Here are three starts to some short stories that I have written for my intensive creative writing class. I was wanting to see which you prefer and why you prefer it! I am terrible at writing openers in general and this is something I want to work on. Which one grabs you, or doesn’t grab you? Why?
Any advice, criticism or praise is greatly appreciated!
It was there in the meadow that the stars would fall right out of the sky like they were long lost souls searching for home, and he, would always be there to pick them up and dust the dirt off of them so that they could begin to remember how to shine. This was something that they would very often forget as they forged their way across the asteroids and plummeted towards Mavericks small hut. He never forgot though, and no matter how worthless they would seem to themselves, to him they were always still a star.
They looked much like a small black rock once they’ve fallen. Almost like a lump of coal, but heat radiated off their bodies and once you picked them up you realize that they move in ones hand like water and only the heavens prevented their circular existence from imploding in on itself and turning into a rain that would feed the grass. Maverick would carefully walk them over to his hut and place them into a liquid that would feel like home to them for the first few weeks. They wouldn’t want fire yet, they didn’t know what they were at this point.
Her feet hit the cold muddy ground with a squish but she didn’t slip. The grass was wet with morning dew, but she had remembered to wear the right shoes this time. The light was just beginning to peak over the snowy mountains set off in the distance and she feared that she might be running late. She pulled her black jacket up over her messy nest of hair and set off towards the village with arms full of white roses. Her chest wasn’t tight anymore-she had made the journey well over a dozen times and was becoming accustomed to the eight-mile run. She always ran. It was faster this way, and it meant that she was less likely to get caught. The small buildings, shops and the familiar golden archway made their way into view. “Just a bit further,” she said under her breath praying that no one would have noticed her absence yet.
She ran down the familiar streets as the sun just began to peak above the snowy mountains, as her footsteps echoed hollowly against the cobblestone. No one was awake. The storefronts were dark and not even the fish supplier, Mr. Kimmel, had left for the docks yet, but Onnex knew that they would be waiting for her, and so she pressed on with intention in her footsteps.
“You’re different my darling Eben,” Helena said with glossy eyes and a silver tongue. “But perhaps not in the best way.”
Eben looked up at his mother in love and with a divine expectation in his expression but terror reflected deep in his eyes. And then she shoved him through the portal and he was gone forever from her sights, much like in the way that he had come. Quickly, and quietly. As though it hadn’t even happened at all. And she wished with every fiber of her being that it hadn’t.
Wide-eyed and close-mouthed Eben was escorted into the land of Wisteria. They were prepared for him. This was how all children came. They came in through a portal from a land that Wisterians knew only as the Glass and nothing more. And as the children told them stories of this land they could see that it was much like glass indeed. Brittle, hard and impervious.
Wisteria accepted these children in with open arms. They provided food, clothing and a home. Well not really a home. But a place for them to grow older in. They were put in with the other children who like them had come from the Glass. It was a quiet place with silver walls, a glass roof and was located on the outskirts of Wisteria, nearly blending in with the treeline of the forgotten forest, and in a climate zone where it seemed to continuously rain. Eben didn’t mind the rain though. It made him feel sad, and he enjoyed the soft comfort of sadness.
Story 4 (last one):
My eyes had just begun to shut when I heard the noises outside my window again. Blood-curdling screams erupted from the dead silence of night, and I clenched the soft cushion of my comforter in anticipation. Every muscle in my body tightened as the screams continued to cut through the normal serenity of the night air like a blade slicing through flesh. The sounds whistled in with the cold night air and filled the room with the scent of cool metal and warm blood. Salty tears streamed down my cheeks and onto my lips as I grew angry. This could not be happening again.
I tore the sheets off my bed and raced out the door and into the hallway, shrieks vibrating from all around, and as I flew around the corner I could almost scream along with them, I could almost feel their pain. I could almost see the murderers who were trespassing on my country’s land tonight. This would not happen again I vowed to myself. Smoke was practically rising out my ears as I rounded the last corner which led into the room of the King or at I like to call him: father.