Below are the lines that made it to the next round. If your lines isn’t listed, I want you to know my judge this week did to critiques on the lines. And let me just say she did not mince words. I plan on posting the lines and the critiques on Wednesday. If you do not want your line, and critique posted, please email me at Karin@KarinTabke.com and let me know which line is yours and I won’t post it.
Now for those who made it through, you know the drill! Good luck.
1. Shivering in the half-light, Mary Jones was assaulted by the futility of her life.
The heat was off again; last week, the electricity wouldn’t work. Pulling the worn blankets closer around her, she huddled in her thin t-shirt wondering if the upper-castes were cold tonight, too.
2. He floated headless in a mist of tears. Even the river’s roar was not enough to mask the scream, so piercing was it and so unnatural that it silenced the never silent land.
Garrett clapped her hand against her mouth like she owned the scream and squinted through her tear-blurred vision, as if that would shift reality.
3. During the course of his quest, Dair Curator had lost count of the number of women he’d slept with. He didn’t care if he’d gotten a reputation for being a womanizer. He only cared about correcting his mistake.
4. She couldn’t believe it had come to this. All the years of hoping and training, the long struggle to conquer her powers and her heart as she pursued her childhood dream.
And for what?
5. Bloody slave labor! That’s what it is.
I sneeze five times in a row as the dust from the old books infiltrates my nostrils.
6. “Betrothed…you can’t be serious!”
Calvin O’Donnell watched his daughter jump to her feet, knocking the chair to the floor. He knew this would be difficult and she would be unhappy, to say the least, but even so, he was shocked by her outburst of anger.
7. “Ever heard the phrase ‘out of the frying pan into the fire’?” Dan muttered as we stared at the huge black mirrored doors.
“You know, that’s what I love about you, always the optimist,” I said, trying to convince myself there was no reason for my reflection to look so nervous. Beyond the doors subterranean bass pounded, vibrating through my chest like a warning.
8. In recent nights, the hunger had grown overwhelming. The ache gnawed at my gut and played across my nerves, making me restless. Needy.
9. “Pull out, pull out, please pull out,” she moaned. Knees aching and her back screaming with pain, Lana knew she couldn’t take much more. Knees pressed to her chest, right up under her chin and her back curled the way it was, she would definitely pay for this is the morning.
10. The mahogany coffin rested eerily over the wounded earth, the deep fissure as hollow as the hearts of the two mourners. The reptilian slit of the man’s eyes stared past the spray of wild flowers adorning its lid to his stepmother cowered on the opposite side. The widow’s eyes, puffy and glazed from weariness, watched him with a melancholy sort of understanding and she nodded, her mouth lifting in a tremulous smile of acceptance.
11. Kaitlin McKenzie stared down at her red-slicked hands and swallowed the pain; who knew a female body could lose so much blood! Ironic really; nine years in the field, surviving five shoot-outs and a knife fight and she was going to die from a bird attack.
“Hold on, McKenzie, the chopper’s on its way.”
12. Death permeated the air in the post-WWII bungalow as Sara Cooper walked through the front door and dropped her backpack on the floor. “Crap, another dead mouse stuck in the damn wall. Note to self: call the landlord in the morning,” she mumbled under her breath as she locked the door.
13. Remorse, the malicious shit, saddled up and rode Sierra Talbot’s heels like a haunted horse the day she blew back into the heart of Simon, Michigan.
A town she hadn’t seen or lived in for five years.
A town she hadn’t missed.
14. There was only one coherent thought in Francesca’s mind as she huddled on the closed toilet seat, twisting her hour-old wedding ring.
She needed to get the hell out and fast.
“Easy said, harder done,” she muttered, the sound of her voice bolstering her flagging courage.
15. It was right around 10 p.m. that I realized merry widows were made to be ripped off right away, not to be worn for an all-night TV marathon.
When I’d first put on the incredibly revealing costume — come-fuck-me red lace, satin garters complete with bows, and enough bone and underwire to heft my generous Ds to unbelievable heights — I was thinking about looking hot, not the practicalities of actually wearing it. But I needed to pull out all the stops, so here I was, all dolled up and ready for a little action.
16. Whoever said princesses couldn’t grow up to become killers was a liar.
At age fifteen, Princess Kryssandra Ashwyrai had killed her first man. Never mind that had she not stumbled and the paring knife in her flailing hands pierced her would-be assassin’s belly instead of his arm as she’d intended, the outcome would have been vastly different and very much undesirable for her; she’d killed a man and felt no remorse about it.
17. “You look like a man who knows how to be wicked.”
Theron tore his gaze from the crowded club he’d been scanning and looked toward the bleach-blond bombshell rubbing like a cat against his arm. A heart pounding bass echoed through the dark room, making her words hard to decipher, but there was no missing her intent.
