First Lines

"My new home," I thought morosely, looking at the fiery gates in front of me, "but what on earth did I do to end up here?"
 
I lay on the bed, my fingers drumming impatiently against the headboard, where the hell was my sheep!
 
Jenna took the day off and drove down early Friday from the Bay area to Santa Barbara, treating herself not to a trip, but to a killing.
 
There were six exits - seven if you included the cellar, which he didn't as it was a dead end. He opened the hatch and climbed down the ladder.
 
The Fate smiled as she took up one of the threads from the Great Loom. "Well," she mused, tapping her chin thoughtfully, "perhaps just this one time..."
 
Each strand was a life, each life was a treasure and each treasure was now hers. She reached for the scissors.
 
The silver knife glints in the dim light as the sharp edge cuts deeper and deeper into the soft, white body that slowly opens in my hands. A wide grin envelops my face; the zipping sound is music to my ears. I enjoy every moment as I cut and open the envelope. (Pale Moonlight)
 
For exactly one minute William Baker was not standing in the lobby of Station Terminal Seven.
 
"It was a dark and stormy night," exclaimed Arbuthnot Winnebago Trowel.
 
I know how this will end, and it will not end well.
 
Even though he knew this one would get him burned, it was a job he could not walk away from.
 
I consulted my diaries. I had indeed already seen one of these. Relieved that my record still stood I turned and said, "Thank you, but I had already seen everything before this...."
 
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It seemed an odd way to start a conversation, pointing a gun at my head. But all he'd done since reminding me of my mortality was bombard me with questions about my relentless headaches.
 

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