First Lines From The Lost Stories

As I went back through all of my flash fiction pieces and story beginnings in the dusty nooks of my Google Drive files, I thought it would be amusing to share the first line of each and see whether I'm an accomplished, indifferent, or wonderful first-liner. If you so feel, publish a companion post of your own!

"Dear Hog Nose:

         In the art of espionage you're never asked to know your comrades."

...

"It was the first day of summer and a high, white melody was at play in the trees."

...

"Long after, when the yellow roses on the trellis had faded; when she knew him and knew his story and knew that he was much more intense that she’d supposed; Winona often wondered how she could have taken it so lightly.A Frenchman moving into the neighborhood."

...

"Kat Durrant hitched the strap of her bag higher on her shoulder and stooped so the air-vent would quit drilling into her scalp."

...

"Four daughters and not of a one of them turned out to be a tiny blonde. Poor Daddy. He was at a loss for exactly four years, wondering what to do with us since there weren’t any weddings in the foreseeable future. Then Jackie graduated highschool and wanted New York City."

...

"After--long after, when rain finally drowned the too-sunny sun and he had forgotten his splinter--Oliver thought he would remember precisely how his mother looked when he was put on the train and taken away from his family with a lot of other little children who didn’t want to go either."

...

"It didn’t pay to be a writer; either he failed (and owed money) or got famous (and owed more money)."

...

"They had asked her one too many times what he was like. It wasn’t an easy thing, describing your childhood friend before a judge and jury who thought he was guilty of murder."

...

"At six o’clock, just when the sky turned the color of an Anjou pear, he took a willow-basket from its nest above the bureau and thought of her."

...

“Would mademoiselle like me to look out for her partner in the lobby?” The maitre d’ bowed over the table, over her arm, till the white breast of his uniform nearly brushed the pink carnations.

...

"On Carris Street, we are very open about our misfortunes. It is nice, having things to complain about."

...