First 100 Words

[Eric]

I DO NOT GET tattoos. I do not understand shaved heads and goatees. I am not a fan of Dickies shorts as a fashion trend. I have no patience for stupid, obnoxious drunk people. The guy was batting a big fat zero in my book before he ever opened his mouth.

“What’s up party people?” His voice was loud and his words were slurred. “I am fuckin’ famished!”

I took a deep breath. Let it out slowly. I glanced over at the family of four finishing their meal. The two boys were laughing in surprise.

Eric Weule
The Interview
Kindle Edition

[Pam]

Mariel Balac was a young, beautiful Italian woman who had lived in Rome all of her life. She lived on a large beautiful estate that had belonged to her family for generations. There was talk that it had been built by her great-great grandfather, who was some famous architect. Her family was very prominent in Rome. She was after all a direct descendant of the Roman Emperor Nero Germanicus. Her family was well off. She had gone to private Catholic schools her whole life. Even now, she was attending college at a private school run by the Catholic church.


Operation Dark Angel

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/opera...

[Miles]

Spontaneous Combustion: Enlightenment and the Cosmic Crucible

Simply stated, life is a mystery. At times absolute torture, and other times absolute delight. From intense fear and pain to soothing comfort and bliss. We suffer tragic losses and enjoy pleasurable rewards. The variation and depth of experience which we must endure is a heroic feat indeed. The pendulum perpetually swings from one extreme to the other. The despair and frustration of this roller coaster ride force our submission and acceptance of the fact that life is a struggle. Eventually, crippled by the experience of life altogether, we die.

What is the point of it all? Is there a reason? Does there have to be a reason? And if there is a reason can we know it? Can we know the, as yet unknown reason for life and existence?

Website

Paperback

Kindle

[Tony]

Alright, here we go - it's the first words of my crazy travel comedy 'That Beat Ate My Pants!"

That Bear Ate My Pants!

“MONKEY!” I shouted, as a brown blur swung out of the cage and onto the path.
The chase was on.
He skipped away with incredible speed, dodging around the corner and heading for freedom as though he’d thought of nothing but this moment for years. I bolted after him, grabbing the edge of a cage to swing me around in hot pursuit. The monkey was a good way ahead of me, and far more maneuverable. But I was faster on the straight. I accelerated down the narrow corridor between enclosures, and was closing the distance between us when he...

:0)
Tony

[Don]

The Advance Guard


The sun was high, but that was not making his heart any lighter. The muscular man in the Army uniform took steady steps as he approached the white picket fence, his breaths coming quickly.
The bundle under his arm threatened to fall out of its protective wrapping. Why was it so heavy now?
A slightly rusty gate impeded his progress. He pushed it gently. The loud creak heralded his entry into the lawn; a softer moan announced the gate’s closure. His feet felt the grass through his shoes’ soles, the ground giving way underneath every footstep. He checked the bundle one last time, then stepped on the porch and rang the doorbell.

[Don]

Dinétah Dragon

While doing research for a separate work, the occasion came that I needed a copy of a Federal military budget, which was quite cooperatively supplied to me by the General Accounting Office. It was the discovery of a spare page, one that probably was not intended to be included, that led me to the book you hold in your hand now.
Let me back up a bit. In November of last year I was assigned to write an article for a prominent blog site about budget overruns in defense. My Freedom of Information Act request in hand, I contacted the GAO, and after about three weeks’ worth of bureaucratic wrangling I received the records I had been looking for ...

[Don]

The Insurgent's Journal

2012 came and went, with nary a rapture-connected disappearance. Life went on. Three years afterward, I met an extraordinary family, with an extraordinary story to tell.
Dear God, now I wish it had all ended 20 years ago. My family would not have been destroyed, my life would not have been wasted for twelve years in a secret government prison, and we would not have had to witness the greatest tyranny ever seen.
The year after my last book came out, all hell broke loose. I suppose it had been festering disillusionment with the traditional two-party system which had caused it, but with nothing to step in to fill the void, it remained powerless anger.

[Andrew]

So they had been puking all along, then. Every morning and evening since early February. Rob leaned back in his chair with a sigh that expressed emotions fluctuating between revulsion and smugness. In front of him lay a very nearly complete essay on Beckett. And behind him, toilet bowl-amplified sounds of regurgitation floated through the open window with the late afternoon sun.

