Snippets

[slyc_willie]

I thought this might be a fun little way for us all to share little bits of our writing. The rules are simple:

1. Post a line or small parcel (say, two to three lines at most) from something you're currently writing, or, failing that, something you've recently written.

2. Don't explain the background, the nature of the story, or anything leading up to the line. Indicating that it's the opening line or last line of a story is fine, however. Just put it out there. If anyone asks about it, feel free to expound in subsequent posts.

3. No bashing.

I'll start with the next post.

 

[slyc_willie]

The opening paragraph to a work in progress:

Cherry blossoms fluttered in the air like fragments of the radiant sun overhead, drifting down toward the lush green grass covering the graves of the family cemetery. It was an appropriately beautiful day as Dash would have wanted for a funeral, especially one for as effulgent a person as his mother.

 

[sr71plt]

From War Story, launching as an e-book tomorrow or the next day, under the pen name of habu:

After his grandfather’s death—ironically from lung cancer contracted by chain smoking the same cigar brand once held by what Hal thought of as The General’s secret box—Hal’s father had quickly packed up all of the memorabilia and sent it off to The General’s regimental museum, the 157th regiment of the Thunderbird Division, the 45th infantry.

For years Hal had kept thinking about the box and wishing he’d had the courage to open it to see what was inside when he was a child. When his own father died, Hal was surprised to find the box—the same one; he’d memorized every torn scrap on its sides and top—tucked away in his dad’s attic along with other things Hal knew were very private to his father.

The rubber bands no longer were on the box. Now it was closed with thick string. His father must have opened the box and seen what was inside. He must have read the few notes that Hal himself had eventually found inside, crudely penciled on yellowed paper and secured with a black ribbon.

And when Hal read those notes, he was glad he hadn’t read them until now, when he’d been through his own struggles with reality, and he knew why both his grandfather and his father had kept them secret—and, most of all, why his father hadn’t sent them off to the regimental museum with everything else.

 

[slyc_willie]

Some compelling imagery there, SR. A bit longer than 2-3 lines, but oh, well.

 

[Handley_Page]

Prov. Title: The Statue

The big angel, which he had admired every time he passed it, was missing. Even in this part, resembling a weed-strewn wild garden, the Angel had stood out like a lighthouse. He’d almost got to the point of saying ‘hello’ to her as he rounded that corner. She had looked as if she really was on guard but she was beautifully carved, especially the face. To be honest, he thought she was gorgeous. The woman who’d been the inspiration must have been a spectacular beauty even by today’s standards.

 

[RejectReality]

He jerked his manhood away so quickly that it made a pop as it slipped from her lips. The sound he made was what she imagined a death gurgle would sound like, and he fell away as if sliding off a sword in his belly. A powerful aftershock tore through her as he sat down hard, and then flopped onto his back.

Though twinges of pain were reasserting themselves as her orgasm waned, Christi smiled. He looked every inch the defeated enemy, twitching and groaning on the bed.

 

[sr71plt]

Well, OK, some from what I was writing just an hour ago:

I was looking over at Fazil, who was sitting in the tub chair, his brandy snifter and cigar now on the table beside him, and languidly working his cock with one hand and running his other hand through the matting of his chest hair, living vicariously, it occurred to me, what I was doing to his nephew on the bed. And I was also looking out at the magnificent view from the glass cube, the setting sensual and arousing in its own right. It made me feel like I was floating on the clouds between the purple Kyrenia mountains and the dark blue Mediterranean Sea.

(Damn. Still not two or three lines.)

OK, so, maybe something shorter from what I just sent back to the publisher for publishing in a few weeks, habu's Journey Through Abilene.

There was that roof over his head, such as it was--a roof that got raised three times a week by Fred preaching a rousing fire and damnation sermon down in his living room while he had a piece of tail lying on his bed upstairs.

 

[sr71plt]

Or maybe a line from the story I'll be submitting to Lit. next week, "Fort Bent."

"Just like St. Louis," Jacques muttered. "You were the best lay then. Still are. Well worth the trip across Apache land."