18. The first time he had put the moves on her she let it go but the second time, she shot him.
Unfortunately for her, the bullet just grazed his ear and when he recovered from the shock that she had shot at him, she couldn’t run fast enough.
She had made a grave mistake – she hadn’t killed the bastard – and now, he would kill her.
19. He’d heard of fairies at the bottom of the garden, but this one was in his lounge room, and practically naked. Tall, slender and soaking wet, a pair of torn wings in her hand.
‘Can I help you?’ she asked in a sultry voice which Tyler decided didn’t belong to a fairy, but to a siren.
20. It’s hard to have a life when you’re the Angel of Death.
Aletta shimmered into the center of Orlando, metamorphosed into her usual human form, and watched and waited as more people died.
A chill slid through her and she walked into the Rialtmont entertainment complex, towards a dark elevator draped in spectral black crepeâ€“open wide like a ravenous mouth waiting for its next meal.
21. He found her just before sunrise.
Icy shivers slid down the back of Reyn’s neck as he stormed towards the inert figure on the ground. He tried to tell himself that the trembling he felt in his hands was the adrenaline receding now his long night’s search was over.
22. “I’m not giving her this.” I stared in horror at the inscription on the back of the huge diamond tennis bracelet, the curvy, flowing writing a mix of sentimentality and ownership.
*For B, my Love Shack(le) baby*
23. “You want me to do what?” Kirby Jensen’s stomach flopped as she realized her best friend, Tish Cavendish, had finally lost her ever-loving mind.
Tish rolled her eyes and said, “Find Landon before the studio does.
24. Nothing but forestâ€“miles and miles of forestâ€“stretched out in front of her. After wasting four hours of daylight climbing up the ridge she’d hoped to see more, a distant ribbon of highway, a lone radio tower, anything manmade that would point her way back to civilization.
Lost, the word she’d been refusing to acknowledge reverberated through her mind.
25. I stared at the nine men of my supposed dreams. Of my nightmares, more like, and theirs too judging by their stunned expressions as they stared back at me.
The show’s host said, “What’s wrong, Princess?”, the overdone innocence in his voice making it clear: this was no accident.
26. Emma Morris looked out the back window of Zelda’s Magical Diner at the rows of tomato plants heavy with the red fruit, and something free and wild inside her unfurled. The lush garden mesmerized her, so different from the hardscrabble Texas ground she’d known until she was fifteen and her parents bundled her off to her aunt Zelda in Wisconsin.
This summer, ten years later, the abundance of plants wasn’t the only attraction.
27. “Face it, the only reason she could possibly have for marrying that old fart is to get her hands on his money.”
Nissa Hagan backed out of the ladies room, letting the door close quietly behind her. As she turned to go back down the hallway, laughter from the closed door fanned her humiliation.
28. Finding anyone on a reservation is never easy, even someone dead.
Map labels and road signs were never part of this world. Maybe on a larger reservation, closer to a highway, closer to the bingo-playing grandmas and free-spending rednecks that are the acorns and venison of modern Indian life, you might find some oversized blinking neon sign pointing “Casino This Way, Graveyard That Way.”
29. I was standing there naked when a dead man sauntered into my bathroom.
Sauntered, not shambled.
That was the second frightening thing.
30. It seemed ironic that his own marriage should come undone at a house party whose sole purpose was to celebrate the promise of another.
From where he stood in his friend’s library, Marcus Elliot, the Duke of Westbrook, was able to stare out the library window and at the view beyond. A typical English garden laid spread out before him and, further in the background, the gentle hills tried vainly to beckon his gaze.
31. Shattered like a goblet on a tile floor, Sarah Wild’s dreams lay in a tattered heap of shredded white silk and gossamer tulle. Her dress went from bridal perfection to remnants for the ragbag with her quick frenzy of ripping and tearing. She stomped from the remains of her dress and kicked it into a pile against the large tri-fold mirror.
32. I squeezed the trigger, the noise of the gun nearly deafening in the confined space of the elevator. My legs trembled as I made my way over to where he lay, sprawled on the parking garage floor. Blood seeped from the four gaping holes in his chest, while his eyes stared unseeing up at me.
33. Lindani didn’t run from anything, even a monster in the sea.
He blinked the wind-thrown rain from his eyes and leant over the cliff, his heart thundering along with the sky. A massive beast rolled in the waves, heaving in the flickering lightning light.
34. Lissa, Princess of Horvald, waited for Death. She stood, still and silent in the dank chill of the Great Hall, determined to meet her fate without cowering in fear. But fear hovered, beating against her mind like moth wings, relentless and inescapable.