Some of his friends had been openly incredulous at the bitterness of the ‘Puking Neighbours’ debate that had raged for three solid months at 10 Bournebrook Road. But none of those friends were English students. The devil makes work for idle hands, apparently, but he ran out of ideas when first faced with the dyed in the wool idleness of English undergraduates.

From "Throwing Up With The Joneses", the second story in my collection.

[April]

Rebuke

In the 1990’s
TOPAZ was an adult, but she remembered how they'd marched in, singing We’ve Come This Far By Faith...
Wearing robes with the fluttering sleeves that she had often thought of as angel wings, the choir members passed her, one at a time. She had been a kid then and as they moved, gently swaying to the music, some of the older women had touched her shoulder, while the young ones smelled fragrant. A male singer or two had even given her an officious nod, as in route to the choir loft, all continued to sing...

April Alisa Marquette

[S.A.]

Hoarse shouts, excited and eager, echoed through the abandoned walls. “What’s this over here de roo? Does something sweet hide under the brick pile?”

Hooting sounded. “Heyaya, old plunder hides under here. Come on. Help me dig.”

Blast stupid old Sony! Tren halted wandering among the ruins and ran to where his mates pawed through the stony debris inside the collapsed building. “Git away from the sacred zone. You creeps know the interiors are protected! We agreed in the flame we’d only lookee loo, not loot the dead.”


Divine Devine's Love Song

[J.C.]

It was the sunlight coming through the window that woke Alex up; Mother Nature’s own alarm clock rudely snapped him back to consciousness. The white light poured in so arrogantly that it was too much for his eyes to handle. Squinting did not seem enough to defend against it and the light slipped between his fingers when he held up his hand in an attempt to shield his eyes.

Where the hell’s my window blind? He wondered. Fucking thing must’ve fallen down again.

He sat up and let his eyes slowly adjusted to the overwhelming light. He attempted to look...

[Oliver]

Jim Watson knew he was a vicious man, prided himself on it in fact, but even he was shocked when he saw the pictures from the phone. The kids who had found it had snatched it off some yuppie walking down the street. He'd been happily tapping away on it. Twitter or Facebook or some shit like that, and they'd had it out of his hands and away in the blink of an eye.
Why people felt the need to be in touch with each other every fucking second of the day escaped him. He spent most of his time...

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view...

[Mark]

This sounds very tasty and dripping with possibility. I downloaded it off of Smashwords (it's free, fellow readers) and will start reading soon.

[Oliver]

Mark wrote: "This sounds very tasty and dripping with possibility. I downloaded it off of Smashwords (it's free, fellow readers) and will start reading soon."
Thanks Mark, hope you like it.

[Steve]

Live Undead

Razor gnashed his teeth against the cage.
The crashing waves of guitars and the squealing wash of keyboards weren’t what drove his frenzy as he thrashed against the mesh. He could smell them. The audience. The putrid stench of stale sweat and warm beer singed his nostrils. He climbed the fence, slathered his tongue over the steel, and caught sight of an irate biker as the man chucked his beer. The bottle exploded against the fence. Smiling, Razor bounded back down to the stage and raised his middle finger to the crowd.

Kindle Edition

[Mark]

Oliver wrote: "
Jim Watson knew he was a vicious man, prided himself on it in fact, but even he was shocked when he saw the pictures from the phone. The kids who had found it had snatc..."

Readers, this is a well constructed story written with great voice. It rings true and pulled me along for the ride, and what a ride it was. I recommend it. I predict great things for Oliver and will look for his work in the future.

[Everly]

Abigail Larson stood at the oversized window in the library of her London manor. It was dusk, a time of day that used to be her favorite—of course, that was before the light from America lit up the sky throughout the night. As she pressed her hand against the glass between her and the white light in the sky, a car appeared by the iron gates at the end of the long driveway. It was an old American Ford from the 2020’s. Abigail smiled to herself; she hadn’t seen one of those since they came out over forty years ago.


Displaced

[A.W.]

Away From Whipplethorn http://amzn.to/x7jARD

I’m no Tinkerbell. I don’t take orders from Lost Boys and Captain Hook could never catch me. I am a wood fairy though, complete with luminescent wings. Don’t go thinking fairy equals weak, or timid. Because if I was any of that I could never have found my parents, my home, my future after the humans took them away from me.

