My friends and I were talking about terrible first sentences this morning. We considered what would make a truly, truly terrible first sentence. The emails flew (like winged beasts). These are — for me — some of the real winners.
Happy Thanksgiving, y’all!
The young man dangled his sunglasses between thumb and forefinger of one hand while wearily rubbing the bridge of his nose with the other hand. The sun rose higher as the olive-tinted silence engulfed them all. At length, a Pomeranian bounded into the room, wagging its tail with delight, and licked the fleshy linoleum eye once, and then once more for good measure.
The November wind, like an electric fan, blew into and through the strawberry-red living room, extinguishing the melting beeswax candles from grandmother’s candelabra. Or was it the time-worn ghost of Liberace himself, dousing the flame of life to the arpeggio of his last fabulous coda? Ask the tortoise eye of the kitchen floor, witnessing all, always and forever.