It’s time of the granddaddy of them all, our sort-of-annual first paragraph challenge! Will your paragraph wow the masses? Do you have the first paragraph to end all first paragraphs?
We shall soon find out.
Let’s get to the good stuff. THE PRIZES!
The ULTIMATE GRAND PRIZE WINNER of the SUFPC will win:
1) The opportunity to have a partial manuscript considered by my utterly fantastic agent, Catherine Drayton of InkWell, whose clients include bestselling authors such as Markus Zusak (The Book Thief), John Flanagan (The Ranger’s Apprentice series) and Becca Fitzpatrick (Hush Hush), among others.
2) A signed advance copy of my novel, JACOB WONDERBAR AND THE COSMIC SPACE KAPOW, which is coming out in May:
3) The pride of knowing your paragraph was like the platonic ideal of first paragraphs it was so awesome.
The FABULOUS RUNNERS UP will receive the satisfaction of knowing that they were among the very best, as well as a query critique from yours truly.
There may also be honorable mentions, where still more satisfaction will be had.
So! Here’s how this works. Please read these rules carefully:
a) This is a for-fun contest. Rules may be adjusted without notice, but this one will always remain: please don’t take the contest overly seriously. This is for fun. Yes, the grand prize is awesome and I would have kidnapped a baby koala bear to have my manuscript considered by Catherine Drayton without so much as a query, but don’t let that detract from the for-funness of the contest. For fun. Seriously.
b) Please post the first paragraph of any work-in-progress in the comments section of THIS POST. Please do not e-mail me your submission. The deadline for entry is THURSDAY 4pm Pacific time, at which point entries will be closed. Finalists will be announced…. sometime after that. (Possibly Friday, possibly the following Monday, possibly the year 2032 but probably not the year 2032). When the finalists are announced you will exercise your democratic rights to vote for a stupendously ultimate winner.
c) Please please check and double-check and triple-check your entry before posting. But if you spot an error after posting: please do not re-post your entry. I go through the entries sequentially and the repeated deja vu repeated deja vu from reading the same entry only slightly different makes my head spin. I’m not worried about typos, nor should you be.
d) You may enter once, once you may enter, and enter once you may. If you post anonymously, make sure you leave your name.
e) Spreading word about the contest is strongly encouraged.
f) I will be sole judge of the finalists. You the people will be the sole judge of the ultimate winner.
g) I am not imposing a word count on the paragraphs. However, a paragraph that is overly long may lose points in the judge’s eyes. Use your own discretion.
h) Please remember that the paragraph needs to be a paragraph, not multiple paragraphs masquerading as one paragraph.
i) You must be at least 14 years old and less than 147 years old to enter. No exceptions.
j) I’m on Twitter! You can find me at @nathanbransford and I may be posting updates about the contest.
That is all.
GOOD LUCK! May the best paragraph win and may it be rather awesome.
tricia says
“There is NO mystery man! Now, stop!” Alex’s laid back demeanor had unravelled over the past week. Even this morning’s jog was proving to be more than her nerves could handle.
“You know you’ll tell me!” Jillian shouted over her shoulder, unaware of Alex’s discomfort. Fortunately for Alex, Jillian’s compulsive need to win derailed the interrogation. She picked up her pace and ran past her sister, Stephanie. Although it was Stephanie’s wedding day, Jillian had no intention of letting her finish first.
Author: T.M. Swanson
Title: "Between the Cheeks"
Genre: Women's Fiction
Word Count: 60,000
Jenn says
“Goody Hastings, we’ve finished in the garden.” Two girls with dirt on their aprons burst into the room, startling the visitors in it.
Lacey turned from the kettle over the fire and sighed. She loved working with these girls, but they worked so much faster than the retirees. It was a little harder to keep them busy. “Come over here and stir the porridge.” The visitors in the room started snapping pictures as Lacey stepped from the fire, wiped her forehead with her apron, and turned to the table.
