MSP Fiction Workshop 50-Word Challenge: STORY STARTER
Time for the MSP Fiction Workshop’s second 50-Word Challenge!
For this contest, we’re looking for story starters--those hot-as-habanero first few lines that make a book impossible not to finish, that make the hair stand up on the back of your neck and your curiosity boil over like a pot full of spaghetti noodles. The winner will be awarded $5 SBD, and the winning entry will become part of a Fiction Workshop collaboration. As a group, we’re going to take those beginning threads and weave a story that will leave readers breathless.
During our last contest, we had a bit of a glitch. One entry got lost in the shuffle. So for this challenge, please just paste your 50 words in the comments of this post, prefaced by ENTRY, in all caps. That way it will be a little easier for contest moderators with tired eyes to find them in the shuffle. Also, make sure each ENTRY is the leading comment, not buried down in the stack or it could easily be overlooked.
TIPS FOR WRITING A WINNING ENTRY
Show! Don’t tell. Put us directly in the action. EDIT THOROUGHLY. Grammar, syntax, and spelling issues could easily disqualify you. All genres are accepted except erotica and anything that would need to be rated NSFW. Entries will be judged over the weekend of 7/15 and 7/16 and announced in the Fiction Workshop the following week. Deadline is FRIDAY, 7/14 at midnight EST. Allowances are made for time zone issues. Judges will be @rhondak (me,) and @carolkean .
So ready. . .set. . .WRITE!
ENTRY
Some people say the so-called Reverend Chan is a prophet, but I think he just got lucky. After all, for any given day you could pick out of a calendar, there had to be someone, somewhere in the world who said that’s the day the Second Coming would happen.
ENTRY
An awful, chilling nausea shuddered through Dino’s bones. The twisted stench of turbo charged anxiety left no room for doubt. He'd made a monumental mistake. The last time would have to wait once again. Retching with delightful anticipation, he scuttled beyond the dilapidated squat into the fearless, sordid night.
ENTRY
The temperature tonight is a crisp 44 degrees. Feels even colder when you’re flying at the acceleration of gravity. My hands are gardens of glass shards, raised up to protect my face. It ain’t the fall that kills you. Sometimes, it’s the sonofabitch who pushed you from the 70th floor.
Love love love.
ENTRY
I'm a CRO. Chief Retribution Officer. Just a fancy title for revenge specialist.
I didn’t get this job by applying.
Skills: Manipulation. Reverse Psychology.
What makes you qualified for the job? I can exact the right amount of pain as what was given my client, maybe more for a tip.
Thanks for another great opportunity! As you may have figured my genre is usually sci-fi or fantasy...
ENTRY
“Alright class! Please explain the Paperback Wars of Ancient Earth? Cinderella? No? How about you Xho'geshlorg?"
“Humans…SLORCH!...slaughtered…by our...Planetary Alliance...SLORCH!”
“Indeed! Why?”
“Because everything they wrote came to life elsewhere in the universe.”
“Exactly, class! They created all of us, and were our ancestors grateful?”
“No!”
Absolutely love it! I want to know what happens next... :D
ENTRY
She stood holding two tickets. One to the past, young love and innocence, a time she wished she could relive; The second would take her to the future, Exciting and new a fresh start. This was a decision that would change her life forever. She smiled stepping onto the train.
ENTRY
George swung the edge of his Quasar 470 deluxe metal detector gently where he had seen the group of beach goers had been sitting. He awaited the cheerful ping of a pound coin inches in the sand. Maybe two if he was lucky. The needle bounced across hard and screeched,
ENTRY
He lay with his head in the gutter, transfixed by the thick stream of blood crawling towards the drain.
His blood, his life slowly depleting. No pain. Confusion.
Why me? Who were they?
Smiling sadly he closed his eyes, whispering a prayer to a God he had never believed in.
ENTRY
Once I would have killed the guy. Once I would have thanked him. Once I would have done many things differently. Now, here, today I just exhaled the last draft of my cigarette, turned and walked away. Today was going to be a long day. The last day. Ever.
ENTRY
When I got home, I was greeted by a banquet of apple slices and dead pigeons carefully laid upon my table.
“I made this for you,” said the stranger in the corner.
He was young. He was small. He was wearing my clothes. He smelled of sea salt and charcoal.
Nice. Intriguing start!