In honor of the 2003 Bulwer-Lytton Contest winners announced last week, here’s one of my unsubmitted attempts at writing an entry:
The old grandfather clock in the oak-paneled hallway of Critchwick Manor intoned the hour, its haunting chime echoing along the parquet floor, out the stained glass window depicting the Battle of Agincourt and traveling down to the moors where Geoffrey stood, stalwart, his hazel eyes blazing as he thought of the lost years he had spent without his one true love Belinda, staring into the mist longingly for what seemed like an eternity before muttering at last to himself and no one else, “What the hell was that noise?”