Nate Wilson says
I wasn’t the first to be stamped. There'd already been three in that very hospital, in the first forty-one minutes of the new year. Within the hour, my brother Lincoln would also join our ranks. Untold others preceded us, beginning first in the Pacific Rim countries and spreading west: thousands upon thousands of newborns all over the world, all marked for death.
Rick Fry says
Jacob anxiously waited for the head shrink to introduce himself, unsure of what to say. This psychiatrist most likely wouldn’t believe him, just as no one else before him. Previous doctors told Jacob he suffered from a schizoid disorder, psychotic episodes mixed with delusions of personal grandeur. Maybe he shouldn't say anything at all. Better to keep silent than to cast one’s perils before highly specialized swine. They said it wasn’t real, that he was hallucinating The Kid. Jacob himself knew it was outrageous to speak of his electrifying visions of a long dead outlaw, to admit that he communed with the spirit of Billy the Kid. This sort of self-disclosure never got him very far, and was the source of great ridicule and loneliness. Yet, even now as he closed his eyes, young Jacob could feel his head swim as the brutal logic others called reality yielded to the memory of The Kid’s angelic presence. It was a revelation that wrapped around his head and kissed his eyes. And even if the experts were correct in their diagnoses, and The Kid stood outside of reality, Jacob was gonna cast his lot with The Kid over reality. His outlaw presence was the one thing he clung to all the way. The Kid was the only one true and fierce enough to pull Jacob through the dull morass of a world gone coward.
From- Hallucinating The Kid
Rick Fry
M.R.Bunderson says
The earsplitting alarm and flashing lights wrenched Cassidy from her sleep. She and her brothers only had three minutes to get out of the house before it exploded. Unless, of course, this was another drill. She rolled her eyes but didn’t pause, she couldn’t afford to—just in case it was the real thing.
Sara says
It was December, four days before our anniversary. Nick arrived on my doorstep, uncharacteristically secretive and mysterious. “I want to talk to you about something,” he said and reached in his pocket. In tandem, my heart leapt and my stomach dropped. He’s going to propose! I thought, electrified. Reflexively, I finger-combed my hair and stared ruefully down at my Sunday-night sweats. Dammit! Why wasn’t I wearing a cuter outfit? Now I’d have a sweatpants-clad, bra-less, make-up-less, less-than-my-most-attractive-self proposal story to tell. I smiled nervously. He took a deep breath and met my eyes. “Sara, I don’t think we should be together anymore.” He opened his hand. It held my key.
Becca says
Sitting in one of the hard plastic chairs in the main office was a surreal experience for Olivia. On either side of her were other students involved in the incident in one way or another. On one side was somebody who had witnessed it firsthand. On the other side was the brother of the victim.
Kay says
That was the simplicity of the plan – Everything would be right in front of a person but only that he chose to see would be visible to him and become his reality. It was easy to make the mistake of believing that humans alone were real. After all, there were no visible signs of other life. Except for that man who crossed the street in the blink of an eye or the sudden phantom touch which left goose bumps all over. Or the dreams that seemed so real that one could never truly be convinced that it was just a dream. The strange pull every human felt towards the stars and everything unknown, the ease with which they accepted that there was something more powerful out there – It was all because there was something out there that resonated with every cell within.
Orion: The Reunion
Chris Blanchard says
Viko watched as waves formed behind the boat. The two hulls that made up the Walker of Winds were 70 feet long, large enough to cause waves that drew dolphins, who jumped and played behind the boat. The dolphins practically flew out of the water, and the ever-present smiles on their faces spread onto his. The joy he got from watching the dolphins rivaled the joy he received from surfing. In fact, part of his excitement at this voyage was the surfing competition happening at the festival. Both the joy and the excitement were inspiring him to compose a new song, which he memorized until he had a chance to write it down.
Jenny says
Time passes slowly for a princess waiting in a tower for true love to rescue her. Particularly when a prince was there, battling the dragon in true heroic style, and all she could do was wait to see whether he would live and take her away, or die, which meant she would have to avoid looking out the windows until the dragon was hungry enough to dispose of his corpse.
