Bullwinchester-Lytton worst first lines contest.
I'm emerging from radio silence once again. RL is still very stressful, and I'm not able to get online during the week at all. I do manage to catch up at the weekend, watch SPN and read what fic I can.
This weekend I logged on to find that win_non_con is running this weekend, and that the wonderful Bullwinchester-Lytton Worst First Lines contest is back for a second year. Of course I had to have a go...
The first one I wrote is slightly spoilery for SPN 4.05, so I've put it in a separate post.
Here are my other offerings thus far:
"Dean," John Winchester said, voice clotted thick with poorly suppressed emotion, his vowels round and deep as a distant echo from an only recently discovered underground cavern, in contrast with his consonants, which were little more than a husky whisper, dribbling from his incontinent lips like honey drizzled over hot gravel, rich, golden and ever so slightly sticky; "Pass me the wrench, will ya?"
And in homage to the original Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest, here's my own version of "It was a dark and stormy night..."
It was a dark and stormy night, the sky black as the demon blood that coursed through the veins of Sam Winchester, metaphorically speaking of course, because if Sam was unlucky enough to nick an arterial vein, the resulting sanguineous flow would not be black, but most likely one of the darker shades of red; not as deep as, say, heliotrope, but closer on the color spectrum to maroon, possibly falling somewhere between ponceau and russet.
Go on over and enjoy the awfulness that is the worst first lines of SPN fic we can come up with.
This weekend I logged on to find that win_non_con is running this weekend, and that the wonderful Bullwinchester-Lytton Worst First Lines contest is back for a second year. Of course I had to have a go...
The first one I wrote is slightly spoilery for SPN 4.05, so I've put it in a separate post.
Here are my other offerings thus far:
"Dean," John Winchester said, voice clotted thick with poorly suppressed emotion, his vowels round and deep as a distant echo from an only recently discovered underground cavern, in contrast with his consonants, which were little more than a husky whisper, dribbling from his incontinent lips like honey drizzled over hot gravel, rich, golden and ever so slightly sticky; "Pass me the wrench, will ya?"
And in homage to the original Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest, here's my own version of "It was a dark and stormy night..."
It was a dark and stormy night, the sky black as the demon blood that coursed through the veins of Sam Winchester, metaphorically speaking of course, because if Sam was unlucky enough to nick an arterial vein, the resulting sanguineous flow would not be black, but most likely one of the darker shades of red; not as deep as, say, heliotrope, but closer on the color spectrum to maroon, possibly falling somewhere between ponceau and russet.
Go on over and enjoy the awfulness that is the worst first lines of SPN fic we can come up with.