kind of story is this? Where are we? What's going on?
After each touchdown, Alex would count on his fingers, trying to add six points and blurt out the new score before the scoreboard changed. Garrett would punch him if he got it wrong. Their father had just left the family, and their apartment, and minds felt large, liberated from his presence. Watching football with Garrett, Alex could forget the dark figure dragging him from his bed in the middle of the night, forget the terror that had hovered his every thought, forget the piles of papers, garbage, dishes stacked floor to ceiling, hoarded by his father, the telling indication of a sick, sick mind.Grrr. I'm turning the page, but you've got about a paragraph more leeway before I stop reading.