Jenny says
The Joint closed at 10:00p.m. and afterward there was cleaning. Kelley didn’t hate the cleaning as much as the other two managers, but she hated it plenty. Still, with the chairs upturned on the tables, the grills turned off, and the register change counted away, the place had an energetic peace about it. Like an amusement park after hours. She took her time running her broom beneath the tables, sliding the plastic straws, grains of salt, and shoe dirt out from their hiding places. She lined the broom up with the tile grout and worked square by square — and tried not to hate her life.
agirlandaboy says
I met Casey the summer my sister Mary came home from the hospital, where they fed her through a tube in her throat and every Wednesday and Friday a nurse plied her limbs to keep the muscles supple. She was born with something I didn't understand at the time, and although it's been many years now, I've still not made the effort to comprehend all that happened to her before she died during the summer she came home to do exactly that. I was thinking only of myself then, and I suppose I still am.
Jamie says
Maddie Mason’s sole birthday wish was that the day slip by unnoticed, but her biological clock wasn’t cooperating. It beat a rhythmic thump, thump, thump that started in her core and echoed up her spine until her head rattled. The soft whir of her network router hummed an irregular melody but she heard the words in it all the same. She imagined the rumbling outside her home office window was Cupid himself, singing the horrible song as if he’d written it just for her : Happy Birthday to you, your life smells like poo, your ovaries are shriveling, and your dating pool is too.
katelyngendelev says
I wrench awake from a nightmare that isn't mine. Ellis reaches for me instinctively, but I flinch at his comfort. Skin on skin is too much to bear right now. I shrug him off, hoping he isn't yet awake enough to be offended. My entire body is trembling, but I control myself enough to slip out of bed and pad quietly to the bathroom. To make too much noise is to risk rousing Ellis fully, and I simply cannot have him near me right now. Not when someone else's anguish still courses through my bloodstream, searing my veins as if injected directly into them. I feel for the metal at the nape of my neck. As if injected directly, indeed.
dan radke says
I can't see a thing. I'm waving my hand in front of my face and I can't see it. Am I blind or is it pitch black? My eyes don't hurt or anything. Can you really go blind from drinking or is that an old wives' tale? Where am I? Am I in a bathtub? Feels like a bathtub. Why does it smell like shit in here? Oh, wonderful, I'm naked. OK. OK. I was working at the bar last night. I got pretty deep into the well whiskey. There was a girl! Way too interested in me for as hot as she was. Did I go home with her? Did we fuck? I… think I'm sitting in my own shit. That would explain the smell. What time is it? Wait. I don't have a headache. I'm not nauseous. My equilibrium's not off. I'm not hungover. Actually, I feel really good. Well then. This just got weird.
Racquel Henry says
Wendy came to the house within an hour of the news. She opened the lock with the key my mother had given her and flung the door wide open. I was sitting on the stairs, on the third to last step, with my head resting against the railing, and my “mommy pillow” pressed up to my chest. The pillow was an old cream colored pillow with orange and yellow flowers scattered all over it. My mother had given it to me when I was born. Now, at 23 years of age, I still don't like to sleep without it. I wasn't crying just yet. I was never any good at it. I needed someone else to start crying first, and then I could proceed.
By: Racquel Henry
From the novel: What's in the Fabric
Queen Mab says
Tatters of light waved through the moth eaten drapes. The air was thick with the smell of decay, like a forgotten chest of blankets that sat rotting in the attic. Taking a tentative step into the house, I paused to let my vision adjust. “This could be really stupid Jo.” The sound of my voice reverberated off the walls.
Ancient Mariner says
Victoria sits on the toilet tightly gripping the small white wand like a candle, in both hands as if to crush out that damnable red line. She looks at it again. Still red. No change and no doubt.