35. Dr. Ava Monroe listened intently as the subject screamed in pain. She held the man’s hand in place and watched his face contort in response to the stimulus. Suspicious, she let go of his hand, scribbled a few notes, then leaned back in her chair.
36. For someone with Kate Atkinson’s unique talent, finding England’s most infamous pirate had been easy. Catching him, however, was proving more challenging as Black Jack Snow darted like a cat between the bawdy houses, alehouses and hovels squatting along the south bank of the Thames.
“Curses,” muttered Aunt Winifred between bosom-heaving breaths, “we lost him.”
37. The blood splattered on Maribel Thompson’s pillow and drying on her hand wasn’t hers, and neither were the boxer briefs tangled in her sheets. Her alarm clock lay dead on the floor, its cord snaked between shards of mirror and a trail of blood. The splintered mirror was a herald to seven more years of the luck she’d become accustomed to, and the blood was an all too familiar sight.
38. Ringing phones and telegrams only brought bad news. At two AM, it was guaranteed. Unknown caller glowed on the display, but Nash’s gut told him to answer it anyway.
39. They spied the dog first, lean, long-legged and pale as a moonbeam in the darkness. It passed through the woodland like a wraith, gliding silently from one night shadow to the next as Hugo de Mercure watched from the battlements â€“ and waited.
“Over there,” the youth beside him hissed, pointing towards a taller, darker shape trailing the hound, “to the right of the great oak.”
40. Nick jumped as someone’s fingers slid down the back of his jeans. His hand jerked and his signature turned into a scrawl across the Rolling Stone cover.
“Nickee…Nickee…” bayed the pack of girls, as one of them shoved a scrap of lace into his shirt pocket.
41. Chocolate was made for moments like this. Standing for the first time on a Japanese street corner, I reached into my purse for the Hershey Kiss I had stashed in the zipper compartment for emergencies, but came up with a handful of brown ooze and an empty foil wrapper. Feeling the pulse of the city rushing all around me, I scanned the mirror-covered skyscrapers wearing their neon signs like fancy hats.
42. Something was wrong and had been for quite a while now. Exactly what, I had no idea, but it had to be big for me to be summoned up Here.
I glanced around the stark white marble foyer, resisting the urge to drum my fingertips on the arm of the white plush chair.
43. I bucked and twisted to shake off the men pinning my arms against a rough brick wall. Dim-witted and foul-smelling, the brutes mocked my efforts until a third man emerged from the alley’s shadows, clutched my throat, and touched something cold and smooth to my forehead.
As it began to glow, someone crawled into my mind.
44. “Ah, baby, that’s it…just a little…um, yeah…” he urged, his low ragged moan changing to a satisfied growl. Sweat droplets beaded around his receding, yet still dark hairline, and if he opened his eyes to look at her on top of him he would think she was enjoying herself as wellâ€“she’d slid her lips into a sexy smile to hide her revulsion.
Crumpled satin sheets clung in damp patches around her knees; her muscles quivered like a lioness ready to pounce, but she cautioned herself to wait, knowing the outcome of this planned encounter even if he didn’t.
45. As I forced my eyes to open, despite the thick crust gluing them shut, I knew one thing was certain â€“ I was dying. I attempted to extricate myself from my deathbed only to find I was somehow being restrained. I tried to lift my left hand, and was horrified by the pain that greeted me.
46. At the moment of his death Alexander Detweiler didn’t find God, or see the welcoming smile of his dead sister, or experience that all but clichÃ©d brilliant halo of white light. He awoke to Armageddon instead. His t-shirt still tacky with drying blood, he struggled up from the unforgiving pavement.
47. “I bet you taste as good as you smell.” Rayne mumbled against the serving girl’s ample bosom, grabbed at and knocked over his mug of ale and then, on cue, pretended to pass out. If everything went according to plan, the wench’s shrieked outrage would distract the guards long enough for Bernie to pick the lock of the elder’s makeshift prison.
48. The frilly bedroom had been recently decorated in red â€“ blood red. Panicked, Samantha Blair struggled to move; this wasn’t her room or her bed and it sure as hell wasn’t her body. Tears welled and trickled slowly, sadly from eyes not her own and then the pain started; still she couldn’t move.
49. Jenna Montgomery shot from a deep sleep with her daughter’s shriek rattling her brain.
“Mom-meeeeee, help meeeee!” Ashley’s voice, hoarse and shrill with terror, mixed with the unmistakable shatter of glass.
50. “Un-believable,” Ethan said as he threw his pen on his desk in disgust and pinned his assistant with a stare that made grown men’s balls shrivel. “Un-fucking-believable.”
Having learned long ago the value of silence, Ethan waited this one out, watching his assistant, Devon, shift from one foot to another.
Ciao for now,