I wrote this for the “Writing Prompt Contest #44: Cultivation”, but I don’t have time so it ended right away. You can have a look at it.
A couple of cats watch me with a scornful look like I'm an intruder in their domain. They turn around and scramble up stairs, I lose sight of them in a moment. Only the stench of cat's piss remain.
I've lost count of how many cats I've seen today. They took control of the neighborhood. They were lying on the cars parked outside the post office, watching people from the trees next to the bus stop, and creeping between the black garbage bags outside the supermarket. When I got out with my shopping bag they looked at me again with that scornful look. Damn cats!
I climb the steps, the plastic bag rubs against the scratched wallpaper. Ling Xia live in an old building, with no lift. The stairs are narrow and I prefer to dirty my clothes brushing the wall than helping myself with the handrail: it wobbles.
I heave a sigh and climb the next ramp stair. I hope for Ling Xia to have disturbed me for something serious, otherwise I'm going to shove the baguette I bought for him up his ass.
Truth be told, he is missing from work at the post office for two weeks now. I'm a bit worried.
I grab the wobbling handrail and I give myself time to breathe, with a tissue I wipe myself from the sweat that soaks my neck and forehead. I unbutton my shirt and I resume climbing, fat rolls now bounce free at every step I take. I should have sent Ling Xia to hell the moment I discovered he lived on a fifth floor in a building without lift.
I reach the landing and I push the button to ring the bell of his flat. The door open and from the chink Ling Xia stares at me.
The story is set in Paris (baguette), and follow the story of three people who discover they can cultivate thanks to certain things. A crazy cat lady has powers stroking cats, Ling Xia if he doesn’t wash himself, and our protagonist when he eat junk food.
They’ll fight for survival against an evil green energy corporation which want to use human cultivators as clean energy (literally plugging them to a machine and consume their flesh and bones). Everything for saving the whales!
Now, reading my short story, could you tell the body type of my protagonist?
I didn't find any major fault in your work. Only, the starting description is a bit static. Your heroine sat for the entire time without moving a finger, descriptions are much more vivid when in movement.
Why don't you try this exercise? Shift the focus from the start on your protagonist and write the story from his First Person POV. Start with him doing his job as a waiter at the bar.
I'll give you the first phrase:
I take the empty beer glasses from the table and put them of the tray I hold between my hip and my right arm. I raise the ashtray, nothing below. No tip for the waiter. Stingy bastards.
(Hint #1: the stingy bastards are the three thugs who later will confront the blue haired guy.)
(Hint #2: We are in a cyberpunk setting, so why don't show something cyberpunk? Maybe the three thugs have neon tattoos?)