Rick says
Carter Collins turned west off the interstate onto the old road into town. Fuck Thomas Wolfe. A late afternoon sun glared below dark, ominous clouds, and he squinted against it. He drove past chain hotels and strip malls that lined the road where cornfields used to stretch. A faded for-sale sign hung askew on what remained of the old drive-in's giant screen. The Avebury of his youth felt distant and dead as that old theater. And ahead, in some kind of nightmare, his family was reaching out, pulling him back into what he'd avoided his whole adult life. Ohio. The family business. Maybe you can't go home again. Sometimes you have no choice.
S.E. Evans says
Lizzie was never the same after that day, that terrible day in May when her father sliced the heads clean off them pigeons with a hatchet. If someone had asked me, I would of said that it wasn't jealousy or greed or insanity or even the seething hatred she had for Abby that made her do it. No, that ain't what made her do it. It was the pigeons. She did it for her pigeons. But no one asked me and now she got acquitted. Lack of evidence, the jury said. Where's the justice in that? I guess that's just the way the law works. At least here in Fall River.
Anonymous says
I had heard the Garden Green bell before. At the Orendal City University for Men, reasons for its use were manifold. One ring heralded the beginning of a new hour. Two clangs, a call to mealtime. Ten tolls, the welcome of a notable guest or the onset of a special occasion. But I had never heard it like this. Repeated clashing, an unending assault on the bell’s metal face, meant one thing only: alarm.
Allan Petersen
Carmen M. says
The moon’s pale reflection sank beneath the water’s surface. Water ripped as a shadow swam across the river. His image was reflected in the moving water, his eyes were the color of night and his lips held the rapture of cruelty. He crawled towards the land stopping only to catch his breath. The way back didn’t matter to him, he would other win or die fighting this battle that began long ago. His shadow stood at the edge of the river, overlooking the palace in the soft light coming from the drowning moon.
lotusgirl says
The bits of cotton fluff floated light and free on the air currents of the sweltering mill. They taunted Leila with the remembrance of snowy happiness as the fibers clung to her sweat-slick skin, wove themselves into her eyelashes, and slithered down her throat.
S.E. Evans says
Lizzie was never the same after that day, that terrible day in May, when her father sliced the heads clean off them pigeons with a hatchet. If someone had asked me, I would of said that it wasn't jealousy or greed or insanity or even the seething hatred she had for Abby that made her do it. No, that ain't what made her do it. It was the pigeons. She did it for her pigeons. But no one asked me and now she got acquitted. Lack of evidence, the jury said. Where's the justice in that? I guess that's just the way the law works. At least here in Fall River.
Cindy Pavlinac says
I don’t know if anyone will ever receive this transmission. It’s been three solar years since any contact outside the research station. Two years ago today Dana died in my arms. I wrapped her and left her in the cave, as she asked. She made me promise not to burn her like the others. I visit her every day. She sits in her chair, surrounded by the skeletons of the dogs. They face west, over the dry ocean, waiting for the return of the bees.
Anonymous says
Prophecies are meant to be ignored. They are mere forecasts of sorts based on what can be read now. The only certain and constant in any world is change itself. Sometimes change happens by accident and sometimes, it requires calculated effort. Either way, destinies change and prophecies fail.
Smriti
raoul_smriti@rediffmail.com
suzy vitello soulé says
The first time I met The Girlfriend she fawned all over me like I was some sort of organic nut butter. "Liz!" she said, opening her arms wide, wide, wide so her knobby boob nipples pressed into her hemp t-shirt, two emoticons eager to please.
Veronica Barton-Dean says
The infectious lies begin in 1992. However, the realization of this didn’t occur to me until 1999. To be specific it was only months after I learned I was expecting his first child. Omaha was gay. Although, it didn’t surprise me, it did ruin me. The most sadistic part about it…the lies continue and I do nothing about it.
Jordan McCollum says
As a Soviet living in Paris, and a woman, I had three fronts to defend. But the most devastating attack would come from a quarter I'd never anticipated. I would remember everything except for the blast.
