GAME: Hook my first line and sink her in to a paragraph!

"Have you seen what happens when a marshmallow is accelerated to relativistic speeds?"

"What in the name of Oreo have you done, Professor?" Cynthia cried.

"I simply applied the principal of relativity to confections, my dear."

Cynthia say the empty plastic bag on the ground and dropped the chocolate bar and graham crackers from her hands.

"The last marshmallow! Tell me you didn't."

"Yes. It will be no S'More."

-----

Tyrene ran as the dome overhead started to crack.
 
Tyrene ran as the dome overhead started to crack. Sand poured in through the widening gaps and the ground heaved repeatedly underneath his feet. Would this earthquake never end? He had to get out! Where was the exit? Where was the damn door?



It was possibly the stupidest advert he had ever seen.
 
It was possibly the stupidest advert he had ever seen. "Learn to Write Science Fiction like the pros, in three weeks, or your money back!'
But, on a bizarre impulse, he bought it. He fell for it. He had no hope, no belief... but, to his utter amazement , it worked. He knocked off his first readable novel in the allotted time, and was fantastically elated. He danced around in his hovel, revelling in the glory that was soon to be his. It was at that moment that, glancing up, he saw another advert on the screen. It read 'Learn how to sell your Science Fiction novel in Thirty Years or less, or your money back!'

The door creaked open ever so slowly, as Delbert prepared for the ultimate horror.
 
The door creaked open ever so slowly, as Delbert prepared for the ultimate horror.

He swallowed, hard. Alright, he told himself, I have everything I need. I know I do, because I checked my bag before I left the house.

"Delbert..."

Don't listen. Rule number one, remember? Never listen to them, they always lie. That's why I brought the holy water, so I can tell if... uh, wait a minute.
His stomach lurched.
It's still on the kitchen table, he thought, with icy dread.

"Delbert... it's me, Sandra. Remember? From College? You loved me, Delbert, and I loved you. but you left before I could tell you. Well, here I am. Come to me, Delbert. Let me love you."

The door was open now, and a dark, fathomless space yawned at him.

I don't need the holy water, he hurriedly decided. All I need is the wooden stake and the mallet. Yes, that's all I need. Uh, wait a minute.

"I'm lonely, Delbert. Shall I come for you?"

Oh sh*t, they're still in the cupboard under the stairs. What the hell was I thinking? I didn't check my bag at all, I was too busy feeding the cat.

"Hello Delbert."

The last thought to go through the hapless Delbert's mind was that he should never have bought that box set of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and also, perhaps, that no matter how weird his neighbours were, he should mind his own damned business.

He'd show them, he gleefully told himself. His machine would work and the world would be amazed!
 
He'd show them, he gleefully told himself. His machine would work and the world would be amazed! The trick would be to launch himself from the very tallest building he could climb, to give the anti-grav enough time to kick in. Luckily, here in New York City there was no shortage of tall buildings. Unfortunately, very few of them had doorways wide enough to allow the Mega Anti Grav articulated lorry in through them. Or, for that matter, lifts which could take it to the top floor. Still, if he bunged the doorman a twenty, he was sure it could be arranged!



Blind optimism had got him to the top of his profession in the space of a few short weeks.
 
Blind optimism had got him to the top of his profession in the space of a few short weeks. Blind optimism, and several carefully arranged murders. But an optimist like Strabo couldn't afford to dwell on the details. Afterall, he was now the lead investigator of Gyador, and he had several murders to solve.


The trick to being a chef is using right amount of sorcery.
 
The trick to being a chef is using the right amount of sorcery. Sympathetic magic will only get you so far, and demon worship just gets you a bad reputation in the end - leastways, that’s what my old dad always used to say, and he should know. Eleven blue ribbons from the Guild of Master Mages (Food), and three times winner of the Cap d’Or at the international festival of Saucy Sorcery. He was a legend in his own lifetime, not least because the secret magic ingredient he used in all his recipes turned out to be essence of maiden - see what I mean about the demon worship? His trial and execution were both very public, which is why I trained as an accountant - after all the scandal, I couldn’t even get work as a kitchen porter. I work for HM Customs and Excise now, specialising in restaurants and takeaways.

