The search for the winner of this year's Meager Puddle of Limelight Award for Best Opening Line continues with Heat seven.
There are eight heats in all. The winners from heats one - seven go straight through to the final. The second place finishers battle it out in heat eight to see which title joins the others in the final round.
What's at stake?
Bragging rights for the winner, an interview and/or guest post here on An Englishman in New Jersey, as well as signed copy of my book, Fur-Face, and a couple of I are a writer! pens.
I think you can vote using Facebook, but if you need an LJ account, they're free).
From the following list, please select any opening lines which you think should progress to the final round
"Welcome to Pigshit!" The old settler's skin was blue-black from living under a blue sun for the greater part of fifty years.
When you're jarred abruptly awake at four thirty, by the incessant clatter of the phone, the best you can hope for is a wrong number.
White flecks of foam flew at her face as the swell came crashing down mere inches from her feet.
The wind had become a ravaging monster outside as he tried to start the fire with fingers frozen from a five hour flight across the moors.
With its skullcap flipped open, the robot's brainpan resembled a spider's web studded with diamonds.
With trembling fingers, Brianna Sandor wedged four Mylar balloons around her pillow, determined to obliterate the image of the blackened skull that haunted her.
The woods called to him; they always had.
The worst part of being a bombardier is the waiting, Newlin thought.
Yeah, life is like a box of chocolates, but sometimes it's like a box of chocolates someone sat on first.