Cardiff Sparrow says
From that August my destiny was tangled in Tom’s. Not written in the stars perhaps- certainly into our rosters. Two almost strangers whose lives moved back and forth in the near-perfect synchronisation of pendulums set in motion together. Most mornings, as I arrived at the hospital gates, his auburn hair and suit trousers disappeared into the red-brick building ahead of me. When he was on call, I was on call- our rooms across a landing from one another. Summonsed from the doctor’s sitting room to the same emergencies, our pagers created an electronic cacophony. On several occasions he bought the last portion of curry on the canteen servery as I fumbled in my pockets for change.
Kathy Coats says
Gracie Krutcher had diamond eyes. Not because they were some exotic shape or how they glistened gem-like when she looked at you. She had diamond eyes because they really and truly produced diamonds, like some kind of African mine. Certainly not an everyday occurrence, but when Gracie cried, her tears calcified into hard, shiny rocks that took shape the moment they leaked from her tear ducts. The only logical part was small tears made small diamonds and big tears formed large ones.
Sheila JG says
Frank 25 held the top of his head down with one hand, but that wasn’t going to help. Even bolts on the side of his neck couldn’t keep his head attached when he got frustrated. Mix in a dose of panic and a shot of fear and his head was as good as gone, just like his lab book. Poor Frankie couldn’t find it anywhere, and he had first period Biology with Dr. Frankenhammer, or “Daddy” as he called him (but never to his face.) If he showed up without his lab book, Dr. F might make him “Test Subject of the Day.” Of course, if he showed up without his head, that would be problematic, too.
Tristan says
Across the long oak table lies a progression of disarray, the neat stacks at the far end gradually replaced by messier and messier heaps which, as they near me, have collapsed completely into a formless pile. It’s as good of a description as any of how the day’s research had gone. Is going. I sigh and pick up another book, gagging slightly on the thick scent of leather dust coming from its decaying cover and flip it open with my claw. The title claimed it to be an analysis of pre-accord law, which had elicited a brief moment of hope, but didn’t mention that it was written in the form of a dialogue between a king and his fool. And that the dialogue formed a sequence of sonnets. Which were written (poorly) in some sort of uneven pentameter. Beast’s breath, I’m glad King Jedes died before that practice caught on. I toss it aside, looking out through the tall windows and see the sky dimming. My thoughts turn from apathy to worry as I realize I promised Lord Madrel an answer by morning.
simplelife says
Present Day
San Francisco, California
Stretched out on the car seat, I thanked God for the millionth time. The Hybrid was nowhere as cool as the Jeep that I so wanted to buy, but at least its roof kept the scorching sun out. Forget the Hybrid; I would have taken any jalopy with a promise of shade. It was a hot 105 F outside; the experts were blaming global warming for the freaky weather. I like the outdoors and the sun. Just not when parked in the middle of a concrete parking lot on my day off when all I wanted to do was sleep. Of course it’s reasonable to presume that I was not in a good mood. If it wasn’t for Kausar, my best friend, I would have been sweating buckets by now. She could always be depended on to make things bearable. The comfortable and cool 77 F inside the car with the ignition turned off was all her doing. Her calm and easy nature had helped her perfect the art of balancing the elements. Maintaining the temperature in the Hybrid was something she could do in her sleep.
– Shif
YA/Urban Fantasy
Bethany Brengan says
At seven years old, Liam raised the dead for the first time. Ever since, even the vaguest hint of a miracle made him feel asthmatic and trapped.
HMD: Her Mother's Dot says
It’s like a shot out of a movie. I know it looks like one of those pre-suicide, semi-porn shots: me, naked, legs crisscrossed to be able to fit into this ordinary sized bathtub, breasts only partially submerged so they appear floating (maybe they are). Long hair splayed out from behind my head, floating like a spreading maize colored dye. Dark fingernail and toe polish against winter pale skin. Tears are otherwise unnoticeable on already moist skin, except for trails of black mascara being pulled into the water. My ears are submerged, which of course is the point of this whole ridiculous pose. I am craving silence. I need to make a plan.