Revenge is a dish best served cold.





Pass the Parcel is a difficult game in zero gravity, but it’s nothing compared to Musical Chairs.
 
Pass the parcel is a difficult game in zero gravity, but it's nothing compared to musical chairs. Despite being the three time reigning champion in competitive child care, Suzette felt hopelessly unprepared for her new job. She quickly realized that all of her childcare knowledge was predicated on a strong assumption of gravity. Meal times proved one of the steeper challenges. What normally was a carefully controlled group of children eating quietly on the floor, quickly became a screaming maelstrom of limbs thrashing about inside a vortex of yoghurt and dismantled sandwiches.

There was nothing unordinary about the Pine tree in Jacob's backyard.
 
There was nothing un-ordinary about the Pine tree in Jacob's backyard. But since the beginning of the tree-war the backyard had become a no-go zone.
Nobody knew what caused the feud between oaks and chestnut-trees. Seemingly, hostilities had started overnight. Foresters and hikers, unaware of the unusual situation, soon found themselves amidst a hailstorm of acorns, chestnuts and broken branches. Help was slow and inadequate as paramedics were loath to enter the, unexpectedly gone lethal, woods.
Soon the tree-battle raged nationwide, causing havoc at unexpected places, affecting other trees as well. Parks, even private gardens, became dangerous. Tree whisperers - the few who dared - stood helpless or were killed while stroking an aggravated oak.
But the Pine tree in Jacob's backyard stood isolated, unaffected, yet was eyed with distrust.


Pamjoles’s Ambulatori arrived at the village uninvited, unannounced and close to sunset.
 
Pamjoles’s Ambulatori arrived at the village uninvited, unannounced and close to sunset. An enclosed path opened ahead to a colossal spiraling ancient eldergreen with massive protruding roots blocking the front of the tree. Tiny lights in the dozens appeared from the surrounding forest as two hovering fairies, no larger than Pamjole’s index finger, emerged from the branches above. As if expecting him, the fairies gracefully flitted towards the awesome tree and opened their hands, palms out. A tiny rumble commenced below Pamjole’s feet – shortly thereafter a strong quake as the massive roots blocking the path descended into the ground below. The fairies, seemingly dancing at the sight of their unexpected visitor, hung a poorly spelled “WlcomE” sign to greet him in front of the newly revealed opening. Approaching the bark, Pamjole lowered his head as he entered the compact hole, now convinced that his heart had been called here. Entering the interior, Pamjole’s mouth dropped as his eyes were filled with an unforgettable sight. The eldergreen, only a few arm lengths in diameter, rose up to almost indefinite heights with flutters of fairies flying about, performing what appeared to be afternoon tasks. Looking down, Pamjole observed a circle of fairies; within their midst laid a sickly petite feminine fairy, whom he recognized from the earlier vision. The young fairy, hosting a tiny crown on her head, lay prone on a small leafy bed, eyes closed and whimpering. The circle of fairies opened up in a semicircle as the wise doctor approached – determined to show love to this idyllic community. “Anti-healing curse” he said to the fairies, knowing they wouldn’t understand him. “I have just the thing.”


“IMMINENT DANGER,” my AI system warned.
 
Last edited:
“IMMINENT DANGER,” my AI system warned. I ignored it, as usual.

”ALTERNATIVE ROUTE RECOMMENDED,” it continued. “PLEASE TURN LEFT AT THE NEXT JUNCTION.” I sighed loudly and continued straight ahead.

”URGENT ACTION REQUIRED. PLEASE RETURN HOME, YOUR MATHS HOMEWORK IS STILL ON THE BREAKFAST TABLE.” That one was difficult to ignore. I wriggled out of the backpack and opened it up. Damn, it was right! No maths books at all…. Wait a minute, I didn’t have any maths homework last night…

I slapped my wristcom hard and glared at the hologram which materialised in front of me. “Jasper, you’ve got to stop this. I know you don’t approve but it’s none of your business, so get over it! Me and Billy are back together, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”



The bright edge of the dawn threw the city skyline into sharp relief as the skyscrapers started to tumble, one by one.
 