 

[slyc_willie]

Prov. Title: The Statue

The big angel, which he had admired every time he passed it, was missing. Even in this part, resembling a weed-strewn wild garden, the Angel had stood out like a lighthouse. He’d almost got to the point of saying ‘hello’ to her as he rounded that corner. She had looked as if she really was on guard but she was beautifully carved, especially the face. To be honest, he thought she was gorgeous. The woman who’d been the inspiration must have been a spectacular beauty even by today’s standards.

If not for the first sentence, this would have struck me as an abstract, maybe a metaphor that would be expanded on down the line. But with that first line, I'm thinking the story has some kind of supernatural edge to it.

He jerked his manhood away so quickly that it made a pop as it slipped from her lips. The sound he made was what she imagined a death gurgle would sound like, and he fell away as if sliding off a sword in his belly. A powerful aftershock tore through her as he sat down hard, and then flopped onto his back.

Though twinges of pain were reasserting themselves as her orgasm waned, Christi smiled. He looked every inch the defeated enemy, twitching and groaning on the bed.

That just made me wince. I'm sure that's what you were going for.

There was that roof over his head, such as it was--a roof that got raised three times a week by Fred preaching a rousing fire and damnation sermon down in his living room while he had a piece of tail lying on his bed upstairs.

Now this gives me a cynical smile. I'm also glad I'm not the only one who stretches out a sentence (but I already knew that about your writing).

 

[Aynmair]

Opening paragraph of a story I'm working on, whose title will be something like "Penitently His"

The nipple, standing dark pink underneath the black gauze shift, begged to be suckled. Marjorie hoped the picture of it turned him on at least a little. She bit her lip as she pushed “send” on her phone and listened to the electronic whoosh of the file. Then she looked down at her actual nipple standing up on her pale breast. She pulled the shift up, leaned forward and, pulling the breast towards her mouth, flicked her tongue across the top, barely brushing the nub.

 

[Gunnlaug]

I'm quite pleased with my narrator's put-down of a secondary antagonist;

Arthur pulled back and then pushed himself forward again, and once more Poppy cried out as Arthur groaned. Greedy again, he was already close to coming, wasting his chance just to bolster his ridiculous ego. Instead of playing the violin he was smashing rocks together, convinced he was composing a concerto. I determined at that moment that Project Arthur was going to take a turn for the worse; for him, of course.

 

[sheablue]

Ok, I'll play. It's more than a snippet, though, Slyc. Sorry!

Jason: Oh man, but do you know who really was the greatest driver I ever saw, living or dead?

Jax: Dead?

Jason: (talking over him) God, there was this young guy, he only drove for a season, and then kind of disappeared. He couldn’t have been more than 16, 17 years old, but he was amazing. He could handle a car like nothing I’ve ever seen. I think he had been on the Rally circuit before. What was his name? Sebastian something? You remember that guy? That kid? Never gave interviews, you hardly even saw him without his helmet on...I wonder what happened to him....maybe the pressure....what?

Jax is giving Jason a strange look, meanwhile, Ursula and Micah come walking through the tall grass. Ursula stops in front of Jason.

Ursula: It wasn’t the pressure, I just got bored.

She walks away from Jason, leaps a fence with ease and disappears into the shadows of the withered apple orchard.

Jason, mouth hanging open: Awww ... no way. She’s fucking with me, right? Jax? Tell me she’s fucking with me.

Jax non-commitally shrugs his shoulders.

Jason (in a loud whisper): I know you’re fucking with me Ursula!

To Jax: She’s fucking with me, right?

Jax just smirks.

Micah: So do you want to know what we found, or do we want to stand around discussing the fantasies of a bitter 16-year-old?

Jax: 516 year old ... maybe ...

 

[JAMESBJOHNSON]

A brisk night breeze fluttered and stirred the curtains hung over the windows. Pinky's eyes opened and adjusted to the dark quickly, because the room was bathed in the light of a full Moon that laid strange fluid silhouettes about the bedroom as it passed through the undulating lace. Pinky sat up in the bed, waiting for the voice to speak again, but only heard a dog barking outside, far away.

 

[lovecraft68]

Lit's misogynsts beware

“Your cock is twitching, Fenric” Justine pointed out as she slowly ran her fingers along the length of his shaft. “Just from the touch of my hand, are you a man or an eager little boy?”

“I…please Justine,” He moaned, “P…please let, me…ow!”

He cried out when Justine slapped his cock with the palm of her hand.