Makayla says
Early morning fog misted the window panes. The sun wasn't even trying to show its face- only harsh white dusted the horizon. A mild chill settled upon the earth. Through thin walls, the cold permeated the dreary apartment. Jeremy watched the wall. He'd been awake for a while now, but couldn't bring himself up. Sleep clung to his conciseness, and faint memories of his dream floated through his thoughts.
The alarm startled him. Its harsh shrieking greeted him every morning. It flashed '7:00'. He threw the sheets off of him, not bothering to make the bed. Heaving himself onto his feet, he tried to muster the energy to face the day. He stared at himself in the mirror. Groggy as he was, he recognized how unkempt he was. The man tussled with his copper hair; attempting to make himself presentable. He needed a shave.
Kim says
The day the king sold the world and his son with it for a fine pie was the day Mama discovered my curse. She was sweeping the floor boards, beating out a swishy, scratchy tune. My rag doll and I danced, basking in Mama’s smile and the dim, dusty sunbeams. But when she paused her sweeping, her smile ceased and she stood rigid, listening. Though I’d seen only five summers, I knew the sound of slurred profanities and clumsy footsteps meant I was no longer welcome. “Quick now, Rue,” Mama whispered, as I slipped up into the loft and shut myself in a cupboard, where I held my breath and listened to Papa fumbling with the latch.
Danielle Rose says
They used to come to me all the time… While my friends were playing house or playing soccer, I danced with water sprites and played with the boy who lived in hemlock near our front door. On warm spring days, I’d fall asleep in the arms of a wise old cherry tree, the breeze gusting in my hair. I never understood mankind’s obsession with a logical, rational world. What I did understand were games in the trees, the scent of the wind before a rain, my fingers buried in dirt. But all childhoods must come to an end. Even mine.
William says
There were thirty-two rats in Vensin's cell. Of those, thirteen were black, seven were white, and twelve were dirt brown. Nine were female, and twenty-three were male. Seven were pregnant. Two had missing eyes. Eleven were good, and twenty-two were evil. Thirty-one were watching him from the barred shadows of the prison. And one, he realized as the sleep drained from his body, was sitting atop his chest.
Angie says
September 1938
Ruth Loewe organizes books on the shelves nearest the office in her father's bookshop. Normally she enjoys the quiet opening hours in the antique bookstore, Loewe's Books, which sits below her family's apartment on a bustling street in Josefov, Prague's Jewish Quarter. Ruth inherited her love of books from her father Aron; they've spent countless hours in the shop discussing literature and history. However, he's been distant lately. While she works, her father sits in the back office drinking coffee and talking with a friend, excluding her. It's always like this now–the adults whispering away from the ears of the children, sudden silence whenever Ruth or her brother enters a room. Ever since Germany occupied Austria six months ago things have changed.
Kathleen T. Jaeger says
Stupid wipers. I can’t see where I’m going. They actually smear the bugs onto the windshield, making it impossible to see. The rain pounds. The wipers squeak. And yet, I can hear the swoosh of the passing cars better than I can see them. The bright headlights blind my vision, reminding me of that dreaded night.
JohnO says
Chandra stood waiting for the concert, trying to ignore all the red flags. First, every alt-weekly in Los Angeles wanted to have the band’s children, a sure sign they were over-hyped. Second, the club was full of drunken kids from Greek Row shouting and texting each other—the Pabst drinkers of music, she thought. Third, when the lead singer shambled on stage, he looked doped on cough syrup, or something out of a bong. Still, there was hope. Maybe they were introverts who could only express their genius through music. Maybe their music would transport her to a better place, one that didn’t smell like the crowd (too much melon body spray, not enough deodorant). After all, this was why she scouted bands, to find the few rough-cut gems. But as the band’s first notes thundered through the room, her hope succumbed to an assault of power chords, a noise so punishing her phone went off like a car alarm in her pants.