The bright edge of the dawn threw the city skyline into sharp relief as the skyscrapers started to tumble, one by one. A Technician-Gunner gave a crisp salute and a brief, barked report; I acknowledged neither. I was surrounded by a hundred thousand fresh ghosts. Among them, somewhere, were my sister and her children.
The shadow of a Declaration had been sapping the air in District 31 for months. My nephew tried to get his mother to come with me but she just stood in her tiny kitchen, staring out of the window at the washing lines waving brave, doomed banners in the wind. "How do they make us illegal?" she kept asking as her son bawled and begged. The other one, a teen, turned away in a swirl of hair at the sight of my uniform, offering only a slammed door.
I struggled to recall my niece's name as I searched for her ghost in the endless swirl. I looked longer than I should have; they will have noticed.
My hands tremble as I fumble at the five keys to the locks on my door.
"You said to get out, so I'm out." Her name comes back to me before I finish looking for the voice: Cyra. My sister's dark eyes and firm-set jaw in a slim girl's grubby face. She is crouched out of the light, skittish and fugitive. "What now?"

There are various very good reasons not to engage in Daemonology while drunk. Somehow, Syndren always seemed to forget them.
 
There are various very good reasons not to engage in Daemonology while drunk. Somehow, Snydren always seemed to forget them. Trembling inside the tiny airing cupboard, he felt a sudden urgent need to sober up and think fast. The sounds of Ubh-P'rrghquoorrhh tearing up the carpet with its serrated hooves did not aid his concetration in the slightest. The pentagram.... had he messed up the pentagram somehow? The terrible ripping died down, to be replaced by a gentle splashing. Snydren warily opened the cupboard door a crack. Ubh-P'rrghquoorrhh's squamous bulk was hunched over the fishtank on the landing. The tentacled horror gurgled gently to itself as it slurped down one wriggling guppy after another. Beyond it, the outlines of the charcoal pentagram were still visible on the maltreated shagpile. Snydren squinted hard at it. Seven sides. Not again!

"Safeties off," said Stefan, and one by one we stepped through the doorway in his mouldering basement into the glorious light of Eldania.
 
"Safeties off," said Stefan, and one by one we stepped through the doorway in his mouldering basement into the glorious light of Eldania. I could feel the sharp cold air as it cut into my exposed flesh, no pain though, the adrenaline seeing to that or was I already numb. We slowly waded through the deep snow, the howling incessant wind pushing us back, fighting us every step of the way. Stefan in front forging a path with his pistol pointed shakily into the grey void. I don’t know why we brought guns, I could barely feel my icy fingers or see two feet in front of me through the whiteout let alone shoot something. It’s solid weight and deadly power did make me feel a bit better though. Stefan signaled with a raised fist. He bent down slowly brushing something as he lifted it from the snow. I moved towards him instantly recognizing the distinct shape in his hand as the pulse of blood in my ears started to pound its ancient tribal warning, thumping and rising like a fearsome deadly wave inside of me.

Beware those of you who choose to look out into the coldness of night, for to look is also to be seen.
 
"Beware those of you who choose to look out into the coldness of night, for to look is also to be seen." I first heard these words from the lips of Professor Selwyn Cornwall, in the torchlit burial chamber of the Pharaoh Sekhen. Cornwall is dead now, of course, but at the time I thought the inscription was merely superstitious mumbo-jumbo from that age five millennia gone, before Egypt first rose to glory. The Tomb of Sekhen is modest by later standards. No pyramid marks it. There are just three small chambers. In the second lies the crudely mummified King. He stands guard over the most peculiar feature of the tomb, found in the innermost chamber: the well.

I awoke face down on a brushed-steel floor, with a small voice in my head that said: "You have been restored from back-up."
 
