Opening Paragraph #22

Eight. Kinion counted the minutes silently. He knew he was in the right place. Knew to the second what was coming. Yet his heart pounded like a jacketed fist against the inside of his ribs. Seven. The icy wind danced and surged, slapping cold sheets of rain against his exposed face and neck. Six. A branch cracked in the darkness and he froze, scarcely breathing as the tall man appeared like a wrath through the trees. His height and broad shoulders were unmistakable Five. The man leaned, as if carrying a heavy weight, glanced about, and set a bundle on the damp ground. Four. It was impossible to see what was happening, but Kinion knew anyway. He’d scouted the log with the hidden compartment carved into it earlier in the day. Three. The man straightened, cocked his head, listening, and stepped back. Two. This was it, he was watching history, but soon he’d be making it. One. For a split second Kinion was sure the man had sensed his presence—it wouldn’t have surprised him in the least—but no, he checked the log one final time and disappeared into the night. Crouching low, Kenion scuttled through the woods, pulled back the bark cover and grabbed the sack. The gold plates were his.

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Author: LDS Publisher

I am an anonymous blogger who works in the LDS publishing industry. I blog about topics that help authors seeking publication and about published fiction by LDS authors.

8 thoughts on “Opening Paragraph #22”

  1. I really hope I’m not reading more into the countdown and these opening lines than I should, but “He knew he was in the right place. Knew to the second what was coming” makes this story sound very interesting to me. I vote for this one. (And I hope there’s a unique reason he knows to the second what is coming!)

  2. Kinion counted down the arrival of the treasure hunter. It’d take him about four minuets to cross the pasture, three more to climb the hill and one to get to where Kinion hid among the maples near where the scoundrel carved a compartment in a fallen tree trunk to stash his booty earlier that afternoon. Kinion pulled back a branch and squinted into the darkness. There he was, coming up Stafford road, the moonlight outlining his broad shouldered frame. It had to be him. Who else would be out at this hour carrying a heavy load in a burlap sack? The man straddled the wooden lean-to fence and pushed through the grove over to the hollowed tree-trunk. He stood there for a moment before disappearing into the night like a dear running from a fox, his footsteps slowly falling silent. Kinion waited until he was certain the man was gone then pried open the wooden door of this tree-trunk vault and grabbed the sack. The gold plates were his.

  3. Except that Kinion doesn’t care how long it takes to cross the field. He knows to the second who will be there and when he will be there. And he doesn’t think the man is a scoundral at all. It’s almost as if he’d seen it all before and knew what the results would be. I like your paragraph too, but it’s a different story.

  4. Kinion waited behind a sturdy maple, his gaze fixed on the secret compartment hollowed out of a fallen tree trunk. The treasure-hunter turned prophet would be here soon, he had to come soon. It was just like Kinon’s dream–wind howling, sheets of rain sweeping across the night sky until the arrival of…

    There he was, coming up Stafford road, the rain pelting his broad shouldered frame. It had to be him. Who else would be out at this hour carrying a heavy load in a burlap sack? The prophet straddled the wooden lean-to fence and pushed through the grove over to the hollowed tree-trunk. He stood there for a moment before disappearing into the night like a dear running from a fox, his footsteps falling silent in the storm. Kinion waited until he was certain he was alone then pried open the wooden door of this tree-trunk vault and grabbed the sack. The gold plates were his.

  5. No offense here Anon, but why are you rewriting other people’s work. Seems like your time would be better spent working on your own novel, no?

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