“Justine? Since when are we on a first name basis?” Grabbing his balls she gave them a slight squeeze that normally wouldn’t have brought any discomfort, but with with the stainless steel cock ring clamped behind them they were swollen purple and tender to the touch.

“S..sorry Scarlett, I…”

His words were cut off by Justine placing her hand over his mouth.

“Shouldn’t there should be another word in front of my name?”

Fenric moaned against her hand and nodded, releasing his mouth she said, “Try again and tell me why you’re whining like a little girl every time I touch you.”

“Mistress Scarlett, please let me cum, please!”

 

[RejectReality]

That just made me wince. I'm sure that's what you were going for.

Takes on a completely different feel outside the context of the story and especially the main character

 

[BSBorgess]

I just kept thinking about how Natalie’s pussy would taste and I couldn’t stop playing with myself; I
dressed in my best black lace garter and stockings and amused myself until she got there. I sat on a
comfy chair and spread my legs wide; my throbbing snatch just couldn’t get enough today.

 

[Hypoxia]

Hmmm, I don't want to give away my latest story, so here's the opening of one that will never be accepted here, Like A Hole In The Head, about a woman's brain-damage fetish.

"I aimed the power drill at my forehead and pulled the trigger. The motor spun up to speed like a solid dust-devil. My future stared into my face. Would I? Could I?"

But that's not a work-in-progress. Here's a context-free snippet from something that I MIGHT finish someday.

"Meanwhile, we adults had the afternoon and evening to ourselves. Not a lot of privacy in this suburban tract. The homeowners association does not allow tall fences. No skinny-dipping till after dark and even then, having to always keep a wary eye out on the other neighbors. Damned prudes.

So we passed the time prudently, lounging and joking and flirting, getting a bit drunk, bullshitting, sketching out plans and fantasies. Ted and I are plotting our excursion. I am not sure what the ladies are planning, other than riding along, and looking pretty, and sniping at each other whenever opportunity arose. Just the usual."

 

[MSTarot]

To begin with you need to know one thing. I won’t take a hand out, not from anyone.

I also won’t beg.

I will be a near starved to death skeleton living in a gutter before I would beg a dollar to buy food.

Now knowing this, do you find it at all strange that I’m sitting in the grass in front of a wedding chapel picking up grains of rice?

Grain by grain, handful by handful, I gather up my dinner.


Inspired by a scene in the movie Seven Samurai, where the farmer's rice has been stolen and he's sitting there picking up the spilled rice gain by grain.

 

[patientlee]

A work in progress. Characters aren't named yet. Smack-dab in the middle of the story.

Man 1: Hidden messages in the stationery? Are you fuckin' kidding me?

Woman: You haven't even seen--

Man 1: No one will see it. No one. OK. Maybe chicks will go see it. No guy is gonna go, even if his date promises him a blowjob on the way home. Am I right?

Man 2: Well, there are easier ways of getting a blowjob.

Man 1: Like buying jewelry, which reminds me. I need to pick up some earrings on the way home. OK. OK. Let's change the subject for a minute. I'm glad you brought your tits in today.

 

[_Lynn_]

A novel in progress . . .

Tommy Kutcher could count his sexual experiences on one hand. In high school, even the least popular girls ignored him. He lost his virginity to a hooker who tripled her fee when she saw his underdeveloped penis. None of that mattered as Melanie opened his zipper and touched him.

 

[oggbashan]

Start of The Valkyries...

“Who the fuck are you?”

I had woken up in what I knew to be my deathbed to find myself surrounded by attractive young ladies wearing bronze armour and carrying spears.

“Fuck?” one of them asked. “We don’t normally do that. An interesting idea”.

“Who are you? Why…?”

“I should have thought that was obvious, Eric. We are the Valkyries. We have come to take you to Valhalla to join the other heroes.”

Was I delirious? Me, a hero destined for Valhalla? These women must be a sick joke by some of my family.

“No, Eric, we’re not a joke. We are the real Valkyries. Can human women do this?”

Suddenly all of them were mounted on war horses. How? There was no room around my bed for a single horse, let alone a large number.

“OK, OK. I believe you. You are the Valkyries. But why me? I’m not a hero.”

“You are Eric Smith?”

I nodded.

“You fought in the Second World War?”

I nodded again.