I awoke face down on a brushed-steel floor, with a small voice in my head that said: "You have been restored from back-up."
'For f*ck sake, would ya look at that?', came the voice from above, 'another android, they should be building orbital colonies for the ****ing androids, never mind the Jupitarians'
'ah, leave the thing be -what's up with ya robot?, is you battery on the blink?'
I climbed to my feet and took in the surroundings. Apart from the two humans staring at me, the corridor was empty. It was the same as every other lunar structure I'd been in ...bonded rock, alloy panels, and cabling, all lit by powerfull spotlights.
'I'm fine, thanks ...listen, did either of ye see a gangly looking man wandering about?'
'No, nobody just wanders about up here, I think your circuit's must've scrambled'
'Uh, he was dressed in ancient clothing and had a stick with him'
The two humans eyed me suspiciously for several moments, and then looked at each other.
'No, we didn't, now f*ck off robot'
The lights dimmed, something was draining power from the structure.
Clang.
The sound sent the humans scurrying in the opposite direction.
Clang.
It was getting louder.
Clang.
I couldn't believe my luck.
'That's it Salamon, keep coming, I have ya now ...'

*Edit: sorry reader, didn't realize cursing was off limits -will be sure to exclude it in future*

Pluto orbital colony hadn't changed one bit since I was last there, and, just like last time, the mayor tried to kill me.
 
Pluto orbital colony hadn't changed one bit since I was last there, and, just like last time, the mayor tried to kill me. I was welcomed off the ship by a brass band, confetti, and Bertram Cholmfuddly standing there with a big grin and his hand outstretched. "Uh-uh," I said. "Drop the deathbuzzer."
Bertie pouted and put the nasty little thing in his pocket. "Oh, you're no fun. Come here, Caecelia, you daft old bat!" He went in for the hug and I allowed it. As expected, the small but lethal blade in his other hand sliced though my jacket and grated against my body armour. I twisted in his arms and gave him a good thump in the throat, sending him sprawling on the deck. He started to sit up and froze, the vibro-blade from my handbag thrumming millimeters away from his nose.
"Yield?" I snarled.
"Yield! Now, that's more like it. Thought you were getting soft in your old age."
"You owe me a coat, Bertie." I helped him up, carefully. The crowd started applauding- even at our advanced age, people have certain expectations of our kind, and it's generally best to live up to them. It was, I felt, a good start to negotiations.

[I seem to have lost the ability to do bold text]

I found the first one in the beck behind the carpet factory, glinting black as oil as it struggled in the shallow water.
 
I found the first one in the beck behind the carpet factory, glinting black as oil as it struggled in the shallow water. It was the first time I'd seen one for real, but the posters splattered over the town the last few months meant I knew what to do: call the Sheriff and don't get too close. Then the government men would come for it in their trucks and big orange suits, breathing air out of tanks through hissy tubes. Devone said that Betty T let one touch her and it got all inside her and the g-men took her away to cut her up in a lab, but Devone talks a lot of bull hockey. It didn't look so bad, wriggling and twisting itself all up like it was fit to scream, and I can't swim neither so I know how it must've been feeling. I went and got a stick to maybe help it up out the beck, but when I reached out the little thing just got kind of sucked up like the stick was a vacuum cleaner hose and then my hand went all cold and then the cold spread out all through me.
When I woke up, I could see stars through the tree branches. It had gone dark and I didn't have my flashlight with me, but I could see just fine anyhow.

When they said I could choose any weapon I wanted for the trial, I knew it wouldn't be enough to save me.
 
When they said I could choose any weapon I wanted for the trial, I knew it wouldn't be enough to save me. The right side of my body was in ruin. My right arm was missing. My right leg was nothing more than dead weight, dragging behind me as I stumbled towards the weapons table. I was half blind as I glanced toward the opposite end of the arena at the great double doors, whispering a prayer that they remain closed. The table was set with a variety of blades, mauls, and shields. They all looked foreign to me - useless chunks of metal and leather. I stopped before reaching the table, my head throbbing. I knew that whatever was about to come through those doors would not be killed by crafted weapon. My mind would need to be enough, even if it meant the sweet release of death. This was my last thought as the doors slowly grated open.

As twilight faded to darkness, the small creature approached the old house.
 
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