[Jean]

Mary Duay, Doc to her teammates, wasn’t surprised that Eva had hooked up with a girl. During her four years on the Yale Women’s Rugby Football Club, Doc had seen at least five other “straight” girls develop into switch-hitters. But for Georgie? Granted, Georgie was nice. She had a sexy German accent. At 5’11” and maybe 230 pounds, she was certainly a force on the pitch. And she was a math genius. But so was a quarter of the team. Georgie’s only conversation topics: beer, women, differentials…

From Hookers, Flankers and Locks: http://www.amazon.com/Hookers-Flanker...

[Peter]

The speed limit was officially re-signed to fifty miles an hour. The new limit had been put into effect two years ago to aid in conservation, due to the dire expense and unavailability of gasoline. There was little traffic on the thruway, Joe Logan noticed, aside from a number of official vehicles, a small convoy of military transports mixed in with sparse civilian traffic, and in particular, one traveling in the opposite direction that caught his attention: a horse-drawn cutaway half of a pickup bed, rigged into a cart. The load was partially obscured by a tarp, but it contained boxes and bushel baskets of produce—probably from one of the small local farms attempting to eke out a living.

The Sacrifice Area

[Geoffrey]

Here's the opening chapter to my debut novel; Inside Evil .

'Roberta stared vacantly out of the classroom window. The students had long left, leaving her alone with her thoughts and only the dropping sun to gaze at. Fading light cast shadows across the papers on the desk in front of her and Roberta glanced to where she’d marked the essays with her green pen. She hated marking with red pen; it only went to dishearten pupils more. Writing in green allowed her to convey everything that she wanted to, without having to splash scarlet ink across her youngsters work. It wasn’t this that played on Roberta’s mind though; it was the shrinking sun and the onset of another dark, cold and eerie November night.'

[C.]

My father was peering at me over his newspaper, watching in disgust as I sprinkled yet another spoonful of sugar on my grapefruit.
“I think that defeats the purpose, Mac.” He grinned. The look I gave him was as sour as the fruit.
“It’s gross.” I replied.
“Mac.” My mom frowned as she bustled about the kitchen. “You’ll give yourself a cavity. What’s the matter? You always liked grapefruit.”
I had no answer for this, stabbing at the poor fruit with my spoon instead. Mom shook her head and yawned. She had just walked in the door from another nightshift at the hospital and was probably in no mood to deal with me. She poured herself a coffee instead.

[Carrie]

Hi everyone - I'm new to the group and wanted to post the first 100 words of my thriller "The Sounding". Feel free to let me know your thoughts, or to friend me!



The Sounding

Clyde Parker was about to die.

He didn’t know it, but that did not matter. Knowing would not have changed it.

Clyde took another long pull on his beer, tossing his head back all the way so that the liquid drained right into his stomach. He still had another six- pack to finish. And he would finish it.

Roy’s foot was on the cooler, and Clyde kicked it off. “You’re always in the damn way,” he said in a heavy, sloppy voice, like his tongue and his lips were working too hard.

[Zoe]

Girl in The Glass

I can tell you nothing about my mother's death. Not because I didn't see it, but because I did. I sometimes say, when people ask, that she died of the sickness. But that is a lie and I don't want to lie to you. What I will tell you is that just before she died she told me to be brave and in my childish way I decided that she meant I shouldn't cry. I didn't. Not then, nor in all the years that have passed since her death. Not once have I cried. I no longer know how.

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007IROBEE

[Jay]

First paragraph from Canis Major:

http://www.amazon.com/Canis-Major-ebo...



Those mind-numbing days, how they creep—no, make that slither—under your fence, across your backyard, over your porch, through your kitchen, up your staircase, past your bedroom door and into your room, where they kink up into a tight and tidy coil underneath your bed. If March enters a lion and leaves a lamb, then August slides in as easily and unobtrusively as a serpent seeking a cool place to lie. But it is always hesitant to leave. Once that cool, dark spot is claimed, nothing short of slaughter will get it to relinquish its position. It will hiss. It will strike. It will defend itself to its very death.

[Mark]

Judith wrote: "https://www.createspace.com/3802503

Turning to the next blank page in my tenth journal I began as I have daily since the world changed—almost a year ago.

Journal #10—Year: 2033
February, Thursda..."

I love the premise, an approaching calamity that could mean the end of days - a portion of the population in denial, the other trying to prepare. Good stuff.

[Kameko]

The apples were what first gave it away.

