Some opening lines for stories never to be written…

But first…
Dulltown, UK/Europe: Today’s confused film stars are: Sank Frinatra and Wohn Jayne.

‘Look over there Mickey!’
‘At last!… That looks like the long-lost spaceship of Captain Snaith!’
‘But what the hell is that, looking out of the shattered view-port?’
‘It seems to be emerging, and it’s singing! Listen, Joey!’
‘Oh god! Look at those boss-eyes and those waving slimy green tentacles!’
‘It’s singing an Elton John song – and it’s Candle in the Wind, one of Snaith’s favourites! Look out! Look out! Oh no!…’

The lights unexpectedly came on! Alicia Moods blinked at the sight of an enormous untidy pile of shining gold ingots. She walked stealthily across and picked one of them up, gasping in surprise at its weight; her gasp echoed and bounced around the steel-lined vault; the ingot slipped through her slim fingers and landed back on the pile with a resounding metallic clunk. The lights slowly dimmed to a warm glow, they then paused, and then suddenly went out. There was then the sound of gurgling rushing water, it was accompanied by the foetid smell of old neglected sewers…

Walking across Regents Park in the summer sun Reggie Dupple felt at one with the world that day; he had a full hour away from his office in the bank. There were many people lying on the grass enjoying the rays, there was a hum of busy bees, and the laughter of distant skylarking children. As he approached a man lying prone in front of him, he noticed a wallet bulging with foreign banknotes next to the man’s shoulder. Dupple paused and was about to say something, when, and without looking up, the stranger spoke, ‘Hello Reggie,’ he said…

Dirty leaden anvil clouds decorated the deep vault of the sky; a thin ragged slash of yellow flirting with the idea of red was carefully balanced on the tops of the horizon hills; a perfect disc tangerine sun was reluctantly sinking. The black crisp silhouette of a bobbing cabin cruiser out on the lake threw a feeble green starboard light in Brad’s direction. An impish and chill gust of wind blew a few scampering autumn leaves around his well-shod feet – he smiled for a moment, and then took his ukulele out of its case…

It was the best of rhymes, it was the worst of rhymes. Seth Woomera stretched out on an old well-stained single mattress on the dirty bare floor and rubbed his shaggy head with both hands. To his left was a betting shop stub pen and a small open spiral-bound notebook, to the right the floor was littered with several screwed up discarded half-written pages. By the door, was a roughly opened airmail envelope, and in small torn pieces was Seth’s letter of acceptance for Harvard Business School. Seth yawned, stretched again, and then picked up his little pen…

About Dave Whatt

Grumpy old surrealist artist, musician, postcard maker, bluesman, theatre set designer, and debonair man-about-town. My favourite tools are the plectrum and the pencil...
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2 Responses to Some opening lines for stories never to be written…

  1. Dana Doran says:

    Unbelievable! What self-respecting ukulele musician would put his instrument in a case?

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