Rick Sand says
Irving Davies always wished to be a superhero on grand adventures, a role he wasn't quite cut out for. Irving was, in brutal honesty, the physical equivalent to a feather: light, thin, and brittle. His personality earned him the not-so-prestigious titles of “dork,” “loser,” and “dweeb,” none of which made for strong superhero identities. “Dork Boy” didn't exactly command respect or adoration. So Irving took to the next best thing: staring at a wall. Not just any wall, of course: thee wall, infamously towering twenty feet tall around a full city block, locking away a dense segment of forest only urban legend dared explain.
Anonymous says
The tall redhead reached behind herself and extracted the offensive fur ball from her butt crack. She picked her teeth with it, and grinned. She referred to herself as Daisy May, though she usually wouldn't. She handed the elephant trainer a hundred dollar bill she owed him. Fresh, and crisp from her stiletto long, purple painted nails. The bill was obscenely counterfeit. As good as any the government printed these days. She referred to it as Monopoly Money. She burped. A real beauty. Really. And headed back to the pie eating contest with the rest of the lamas.
Rudolph says
Other than torn hands and an absent sword, my brother seemed unchanged from his night in the forest. When asked what happened, an odd smile flickered about the corners of his mouth, a private one, as if he were laughing at something I didn’t understand–and he said nothing. Now he never says anything. It is a tremendous relief to me, not his silence, but that he is still alive. Tonight I go into the Forest of Brigh.
DL Bernal says
Devan bolted upright as screams echoed in her head. Darkness surrounded her, disoriented her, then she remembered. She wasn’t in California anymore, or even the United States. She and her Irish companion, Christian, were in Loughcrew, Ireland, at the compound of the Tuatha Dragon Clan. Whisked there by a dragon and its rider, yesterday. Even with Christian’s dreams of dragons, she hadn’t believed the mythical creatures existed until their previous day’s encounter.
Vivi Stutz, Transformations Personal Training says
It wasn’t a smooth ride home. One moment Mia defended her age against Alex’ assertion of the impending end of her career, “Might as well deal with it now, baby,” he said, then the rain and speed and Alex’ rough handling of the sensitive power steering came together in a near fatal mistake. A narrow bend in the flooded canyon road. Alex lost control. A moment later, the car spun around, skidding frightfully fast toward the steep overhang. Somebody screamed; probably Mia, but she had no recollection of giving in to the impulse. The fog clothed Malibu Canyon appeared in the car’s front window; grand and breathtaking in its rugged wilderness, descending deep into lush greens below. Like a bed of moos, Mia thought with a strange detachment, as if watching the scene from afar. Her heart thumped loudly in her ears. As the overhang inched closer, she wondered for a moment if she could fly. If she imagined the fall as a deliberate free falling jump, maybe it wouldn’t hurt.
Jennifer says
Flames seethe in the night sky, engulfing the forest to the west of the farm. Smoke billows, filling the air with its sooty denseness. Natalie stands in her bucket line up in the cornfield in her pajamas and an old grey sweater. She takes the bucket from the person closest to her, sloshes it on the flames at the edge of the field, and hands the bucket back. It’s still early, well before dawn. Natalie had been in bed, huddled against one of the barn cats that she had snuck into the farmhouse, listening to the thunder and praying, as lightning fractured the sky and bit into the tinder-dry bull pine forest around the farm. Then came the crack, the shouts and the call, and the outpouring of farm members from their rooms and cabins.
Soup says
Sooner or later they’re going to notice that the fruit’s been disappearing. Someone’s going to pause in front of those baskets and think, I could have sworn there was a lot more red and yellow in here yesterday. And then they might look up and go, why is that kid in the army jacket here again. Said kid is back to grab his daily portion of four apples and four bananas actually. I tried taking more, but the thing is I have to evenly space them out under my jacket, else I either look like I have man boobs or badly-strapped grenades.