Opening 200 words

Eyes followed our every move in the forest, and every step only made escape that more difficult. High, towering oak trees circumvented our position clinging onto the remaining summer leaves as they gently began to fade into their autumn tone. The healthy green grass had been worn away by the stomping of boots and heavy tyre tracks that all funnelled into the centre of the forest. The paths were intertwined between the bare overhanging branches and were lined with the graves of shrubbery that had once held the homes of the surrounding wildlife. Purple blossoming heather could be seen in places still with its strong potent smell of earth, accompanied by the bodies of fallen soldiers that weeped blood onto the purple flowers of the heather staining their beauty.
          It had all began after the Germans entered Hürtgen Forest, and it was then when we were sent in by the 1st Infantry Division to try and suppress what appeared to be a weak threat. However as each bullet casing that hit the floor, one meter was gained and blood would again besmirch the flowers of that purple heather. No man walked back after seeing the eyes of a grey uniform armed with death and ordered to slaughter us like cattle. No mercy. Men trembled not in fear, but the certainty of what we were facing.

http://www.100wordstory.org/3580/never-nine/

I personally found this narrative is filled with metaphors, as long as you understand them. For example:

The doctor tells me over the curl and swoop of telephone wire, 

implying that she was told over the telephone. By making such a simple task seem so difficult to understand it makes this poem even more confusing. In addition, there seems to be vacancies in the text, as in the first line seems incomplete, showing an example of writing showing the traits of a post-modernism piece.

8 opening sentences to a book

The cold blood began to trickle down his warm cheek and onto the white marble floor.

As I sat there and thought on what was being said I realised that the image in my mind began to coalesce.

Our what seem insignificant daily experiences, I have just realised, is the very foundation of ourselves; however, it's the things that hurt the most that influences our actions.

I could picture it now, it was early morning outside the crooked and rotting entrance gates to where my childhood once flourished.

We could tell that the abundant silence meant something had happened to him.

London is a miserable place on a winter's night.

The end, I believe, is difficult to see no matter how far from the start.

The prospect of being able to go back and start all over has diminished ever since we took that first step outside.