Two red apples, ripe, unblemished, sitting on her kitchen table. She’d bought them at the corner store on her walk that afternoon, and carried them home without a bag. She put them in the kitchen, planning on washing and eating one after she’d stripped out of her work clothes, which always smelled like the ghosts of cigarettes and coffee and wasted mornings, and put them into the laundry. She took a fresh T-shirt from out of a drawer and pulled it on, the shirt long enough that she didn’t bother with pants. She lived alone. There was no one to comment on her scandalous fashion decisions.

The apples were shrunken and desiccated when she went back into the kitchen. It was as if they had been sitting there, untouched, for weeks.

From The Color of Ash, available currently for free at Amazon.com and Smashwords.com. Download and enjoy!

[Oliver]

It was when he saw the second album of photos that Alexi realised something was seriously wrong. The ones in the first album were bad of course, really bad, but they were a normal kind of bad. You could believe that the people in them were doing the things they were doing willingly. None of it was stuff he'd want to do but he wasn't naive enough to assume that the range of human experience began and ended with things he liked to do. He'd seen enough nasty shit on the Internet to know that.



From Camera/Phone v2 available free on Smashwords (https://www.smashwords.com/books/view...) or cheap on Amazon!

v1 is also available but the stories can be read independently of one another.

[Oliver]

Jill Teague was sweating, not from fear but from the oppressive heat in the cabin. There were men outside, at least three by her count, and if they found her they would want her dead. That would have been enough to make most people sweat but Jill wasn't most people. The heat though, that was something else, it penetrated her bones, felt like it was cooking her from the inside like a microwave. Worst of all it sapped her strength and her will. She knew she had to fight to survive, both for herself and the women she was trying...

[Grace]

[Historical romance]
Captain George Huntley could think of many ways to spend a bitter winter's night, but lying belly down on wet sand was not one of them. In the darkness Huntley's eyes glittered, as he listened for an unguarded curse or telltale splash of an oar; but all he heard was a gull screaming, tossed about like flotsam on the raw wind.
"The devious bastards will land tonight. I know it."
The officer beside him stirred and shook the feeling back into numb hands.
"It's late, almost high tide, Captain."
Huntley scowled. "Not losing heart now, Bennett?"
"Of course not."

http://www.amazon.com/Hopes-Betrayal-...

[[deleted user]]

How could anyone have gotten in?
I looked at the large silver box in desperate hope that it would reveal its mysteries to me. Unfortunately, it seemed fine. There wasn’t a scratch on it. As far as I could tell, there had been no forced entry. After circling the museum’s perimeter, I was certain that whoever had gotten in had used this access point. Every other door had a fine layer of dust left behind from the nearby construction site except for this one. This door’s handle had been wiped clean with use. After a closer examination of the door

The Inadvertent Thief

Barnes & Noble http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-i...

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0089CLOZQ

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view...

[Blair]

Year: 0 A.D, minus one hour.

"Pornography ..."

It was an unusual start for a speaker at an educational institution, but he was going somewhere with it, and judging by the way his audience smirked, frowned, and shifted in their seats, they wanted to know precisely where.

"Pornography is the last remaining non commercialised art form we have left".

As he talked, Raymond Dawson clutched the ends of his glasses with his fist and waved them aggressively, dousing his audience with the holy water of life experience. This was his only academic flourish. There would be no tweed jacket [...]

***

'The Day the Music Died'. Work in progress. Critiques welcome.

http://www.goodreads.com/story/show/3...

[Mark]

This opening is provocative but seems distant because of slightly vague POV. On the other hand, I’m intrigued enough to follow the link and check out the story!

[D.A.]

The scanner beeped repetitively as the cashier scanned the items; Bread, carrots, broth, more bread. Her long nails slid across the box of Pop Tarts I had impulsively added and she raised her fake eyelashes to shoot me a quizzical stare. I let the corners of my mouth twist into a tight smile and turned my attention elsewhere. Across from me, in the neighboring isle, two girls resembling my cashier were bickering over the bill. I look back at the lady who was ignoring me now. The eyelashes were fake but the nails, twisted and curled at the end… I could only assume they were natural.

oh no! It's 106 words!

[Carrie]

Mark wrote: "Robyn's Egg, a futuristic thriller set in a dystopian world where free enterpise has run its course.

Moyer Winfield’s father once said, if a man wanted to know who he was, all he had to do was loo..."

