Writing exercise

[B.R.Stateham]

Dan Coleman had a great idea about a writing exercise using three sentences to describe a scene. So let's give it a try! (but expand it a little bit.)
Below are the 'items' found at a crime scene. Use all, or as many as you can, to both describe the scene and the environment it was found in. Compress it into five or less sentences to set up the scene

Items::
A watch that has stopped at 3:15--a body-- a crumpled piece paper--a discarded, empty wallet--lipstick--a set of discarded car keys.

[Debbi Mack]

I was gonna say--just what I always wanted. :) Of course, it's a classic and autographed. That's something.

[B.R.Stateham]

Naomi!!

Naw, I mean it. Okay. . . take Raquel off the plate and replace her with a new Ferarrai for all I care. But all the other stuff is feasible.

We could do this this. Really---honest hidalgo.

[Debbi Mack]

Make it James Dean instead and I'll settle for that. ;)

[B.R.Stateham]

Debbi,

James Dean? Well . . . to each their own fantasy, I always say.

[Debbi Mack]

Either that or Montgomery Clift. He was gorgeous, even if we could be nothing more than friends.

[B.R.Stateham]

Okay, girls .. . . if we're going to fantasise. . .

I'd love to have a pin-up poster of Veronica Lake.

[Debbi Mack]

She's cool. I love her hair. (That famous Veronica Lake look.) Speaking of women, how about Barbara Stanwyck? I'd take a poster of her. She was awesome.

[J. F. Juzwik]

If posters are being given away, I'll take one of Sean Connery at any stage of his life; actually, I prefer him older. That one ages like a fine wine.

[minervaK]

"He's not wearing lipstick, is he?" I asked Watson.

"No, but there's a smudge on this grocery list," my partner said, straightening up. The dead man at her feet held an empty wallet and keys up to her in mute supplication, looking for all the world as if he was about to get into a car floating above him. "How do you figure he ended up like that?"

"Flash-frozen on his way to buy a new watch?" I suggested, eyeing the ancient timepiece on his wrist, which was stopped at 3:15.

[steve reeder]

I felt the passing of the bullets and tried to quicken my pace, but the sand was thick and soft, dragging harder at my feet with every yard I gained. My lungs were on fire and I could hear my heart pounding desperately in my ears. A third shot, closer this time, slapped passed my left shoulder as I reached the dubious cover of the bush and sank gratefully to my knees behind it.

[B.R.Stateham]

"Maybe he's dead," my Neanderthal look-alike partner in the South Side homicide division --and friend grunted, looking down at the body. "Did anyone check for a pulse?"

A bullet hole about the size of a Pullman car had been drilled through the man's chest at close range. Lying on the hot cement of the street was a watch which had stopped at 3:15--a discarded wallet--a set of car keys--a waded up piece of paper and, curiously, a tube of lipstick.

"Yeah, I think he might be dead, Frank," I nodded, grinning. "Maybe . . . you know . . . since we're cops we ought to find out who did it."

"Oh. Yeah . . . there's that. Sure. Say! When's lunch?"

[Bob]

"Hey Jimmy, this afternoon crowd rocks, the Goochie pursue alone will fetch a few hundred on Ebay."

I watched Hank rummage through the purse contents tossing the lipstick, car keys and wallet after he passed me the cash, cards and crumpled piece of paper.

"Crap, my watch reads 3:15, I broke the dang thing swiping...."

Red oozed from a hole in Hank's neck as his knees buckled and I flinched as a thousand pellets exploded into my face from the nearby wall. I was on the garbage can and over the wall, my leg erupting in pain followed by a warm tickle down to my ankle.