Today, to celebrate the last gasp of summer, we are writing the opening lines for the picture below. Join in by adding your own opening lines.
Julie: She waited until they went into the water to rinse the sand off the baby. Then she moved in, and opened the cooler, exchanging the fruit punch with her own, doctored brew. She went back to her blanket, happy that her task was completed so easily, unaware of the couple’s habit of switching fruit punch with wine in order to bring it on the beach. That was her first mistake. Her second was waiting around to see what happened.
Sherry: The Ryans staked out their spot on Hampton Beach like it was any other Saturday but instead of walking into the ocean they grabbed their baby and walked away.
Barb: She staggered, half-walking, half-swimming out of the surf as a wave crested behind her. Lying on the sand, gasping for breath, she looked around at all the happy families and wondered, “Is it really possible no one saw that?”
Edith: I noticed the woman unfurling that blue umbrella on my morning walk. She and her husband sank into their striped chairs, their beach caddy now as empty as the stroller, the man extracting a Bud from the cooler that sat between them. When I strode past in the afternoon, a strapped-in baby with pudgy red cheeks howled from the stroller as the woman tried to convince the baby to take the bottle she shoved in its mouth. The man snapped the umbrella closed.
Liz: He walked past the spot where the family had been just moments earlier – mother, father, baby. The chairs, stroller and blanket all remained, empty – the only hint they’d ever been there at all.
Jessie: The beach was a godless place for sure. While mostly naked, oiled-up masses worshipped the sun, only one unremarked family was spirited away by the Rapture.
Readers: What’s your opening line?