Like this. Draws me totally in

[Darlene]

Cynthia wrote: "When I tell people about my recent losses, they just reel back and ask me how I am surviving it. I simply look at them and say, “I don’t know.” While my parents may have left some pennies behind f..."

Sorry for your loss. But I did pick up your book at Smashwords and look forward to reading it.

[Mark]

Carrie wrote: "Mark wrote: "Robyn's Egg, a futuristic thriller set in a dystopian world where free enterpise has run its course.

Moyer Winfield’s father once said, if a man wanted to know who he was, all he had ..."

Thanks Carrie, you made my day.

[[deleted user]]

oooh I like this idea...

"I don’t remember my life before New Haven. I couldn’t tell you my parent’s names or where I was born, or what I liked to watch on television when I was a kid. I could, however, tell you about everything from the moment I laid eyes on the old, run-down building with its empty grounds and sickly topiaries; every minute since then has been burned into my memory with laser precision, a brand on the grey temporal folds of my brain.Especially the night we were taken.

They came on a Sunday, just shortly after three in the morning. All was dark except for the spasm of the hall lights as they struggled to remain on."

[David P]

The opening lines of my third book (in progress) cast a more sinister light on survivors of the zombie apocalypse than displayed in either Voyage of the Dead or Flotilla of the Dead.

Deluge of the Dead:

“Hold her still,” growled Scag as he loosened his belt. She was still a cute girl, even after being raped and beaten by several members of Scag’s gang of Surf Nazis. He wasn’t happy about that. As gang leader he should have had first dibs on her, especially since she appeared to have been a virgin, but everyone was getting tense these days and it was becoming harder and harder to control his skinhead followers. The girl, Scag thought her name was Nickie, was the daughter of a man who had brought his family to the Aquarium of the Pacific in Long Beach on the morning of Z-Day - April 1, 2012..."

[Oliver]

A Cat Called Hope is the gripping and moving tale of how help can come from the most surprising of places. It is the story of a mother and child in the most desperate of situations and a lost cat with only his instincts to guide him.

UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/A-Cat-Called-...
US: http://www.amazon.com/A-Cat-Called-Ho...



Here's the opening:

Marx was his name. Not his real name obviously, just the name the humans used. He lived with two of them. Two female humans who brought him food and stroked him when he let them. They had their own names for each other but he called them the Walking and Sleeping. He called them that quite simply because one of them slept much of the time and the other ran around a lot. He wasn't sure why Sleeping did as much sleeping as she did. If it was because she was ill or if she just appreciated the benefit of sleep.

[Gary]

Let me make it crystal clear: reality is a blurry thing. So, before I begin to tell the strange and horrific present-day tale of death-metal musician, Rodney Duckworth, there are a few facts I should present without delay, facts that will help clarify the story that is about to unfold. To do so we must begin by going back in time to introduce an entirely different character, a man whom the British press once referred to as “The wickedest man in the world”. His name was Edward Alexander Crowley.

-From Ash: Return Of The Beast

http://bit.ly/JTsN2s

[Martin]

6:56 am

Imagine having to wake up early to do something you really don’t want to. Now imagine constantly being judged for it. Sounds like being at work right? Wrong. Here, instead of being compensated for your trouble, you have to pay in order to suffer.
Welcome to college.

7:19 am

Sorry if I sounded cranky earlier. It’s not that I hate going to school. I’m actually kind of a nerd so burying my head in books seems like the appropriate thing to do. It’s just…
Nineteen and just starting college? Let’s just say I’m stuck in a rut.


My Disjointed Life

http://www.amazon.com/My-Disjointed-L...

[Britt]

She opened her eyes. Closed. Opened.

The clock ticked.

It slowly ticked. It slowly tocked.

She absorbed the sunny flat with an incredulous stare. It was modest, almost crude if it had not been rescued by a clever female touch. Small, wood furniture was perfectly selected for its miniature style, squeezed into every nook and cranny with the sole purpose of offering necessary basics for living. The kitchenette was practically in the bedroom, separated by a quaint table with two elegant chairs.

“Wo bist ich?” she thought aloud.

“Warum spreche ich auf Deutsch?”

She smiled and rolled her eyes, realizing she was in a dream.