“You won the Victoria Cross, Britain’s premier award for bravery?”

“No. I didn’t. The Victoria Cross was won by another Eric Smith. He was a distant relation. His award was posthumous so you must have taken him decades ago.”

“Shit! Loki must be playing games again. He mucks up Valhalla’s record keeping whenever he can. Let’s see if we can sort it out. You were in World War 2?”

...

 

[October46]

In my wildest dreams I never thought my mother in law would ever give thought to my feelings for her.

That day, she collapsed on the bed in bewilderment of what had just happened. She had never experience oral sex in her entire 57 years of life and as she lay there gasping for air she said, "Oh My God, that was magnificent!"

 

[soflabbwlvr]

I have been remiss. I started this one months ago (for FAWC 4), but put it down when I saw that I couldn't finish in time. So far, it is still untitled.

Walking out of the temperature controlled customs office at Liberia International Airport with her single carry-on bag, Ana Velez felt like she was stepping into the heart of the sun. The sweltering heat and blinding glare seemed to blast her from all sides. She was used to the warmth of January in Havana, but the early afternoon heat on the Pacific Coast was ridiculous. Ana hurried to the curb where a row of taxi cabs awaited. She jumped into the first car and directed the driver to take her to her hotel. She sent a text message from her burner phone, and then removed the battery and threw it out the window. She snapped the phone in half and stuffed it into her bag.

Her sister, Micaela, was thirty minutes behind. Micaela’s passage through the airport included a stop at the airport bar following her interview with Costa Rican customs officials. She sipped an ice cold beer before exiting the airport and stepping into the last taxi lined up at the queue. She found a carry-on identical to hers on the floor of the taxi. When the cab pulled up to the hotel, Micaela handed the driver 2500 colones, grabbed the bag off the floor, and left her original bag in the backseat.

 

[slyc_willie]

I'm quite pleased with my narrator's put-down of a secondary antagonist;

Arthur pulled back and then pushed himself forward again, and once more Poppy cried out as Arthur groaned. Greedy again, he was already close to coming, wasting his chance just to bolster his ridiculous ego. Instead of playing the violin he was smashing rocks together, convinced he was composing a concerto. I determined at that moment that Project Arthur was going to take a turn for the worse; for him, of course.

The bold part sells it for me. Nicely sarcastic.

A brisk night breeze fluttered and stirred the curtains hung over the windows. Pinky's eyes opened and adjusted to the dark quickly, because the room was bathed in the light of a full Moon that laid strange fluid silhouettes about the bedroom as it passed through the undulating lace. Pinky sat up in the bed, waiting for the voice to speak again, but only heard a dog barking outside, far away.

Makes me wonder if she's overhearing someone outside, or just schizophrenic.

“Who the fuck are you?”

I had woken up in what I knew to be my deathbed to find myself surrounded by attractive young ladies wearing bronze armour and carrying spears.

“Fuck?” one of them asked. “We don’t normally do that. An interesting idea”.

“Who are you? Why…?”

“I should have thought that was obvious, Eric. We are the Valkyries. We have come to take you to Valhalla to join the other heroes.”

Was I delirious? Me, a hero destined for Valhalla? These women must be a sick joke by some of my family.

“No, Eric, we’re not a joke. We are the real Valkyries. Can human women do this?”

Suddenly all of them were mounted on war horses. How? There was no room around my bed for a single horse, let alone a large number.

“OK, OK. I believe you. You are the Valkyries. But why me? I’m not a hero.”

“You are Eric Smith?”

I nodded.

“You fought in the Second World War?”

I nodded again.

“You won the Victoria Cross, Britain’s premier award for bravery?”

“No. I didn’t. The Victoria Cross was won by another Eric Smith. He was a distant relation. His award was posthumous so you must have taken him decades ago.”

“Shit! Loki must be playing games again. He mucks up Valhalla’s record keeping whenever he can. Let’s see if we can sort it out. You were in World War 2?”

...

Teutonic myth and humor. Who'd'a thought?

(ah, well, so much for the 2-3 line limit )

 

[slyc_willie]

I have been remiss. I started this one months ago (for FAWC 4), but put it down when I saw that I couldn't finish in time. So far, it is still untitled.

I think this one was from FAWC 3, the one based on a picture. I like where it was going.