When writing a story, one of your main goals is to tell one that entertains. However no matter how good your story gets later on, a great introduction is crucial when catching a reader's eye.

Write a beginning of a story. It doesn't have to be a single paragraph, you can write multiple ones. The thing is though is that it need to be around 100-200 words.

It doesn't need to be exactly that much, but that's the main aim you're all going for.

Words: 100

The moon rose like the axe had fallen. Quick, clean, splitting. There was a whispering breeze; a haunting apparition. The wolves were hushed; the fiend had awoken from its slumber. A mouthful of humble prayers were slurred, but none who speak are left at the claws of the Silent. A single branch snapped off a great oak. No sound was made. Even the wind was now inaudible. It tore through the woods, the village, the town, and culled the voices of the night. No soul was left untouched, no mercy for the ones who condemned the Silent with their speech.

Words: 100

“Breach!”
The door blew open, and the team scuttled into the room, guns raised. The walls were drenched in blood. Most of the furniture was burned or dismantled. A portable desk was set up in the center of the room; a feast for 10. Blood filled the cups. Each body was checked for a pulse.
“Clear. 18 casualties, no survivors.”
The grunts of frustration could be heard as the team flipped through the bodies and ashes. On a roof 10 miles to the north, a hooded man laughed hysterically as he pulled a zippo lighter from his pocket. *Click.*

”Boom.”

I groaned as I rounded another corner. There lay the remains of the mech suit I’d been wearing countless hours ago. The mech suit that I’d just managed to teleport in, which wrecked the teleporter. No one had told me I wasn’t allowed to teleport myself while inside one, but then again, I’d never known. It was my fault I was here. I was in this incredibly HUGE building and couldn’t find my way out. Every hall looked the same. Every time I sought to escape, I’d wind up here. Every. Single. Time.

I collapsed near the mech, putting my head in my hands. I was too angry at myself to move, and too scared to cry. It was obvious that there was no one else here but me, since the mech’s tracker thing was still on. If there had been anyone here, they’d have picked up the signal a long time ago. But then again, I’d never been off this floor. There could be a reason that no one was coming to my rescue.

I cradled my flashlight in my hands, idly stroking the handle. There was no reason for me to use this. The building had power. Whether that was a blessing or a curse yet, I didn’t know. At least it wasn’t dark.

And then I saw it.

At the very end of the hall, drifting slowly toward me…was a lump of shifting black cloud. I froze, breaking into a cold sweat. Something about that cloud seemed really scary. My muscles tensed, trying to get me to leap and run for my life, but I was scared of doing it. What if the cloud noticed me? I shut my eyes. Stop it, I told myself. You’re being silly. It’s just a black puff of smoke in the air. It can’t hurt you. Taking a deep breath (and a firmer grip on my flashlight), I slowly stood up.

The cloud was closer now, and at my motion, it shifted again, and a horrifying sight met my eyes.

It had a mouth.

Fangs filled the cloud’s jaws, and a glistening silver tongue rested within them. As it approached, its mouth hung slightly open, as if the vapor was breathing. The snout was rounded, like a dinosaur’s, and its lips, though present, were almost invisible the way its smoky face kept shifting. The thing had no eyes, but for some odd reason, I knew it had seen me. My mind raced.

A cloud with teeth. Sharp ones. Most likely carnivorous, and you aren’t hallucinating.

My next thought didn’t even have time to complete itself. My legs were too busy taking me far away from that thing. As I turned a familiar-looking corner, a chilling wail burst from behind me, and my chest went tight with fear. From that moment I couldn’t think of anything but this:

Run. Run forever and don’t stop.

The tinny buzzer went off, signifying the end of the wash/drying cycle and my dreary doze as I sat forward in sudden satisfaction. Attempting to regain the warm and fuzzy in between state of quasi-sleep I’d achieved through leaning against the surprisingly comfortable machines, I realized their lulling powers of cleanliness had been shut off.