Beneath the Satin Gloves



Amazon http://amzn.com/dp/B008OJVB98

Smashwords http://smashwords.com/books/view/207731

[Oliver]

Jim Watson knew he was a vicious man, prided himself on it in fact, but even he was shocked when he saw the pictures from the phone. The kids who had found it had snatched it off some yuppie walking down the street. He'd been happily tapping away on it. Twitter or Facebook or some shit like that, and they'd had it out of his hands and away in the blink of an eye.
Why people felt the need to be in touch with each other every fucking second of the day escaped him.

From Camera/Phone v1 - free today (3rd Aug on Kindle)

[Lucinda]

Excellent idea, these first hundred words! I've been reading everyone's and am impressed...

Here is the beginnng of mine,'That Scoundrel Emile Dubois' which is coming out as an ebook later this month, available from Amazon, Smashwords, etc. It's an over-the-top Gothic paranormal romance comedy set in isolated North Wales and Revolutionary Paris. Sophie is trying to use increasingly desperate measures, - now fallening back on amulets to return Emile back to humanity, but he won't have any of it: -

'In the uncertain light from the candle guttering on the mantelpiece, the clock read four. Sophie got up, drew the amulet out from under the pillow and took it with her through her dressing room and Émile’s to his bedroom. Here, the lingering smell of his and Georges’ cigars was strong to her and she had to fight back nausea.
In the dim glow of the embers she saw Émile, face down on the bed. He was stripped to the waist, but still in his breeches. He slept heavily though the room was chill. Even now, the sight of the fine muscular definition..'

[Paige]

Alessa awoke in the middle of the night to find her nightgown bunched up around her chest and her uncle’s fingers between her legs. Just seven years old, she was scared and confused by what her so-called protector was doing to her and pretended to still be asleep, hoping he would stop. Alessa didn’t know if what he was doing was right or wrong; all she knew was that it filled her with dread. Ten minutes later, she felt as if she were going to explode right there in her uncle’s bed from the terror welling up inside her.

Enter To Win A Copy:
http://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/sho...

[Erin]

The woman lay in the cemetery on a bed of snow. Snowflakes clung to her blonde hair and sparkled like diamonds. Slivers of moonlight touched her serene face. Her skin was the blue-tinged skin of the Fey.

After turning up the heat in my coat, I reached out to touch her and immediately recoiled. She was so cold that I'd gotten a taste of frostbite, the cold stinging my fingers. Was she dead?

Pixie, a German Shepherd who was my companion and familiar, whined. She was right to lead me here, her thoughts urgent in my head.

Fey Touched, a science fantasy novel, on Amazon:
http://www.amazon.com/Fey-Touched-ebo...

[Allie]

This is from the prologue of my book Legacy of a Dreamer...

She glances out into the crowd, catching only a few glimpses of interest from those who’ve came to worship. Each person seems to find something else to hold his or her attention. They know the cross was bare to begin with.
“I guess they don’t.”
A mysterious weight falls upon her chest.
The boy’s voice turns menacing, dropping an octave. “Good. Maybe
they’ll see this.”
Taking a step forward, he pulls out a long blade and slits his throat. Blood sprays over the altar, a black stain covering the sacred ground.
She lunges for him in an attempt to staunch the hemorrhaging, but the liquid burns like acid. The boy falls to the ground in a puddle of tainted blood. She screams for someone to help him, looking into the enamored crowd, desperate for help.
No one notices her screams, too busy with their own endeavors. He dies as the ominous singing restarts once more.

Legacy of a Dreamer

[Christopher]

Westward Odyssey (western/historical fiction)

The doors to the saloon blew open with a gust of wind, the rain and cold gave everyone a chill down their spines. You could hear the drenching rain bombarded the roof of the establishment. In the low lighting of the kerosene oil lamps, a faint shape was made in the door way that resembled the shape of a man. With the next streak of lightening it revealed his features and all of the regulars of the bar were aware of who he was as the rain continued to pour down behind him. As he closed the doors, everyone sat silently listening to the sound of his wet boots squeaking and his spurs tapping across the cedar wood floor.

Chapter 1 if your interested - http://gojuchrisa.webs.com/apps/blog/...

[Oliver]

"I know where the bodies are buried," is what he said to me as soon as he was sitting down. That was the line that hooked me. It would hook any journalist. A dozen questions instantly formed themselves in my head, all of them jostling with each other to be the first one out of my mouth. "Which bodies?", "Where?", "How did he know?" I didn't ask any of them though; I just sat there in silence and waited to see what he said next. You sometimes get a lot more that way, letting people fill the silence.