I watched the little girl skipping and singing her odd little childlike song and thought her adorable, until she glided effortlessly through a wall.
With a primal agonized scream that blazed from one end of the electromagnetic spectrum to the other, space ripped open momentarily to disgorge the human battlefleet into the chaos of a battle already joined by the Outsiders.
And with that where once a human head existed only pink mist remained
The leg snapped like a fresh french baguette. The blood flowing like hot butter.
I awoke to warm wet kisses on my face, unfortunately they were from my dog.
Alexander had always been afraid of death. Though now as he slid down the length of the spear, he was only sorry that he had failed to keep his promise. Then death took him.
(yes, this is the beginning and yes, Alexander is the main character.)
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So, I have a bad habit of starting every thing I’ve tried to write with the word “the.” To counteract this, I have deliberately tried to find other ways to begin a story, something that can hook people and still be subtle. So here is one I found in a store (don’t remember where, and don’t remember the exact phrasing.)
“Like all good stories, this one begins at home.”
Didn’t know this thread existed.
From my NaNo:
The Scimitar sliced through the night at orbital velocity, searching for prey.
I like this. It’s very descriptive without beating you over the head. You gain a lot of information in a very short sentence.
There really was no God. I discovered that much the day I died.
Thank you! 
Those were the first words I wrote ths year during NaNoWriMo.
I looked down at my body and realized I had just died. Now what?
(Great idea, this thread)
I am not sure which hurt worse, the way she callously broke my heart; or the knife she skillfully inserted between my ribs.
“It was Tuesday afternoon, as summer turned to fall, when the dinosaurs came to tea”
“I really should pay more attention to the warning labels”
The best day of my life wound up to be my last.
The Sun conceded as the dominate energy source of the solar system to bkitty, Joy Incarnate.
The volley of deprecation and venom from the one I love was quickly followed by, “It’s not you. It’s me.”
He remembered being shot in the chest…and he even remembered dying. But he didn’t remember being buried with his boots on, and his pistols in his belt. …now, he had a feeling he’d remember this next 3 hours as he set himselft to claw his way out of this grave.
As dawn approached and the sun climbed over the horizon, I tried to avoid the stench of the fart lurking under the bed sheets.