Need some Advice!

So today I'm going to ask for a little advice. Last week, we were asked to do a piece of writing, and we have to read it out tomorrow. Needless to say, I'm very nervous about this, so I thought I would see what you all think of it. Any constructive criticism you may have is greatly appreciated!
The task was to rewrite an extract from Charles Dickens' biography, about a train crash he was in. We had to 'make it interesting' and move it away from realism.
Here's my rewrite, let me know what you think!

She watched the train meandering through the countryside, the sense of anticipation building inside her. She would never tire of the feelings of excitement she experienced before every incident. After all, the disasters she created inspired her name; Chaos.
She moved further up the track, finally locating the flagman who was supposed to be signalling any trains that came along. She used her powers to confuse him, moving him along the track so that it would be too late when the engineer eventually saw him. Chaos smiled; it was always so easy to manipulate humans.
The excitement swelled within her as the train reached the gap in the line, and all hell broke loose. She had chosen an excellent location for the crash; the scene was beautiful to her. Carriages littered the area; the last few had stopped on the bridge, but others had run right off onto the bank beneath. A couple of carriages were smashed beyond recognition, and the rest upside down on the bank. Chaos smiled with glee; the passengers had begun to scream, and the inhuman sounds of people in pain filled the air.
One of the coaches had fallen partially over the side of the bridge, its rear end resting on the field below. A man was climbing out of the side window, and began helping people out of the carriage. Chaos watched him as he took charge of the situation, impressed by his courage. There was someone like this in every disaster she created, someone who took it upon themselves to help as many people as they could, disregarding their own wellbeing. It was this person that she always chose as her own personal victim.
The man was now running to and fro, helping the injured now that he had helped everyone to escape the carriage. Chaos followed him, waiting for the right moment. Eventually, he returned to the carriage he had come out of. She entered the carriage behind him, and made herself visible, waiting for him to turn around.


Charles Dickens rummaged around the compartment of the train until he found what he was looking for; his manuscript Our Mutual Friend. He held it in his hands, and stood there for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. This was the first time he had been by himself since the accident, and the anguish and shock was beginning to surface. A couple of minutes away from the screaming and chaos were necessary.
When he had finally composed himself he turned, ready to leave the carriage and continue to help as much as he could, but something blocked his way. It seemed to be the body of a woman; her skin was crimson, the colour of blood, and black wings were stretched out behind her, filling the narrow carriage. The figure was skeletal, her bones clearly visible beneath her skin.
He looked up into a pair of soulless eyes with deep black irises. Her black lips were curved into an evil smile, the red skin of the face stretched taut over the bones. The face was dreadful to behold, and as he stepped back in horror the figure vanished, but the image of the terrible features seemed to be burned into his retinas.
The terrible smile that lit up the features of that otherworldly face would haunt him for the rest of his life.


Chaos watched as the man clambered desperately out of the carriage, a satisfied smirk on her face. This was a day he would never forget, for more than one reason.