Sunday, August 21, 2005

In a Moment, Our Story. But First...

The Prifoner of Zembla has forwarded me this, which recalled to mind a game of many years ago in which contributors were asked to invent opening sentences to nonexistent novels or stories, the sole proviso being that they entice the reader on...

I came up with these before I tired of the game and thought I'd better do some laundry:

The stickiness of the motor oil, along with his lack of trousers, Damon knew, must quickly bring this press conference to a close -- but not before he could tap out in some sort of code his dire warning to the nation.

Lola ruefully began to wonder as the feathers drooped languidly: how could she ever have dreamed that seventeen men would possibly ease that ancient ache in her soul?

As Mrs Dire felt the warmth of the brandy spread across her digits and began to perfunctorily sweep out the chimney, the sudden bounce of a human head across the hearth gave her pause.

A few random palpitations swept the ward, but Dr Botley knew that the drugs would be of limited and highly variable effect, and that, somehow, whether by sheer mischance or by malign intervention, an epidemic of irritable bowel psychosis had been loosed upon the world.

He cried out, but it was too late, and Eugenia was running, running to meet him, her declining vision rendering her oblivious to the mineshaft that separated them.

The orchestra struck up a polka as, onstage, each woman raised her howling infant to her breast, except for the childless Claudia, who fervently prayed it would pass unnoticed that she had brought a weasel instead.

Eleven sneezes later, Sir Sidney realized that his intimate tea with the royal family was hopelessly ruined.