IT WAS A DARK AND STORMY NIGHT - 2003

Below are some "winners" from the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest. Please see the DARK AND STORMY NIGHT post from July 8, 2014 for an explanation of this contest.

2003
On his fourth day of his exploration of the Amazon, Byron climbed out of his inner tube, checked the latest news on his personal digital assistant (hereafter PDA) outfitted with wireless technology, and realized that the gnawing he felt in his stomach was not fear- no, he was not afraid, rather elated - nor was it tension - no, he was actually rather relaxed - so it was in all probability a parasite.
Chuck Keelan

The prince looked down on the motionless form of Sleeping Beauty, wondering how her supple lips would feel against his own and contemplating whether or not an Altoid was strong enough to stand up against the kind of morning breath only a hundred years' nap could create.
Lynne Sella

Our story begins in the farthest reaches of the frozen tundra where, due to the axillary convergence of the solar angle of incidence and the latitudinal reflective attitude of the quiescent magnetospheric  photoreceptors, it stays light for a really long time.
Marsha Engelbrecht

On holiday in Paris, France, we watched the Parisians sing and dance and soon they made us feel so good we fell into the festive mood of that city's cheerful pace that keeps a smile upon your face where there's such a lot to do and see, but it's hard to find a place to pee.
Walter Hamp

With a shriek like a damned soul tormented by a thousand devils, or by one really mean devil, not the underachiever kind that just stands idly around occasionally providing a pitchfork poke to a soul turning on a spit, but more like the kind who ducks ahead of you in Hell's only 10-items-or-less aisle with thirteen items and spend all eternity paying for them with an out-of-state check while standing on your toe the whole time with his cloven hoof, yeah, that kind of devil, and that kind of shriek: the vegetable grinder jammed on a particularly burly spud.
Arthur Helm

Holly had reached the age and level of maturity to  comprehend the emotional nuances of Thomas Wolfe's assertion "you can't go home again," but in her case it was even more poignant because there was no home to return to: her parents had separated, sold the house, euthanized Bowser, and disowned Holly for dropping out of high school to marry that 43-year-old manager of Trailer Town in Idaho - and even their trailer wasn't a place she could call home because it was only a summer sublet.
Eileen Ostrow

Outside, the rain fell ceaselessly, making a hollow sound on the old slate roof - thwack, thwack, thwack - as the bare branches of the ancient tree clawed at the panes of the mullioned window - scritch, scritch, scritch - and the broken gate repeatedly slammed the gate post - clack, clack, clack - while inside Edgar Blackmoor and his apple-cheeked young cousin, Annabelle Gray, watched the old German clock- tick, tick, tick - had their milk and tea - sip, sip, sip - and diverted themselves with endless games of whist - slap, slap, slap.
Deanna Ledgett

Our story begins, as very few do, in the diabolically clever town of Torrington, Alberta where the Gopher Hole Musuem, displaying 71 adorable yet eerie stuffed gophers dressed up to resemble the townspeople, has attracted so much tourists that when a Torrington home goes on the market, it sells in less than six years.
Joanne Morcom

"Failure" was simply not a word that would ever cross the lips of Miss Evelyn Duberry, mainly because Evelyn, a haughty socialite with fire-red hair and a coltish gait, could pronounce neither the letters "f" nor "r" as a result of an unfortunate kissing gesture made many years earlier toward her beloved childhood parrot, Snippy.
David Kenyon