Every year, the Lyttle Llytton contest asks writers to send in the worst first sentence to an imaginary novel they can. This year's winner and finalists are wonderfully terrible.
Some examples:
Her skin was pale, like a pale ale… but her hair was amber, like an amber ale.
Boom boom pow, went my car’s elite sound system as I blasted the 2009 hot summer hit, “Boom Boom Pow”.
The sun shone through the window like a high-power COB LED collimated by a reflector dish and passed through a Tyndall-effect suspension to simulate Rayleigh scattering.
Night fell like a hammer dropped on the Moon, at a completely uniform speed unaffected by air resistance.
Not unlike how mitochondria gives energy to the cell, Alice gave energy to John’s heart and penis, both of whom containing dozens of cells.
Sunlight touched my breasts like I do during female masturbation.
“Oh no!” I cried, as a hail of bullets brutally murdered my three wonderful children.
I lusted for her like an asexual man who’d come to develop a strong attraction towards the opposite sex.
My mind was racing, NASCAR style.
The fan blew cold air making her nipples as hard and aroused as the audiobook of Karl Marx’s Communist Manifesto made my mind.
The doors of my heart were as closed as those of the Capitol, that morning of January 6th.
“Schlormp” went the knife as she plunged it into my heart, breaking it not only physically, but also emotionally, since I loved her.
And the winner: [Spoiler (click to open)] Jason and Laura may have loved each other, but they were as sharply different as Pacific and Atlantic.