rules: list the first lines of the last ten (10) stories you published. look to see any patterns you notice yourself, and see if anyone else notices any. then tag some friends.
tagged by @krayonders 🧡🧡 tyyy
Before Charlotte even opened her eyes she knew things were different. She knew something was off. Her body felt strange. No longer sore, no aches or pains that came and went as the years passed lately.
Winter in Hatchetfield was always quite beautiful. The brush of snow across every lawn, the crunch of the salted sidewalks downtown, the areas that iced over year after year which the locals always knew to avoid lest they slip and fall on their asses. Sure, the cold set in early, but it was never nearly as bitter as the first few months of the year, with the winter fully in swing, the biting wind forcing everyone to bundle up and hurry to keep themselves out of the cold as much as possible.
The Woodwards had decided to go out for their New Year’s celebrations. Normally they’d spend the holiday as a family, but Alice had gone to a friend’s house for a sleepover, and the couple found the atmosphere at home… lacking, for lack of a better word.
They had a dinner date planned. Paul was cooking, and Emma was more than happy to call off work for the evening to spend time with him.
Ted raised his glass and his voice, catching the attention of the table, “Tonight we gather here at the glorious Birdhouse to celebrate the newly divorced Charlotte and her freedom from that bastard who shall not be named. May we never have to see him again.”
Owen Carvour should’ve just been an actor.
Not to say that he wasn’t. One could argue that in his line of work, half of what he does could be considered acting. And, well, he was an actor. He had been trained, he had gone to university, received his degree, and entered into the industry. He had known exactly what he wanted his future to look like from a young age, and he worked for it, and he did it.
His current reality was a different story.
It was a stupid argument, of course it was. It was silly and not at all something to be heated over, but after their increasingly long and stressful days at work, both Bill and Ted were reaching their wits’ ends, and it was no shocker when the two exhausted men found their voices raising.
Their mouths crashed together, hands roaming the moment the door closed. They stumbled across the room and collapsed onto the couch without even breaking from the kiss. They were experts of the craft at this point.
“How did we end up at a potluck without a protein?”
The gang looked around at the containers of food that lined the small kitchen of Paul’s apartment. A colorful bowl of diced fruits sat next to a tray of store-bought cookies. A bowl of pasta salad rested on the counter next to a six pack of beer and a bottle of wine.
The Grass is Greener with You
That’s the last thing she says. Then Sylvia turns her back and runs into the office building, into safety from the cold rain that now pours down as Bill stands still, staring after her.
this is really cool! I’m excited to analyze this especially since it’s been so long since I’ve written the majority of these pieces!
i should start off w dialogue more i think that’s fun and it’s compelling when i do! most of these have a basic set the scene description with poetic language to start out so that could be a fun way to grab attention first!
not gonna tag anyone bc I honestly don’t remember who writes anymore I’m sorry but everyone should do this it’s so cool!!
