I'm going to do her first one because I'm lousy at writing pitches (trauma, trauma) and even worse at poetry. So, here we go:
And, since I'm a big girl (ahem), I can take your critiques, just be fair and honest...and polite...
Sparks crackled and a tang of
ozone still hung in the air when the two children staggered under Hungerford
Bridge.
“We did it.” The girl, breathless, pointed across the river. “Look, the London Eye hasn't been
built yet.”
The boy leaned forward, his eyes
sparkling. “A Triumph Herald! Haven’t seen one of them since I was…”
“…ten years old,” she finished. “Just look at your little shorty pants. Sorry about the
scraped knee, is it painful? I didn’t plan to land us by the Thames with my
head in the river.”
The boy sniggered. “Look at you
with your hair in plaits.” He picked at his sore leg and let out a sigh. “Five minutes ago I was spread-eagled across the hood of a cop car.
They’d have locked me away for good this time after they found the cocaine.”
“And I was staring down the
barrel of my pimp’s shotgun. Shit.”
The boy shook his head. “Tell me
again, how did you bring us back?”
“I just repeated what I’d heard
in my dream. Take us back to 1980.
That’s all. Listen, kiddo. Let’s go find Mam and start over. We’ll study this
time and behave.”
“Second chance,” he agreed,
holding out his hand.
As they disappeared in the gloom,
curls of cold air misted out from under the bridge.
“Second chance,” mimicked a
cracked voice.
A small mad laugh responded. “The
bitch thinks it was her who brought them back in time.”
“This time round I suggest you prepare the boy
to be a psychopath – animal torture is a good way to start. And I’ll show the
girl how to steal babies.”
“You know? You’re just the best
demon.”
