ArsAmatori
Really Experienced
- Joined
- Feb 28, 2011
- Posts
- 154
I am always one to play fair. I can receive abuse as well as dish it out. Here are four "opening paragraphs" designed as rough starters for SRP threads. Just for fun, hack them, slash them, say nasty things about my mother. Or even be nice 
1. Your eyes begin to barely adjust to the rusty pale light but your ears are screaming; the echoes of sudden shrieking metal, desperate gasps, acrid tire howl, clawing tree trunks. The thin sheet-metal walls bow and shudder in the gully breeze. Some sort of tool shed. Someone must have pulled you from the wreckage. Through the cracks you see the base of a tall dark evergreen wood. There are chains on the door.
2. Screams! Banshee wails, icy enough to peel paint, whip and tear across the deck. Wooden paneling shudders and seizes under the constant onslaught of wind. The rental yacht that seemed so impressive earlier plunges and falters across endless angry walls of moon-blackened waves; a nothing splinter lost in a freezing torrent...
3. No roosters crowed that morning, perhaps they had the sense to avoid being too cliche. But everything else fit. The window in your small motel room framed a lush pastoral landscape possibly pilfered from the side of a margarine tub or milk crate. It even smelled faintly of butter; along with hot coffee, slabs of bacon; a quaint little Iowa diner across the lot. This would be your new life, they said, quaint and little and completely anonymous. Folks for a hundred miles around would already be up, arms stretching over their heads, getting their backs ready for work and worshiping the warm golden sunlight. But to you it was was a piercing, probing eye. You slam the curtains closed and melt back onto the thin mattress.
4. It is an irregular thud, a dull reverberation of what may be footsteps on the floor above, like clockwork enfolded in cotton. Or is it just your heartbeat?
Your eyes develop in pale candle light. The single flicker twists and spins, waxing closer, disturbed then easing down to a simple calm glow. Your drugged mind wades through the thick fog. Where are you? You attempt to rub your eyes but find your wrists strapped to wooden planks with thick rolls of fabric.
Breathe... inhale the darkness, the teasing candle light, the musty air. The muted pounding quickens. Just your heart. Right? right?
1. Your eyes begin to barely adjust to the rusty pale light but your ears are screaming; the echoes of sudden shrieking metal, desperate gasps, acrid tire howl, clawing tree trunks. The thin sheet-metal walls bow and shudder in the gully breeze. Some sort of tool shed. Someone must have pulled you from the wreckage. Through the cracks you see the base of a tall dark evergreen wood. There are chains on the door.
2. Screams! Banshee wails, icy enough to peel paint, whip and tear across the deck. Wooden paneling shudders and seizes under the constant onslaught of wind. The rental yacht that seemed so impressive earlier plunges and falters across endless angry walls of moon-blackened waves; a nothing splinter lost in a freezing torrent...
3. No roosters crowed that morning, perhaps they had the sense to avoid being too cliche. But everything else fit. The window in your small motel room framed a lush pastoral landscape possibly pilfered from the side of a margarine tub or milk crate. It even smelled faintly of butter; along with hot coffee, slabs of bacon; a quaint little Iowa diner across the lot. This would be your new life, they said, quaint and little and completely anonymous. Folks for a hundred miles around would already be up, arms stretching over their heads, getting their backs ready for work and worshiping the warm golden sunlight. But to you it was was a piercing, probing eye. You slam the curtains closed and melt back onto the thin mattress.
4. It is an irregular thud, a dull reverberation of what may be footsteps on the floor above, like clockwork enfolded in cotton. Or is it just your heartbeat?
Your eyes develop in pale candle light. The single flicker twists and spins, waxing closer, disturbed then easing down to a simple calm glow. Your drugged mind wades through the thick fog. Where are you? You attempt to rub your eyes but find your wrists strapped to wooden planks with thick rolls of fabric.
Breathe... inhale the darkness, the teasing candle light, the musty air. The muted pounding quickens. Just your heart. Right? right?