The pitter patter of rain that leaked trails of mold and puddles of water damage inside the ancient building did little to comfort me and my “I walk to class” pledge to save the planet. The ever-trusting idiot I am believed the lying bastard of a forecast which predicted “sunny skies and smooth sailing.”

‘Sure save the planet Gina, great plan! Now who’s gonna save your laundry?’

It was laundry day, which for most people is a set weekday or time of month, but select others it’s when you finally realize you’ve worn the same pants for more than three days in a row and every shirt has deodorant, sweat, and food stains you fear will never be removed, and some form or another of unidentifiable goo your roommate swears is ectoplasm splattered across, at minimum, one of your favorite shirts. Today was that day.

Begrudgingly I stood up from my fetal like comfort and set to flipping the loads and folding, mixing colors with darks, and committing other horrible laundry taboos that would undoubtedly ruin my fashion life, as I sadly discovered I had too many loads and too little quarters.

Alas, a desperate search for spare change was fruitless as I was the typical broke preferred-food-to-clean-clothes college student. Once those loads were started I began the descent back into my nook of good laundry vibrations when my fellow filth wallowers of creative photography stumbled in, and the electricity stuttered out with a fantastic strike of lightning.

“Any luck with the ectoplasm? I’d really wished you let me get some samples...”

“I might’ve until you walked in with this haunted idgit; I just started another load!”

“Darn, looks like we’ll have to resort to ye olden ways of cleansing our garments. Anyone have a spare washboard?”

The ‘haunted idgit’ drawled indifferently futzing with his beard, having directed the question at some past out boozer past out on the cracked linoleum in the opposite corner as I attempted to set fire to his hair via death glares.

Jinxed Jacob, the junior who alongside my roommate, his girlfriend, Macy have made my life all but boring. Macy plans to uncover the science of ghosts through photography and science, Jacob plans to become a world famous medium or some shit like that, and me? I like horror stories as much as the next geek, but preferably when they’re in books or behind a screen. I just wanted to take pretty pictures. Instead, I got these two in the most haunted school in existence. Just my luck.

It's been a few months since Ashe distanced himself from the madness of fighting. For once he can finally just sit down in a park and spend the rest of the afternoon in tranquility. A small flock of birds are gathering over a birdbath, a couple of children pretending to be fighting, and the sky being clear because a weather-influencing gladiator finally left the area. He looks at his watch to check the time and sits content to let it pass by, appreciating the smaller things in the world.

"I am Catie Cuizon, your biggest fan, and I have come for you!" a teenager yells annoyingly right in front of him.

With the relaxing tranquility ruined, he stands up to look at this random person. She wears a green hoodie and a pair of olive cargo shorts. On the ground is a large backpack leaning on her leg, seemingly filled to the brim with various items. In one hand is a tablet and in the other is a menacing sword. The weapon looks suspiciously exaggerated, as if it is ripped straight out of some fantasy world. Coupled with an eager face adorned with a huge pair of glasses, he assumes she might be here for the reasons he dreads.

"And what does my 'biggest fan' want from me?" he inquires while discreetly reaching for his revolver. He hopes his initial suspicions are wrong as he continues stalling her. "An autograph? A picture with me? A peck on the cheek?"

"Isn't it obvious? You owe me a fight!" Catie excitedly replies, virtually confirming his suspicions. Her expression hints to how she regards the situation.

"Geez, I thought I managed to get away from maniacs like you," the detective groans, "Do you even know what you're getting yourself into or who you're up against?"

"Of course I do! You're Ashe Mercay, everyone knows about you!" she proudly exclaims, "One of the alpha-tier gladiators and the only one who defeated my other idol, Kalena Eirwen."

At that moment, Ashe feels like dying a little within. He has heard many horror stories from the lounge about those like her, but he never thought he would meet one up close. She is the sort much worse than any criminal, psychopath or gladiator he has ever encountered: A deluded fangirl.