Three Lines meme stolen from all over
Stolen from sassywitch by way of pippinmctaggart.
The meme is "post the first lines of each of your WIPs". Here it is, the good, the bad and the downright ugly. Some a little longer than three lines because what you see is all of the WIP. A couple of Original fics mixed in there as well but primarily in my regular playground.
1. God dammit! How the Hell had they found him again so quickly? JD risked a glance over his shoulder as he wove his rented motorcycle in and out of the early lunchtime traffic. The ominous gray Lincoln was still behind him, making no effort to hide the fact that it was mimicking his movements.
2. He was broken. The thought rose with the sluggish determination, surprisingly lucid against the frantic haze choking JD. 'Broken,' part of his mind echoed, somewhere between a whimper and a wail. Adrenaline alone had carried his failing body this far into the night. Coaxing one step after another from him, pushing oblivion just a little further away. Now it too abandoned him. The river of endorphins slowed, leaving his blood thin against the angry pounding of his heart.
3. There was no life in the room. No space for it. Not with all the memories. They crowded out the breath, smothered everything into one tidy dimension. Jonas let his fingertips wander over them since his mind wouldn't.
4. The passage from hell into freedom was abrupt. Shadows from the high stone wall broke off with a sharp edge. The sudden rush of unfiltered sunlight a rude shock to senses long dulled by iron and stone monotony.
He stood there for a long moment; eyes squinted up tight against the unexpected assault. A stale breeze rolled fine red dust in intricate patterns around his legs, dulling the shine on the cheap vinyl toes of his shoes -- two sizes too large.
5. Buck didn't acknowledge his visitor. He was tired of playing this game by their rules. If they wanted his attention, they could damn well beg for it. Something hard struck the bottom of his boot across the ball of his foot. Buck bit his lip, but maintained his charade.
"Wanted to tell you the news myself, Wilmington," Miller's detested voice filled the concrete room. "We picked up Dunne tonight, tampering with a crime scene."
6. Red flickered to blue, and then back to red again. The colors washed over him, washed him away. The pattern blurred, stirred hidden things from the shadows and danced back to dazzle his eyes. Buck drew up his brow in a clumsy grimace of confusion. His features were clay, rough under the hands of a novice sculptor.
7.Four Corners was downright miserable. The sun had been punishing the small town for weeks now. Days were long, tempers were short. Fortunately, the heat kept nearly everyone at home, lying low in root cellars for those lucky enough to have them.
Even after the sun set, heat seemed to creep back up from the baked earth as if night released the heavy pressure that pushed it deep into the cracked soil. Inez did slow trade over at the saloon. JD did even slower at the jail. That was fine by him. Body'd have to be nacho... macho... masso...chistic - he mentally stumbled over the word he'd heard Ezra to mean really, really stupid. He shook it off. A body'd have to be really stupid to want to spend anytime in the stifling jailhouse.
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There are more, but I think I'll stop there.
The meme is "post the first lines of each of your WIPs". Here it is, the good, the bad and the downright ugly. Some a little longer than three lines because what you see is all of the WIP. A couple of Original fics mixed in there as well but primarily in my regular playground.
1. God dammit! How the Hell had they found him again so quickly? JD risked a glance over his shoulder as he wove his rented motorcycle in and out of the early lunchtime traffic. The ominous gray Lincoln was still behind him, making no effort to hide the fact that it was mimicking his movements.
2. He was broken. The thought rose with the sluggish determination, surprisingly lucid against the frantic haze choking JD. 'Broken,' part of his mind echoed, somewhere between a whimper and a wail. Adrenaline alone had carried his failing body this far into the night. Coaxing one step after another from him, pushing oblivion just a little further away. Now it too abandoned him. The river of endorphins slowed, leaving his blood thin against the angry pounding of his heart.
3. There was no life in the room. No space for it. Not with all the memories. They crowded out the breath, smothered everything into one tidy dimension. Jonas let his fingertips wander over them since his mind wouldn't.
4. The passage from hell into freedom was abrupt. Shadows from the high stone wall broke off with a sharp edge. The sudden rush of unfiltered sunlight a rude shock to senses long dulled by iron and stone monotony.
He stood there for a long moment; eyes squinted up tight against the unexpected assault. A stale breeze rolled fine red dust in intricate patterns around his legs, dulling the shine on the cheap vinyl toes of his shoes -- two sizes too large.
5. Buck didn't acknowledge his visitor. He was tired of playing this game by their rules. If they wanted his attention, they could damn well beg for it. Something hard struck the bottom of his boot across the ball of his foot. Buck bit his lip, but maintained his charade.
"Wanted to tell you the news myself, Wilmington," Miller's detested voice filled the concrete room. "We picked up Dunne tonight, tampering with a crime scene."
6. Red flickered to blue, and then back to red again. The colors washed over him, washed him away. The pattern blurred, stirred hidden things from the shadows and danced back to dazzle his eyes. Buck drew up his brow in a clumsy grimace of confusion. His features were clay, rough under the hands of a novice sculptor.
7.Four Corners was downright miserable. The sun had been punishing the small town for weeks now. Days were long, tempers were short. Fortunately, the heat kept nearly everyone at home, lying low in root cellars for those lucky enough to have them.
Even after the sun set, heat seemed to creep back up from the baked earth as if night released the heavy pressure that pushed it deep into the cracked soil. Inez did slow trade over at the saloon. JD did even slower at the jail. That was fine by him. Body'd have to be nacho... macho... masso...chistic - he mentally stumbled over the word he'd heard Ezra to mean really, really stupid. He shook it off. A body'd have to be really stupid to want to spend anytime in the stifling jailhouse.
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There are more, but I think I'll stop there.