Inside one of the metal garbage cans behind the Laughing Milkmaid pub, Snowy gripped the handle of the upturned lid above his head with both front paws.
If he gets in here, I’m dog food.
Dense blackness closed in around him. Terrified of confined spaces, he tried to picture himself stretched out on the shed roof in the Eustons’ back yard, but he couldn’t concentrate. The smell of roast chicken, so enticing just a short time ago, now stuck in his throat. His spine ached from the effort of balancing on hind legs on top of the black plastic rubbish sacks filled with that night’s leftovers from the pub’s kitchen. He longed to drop back down on all fours, but to let go of the handle meant certain death.
How about you?
Care to share the opening lines from your current WiP?