And the Bitch is gone....an exercise in writing.

FLASHBACK!!
and why not? This inspired many a writer back in the day, some even published based on the snippets written here.
Find your muse:rose:

Tell me about it. :rose::kiss:

In my case it was a non-erotic story that got the ball rolling.

Now, how do i get this little redheaded bitch off my shoulder? :eek:
 
Tell me about it. :rose::kiss:

In my case it was a non-erotic story that got the ball rolling.

Now, how do i get this little redheaded bitch off my shoulder? :eek:

I always carry pepper spray, mainly as a salad dressing, but it serves other purposes as well. ;)

I'm trying to remember who is who here now that I know everyones real names...lol
 
LoL. This reminds me of that text based game that first came out on computers in the olden days...Adventure.

You are at a cross roads. On the ground is a sword and a set of keys. You pickup the keys and the sword and go west. You are in a deserted village. There is a bottle of water on the ground. You pickup the bottle. Looking around you see that most of the buildings have great gaping holes in them as if some horrendous battle had been fought here.

You go west. You are in a forest on a path that goes west. Blah, blah, blah.

ETA: Great to see you ABS. :rose:
 
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I always carry pepper spray, mainly as a salad dressing, but it serves other purposes as well. ;)

I'm trying to remember who is who here now that I know everyone's real names...lol

What a wonderful surprise to see you Abs.
Your challenge was very interesting; I managed one of the directions, but I confess to having trouble with a couple of other bits of it (I really Must get on with it).
 
I'll give it a go...

West will take you to a deserted village.

The soft plant stems crack against the old road surface under my feet. Still heading west the road drives on, only now the undergrowth almost covers it completely. The damp of the morning still hangs over the valley, the sickly sweet smell of wild plants in summer fills the air.

As I press on, the sun begins to break through the morning mist and the valley starts to breath, columns of vapour rise from the dense foliage. I feel the first beads of sweat begin to form on my brow, taking my trusty hat I push my hair back and place it on my head, immediately I feel relief from the suns heat on my face.

Soon I spy an unmistakably man made shape in the jungle, although covered in heavy vines the square sides and pitched roof can only mean a building. As I get close the vegetation covering the road gets thicker and at times it claws at my trousers as I try to clamber over it, pressing it under foot. I resort to drawing my machete and hacking a way forward.

I get close and soon realise that on both sides of the road now are many house like shapes, in places a hint of stonework shows through, here and there a window is still discernible. By now the sun is climbing, free of the shackles of mist it beats down relentlessly. Soon it will be midday and I must find shelter, too often have I battled on against the heat of the sun and I’m getting too tired to fight it.

On the left a larger building looms at the side of the road, maybe three storeys tall, remnants of window frames and glass still remain. I fight my way towards it, methodically swinging the machete I cleave a way through. Reaching the corner of the building I work my way along the wall, looking for a door. Suddenly the machete strikes metal and a sharp sound rings out across the valley, birds squawk and take flight and somewhere inside the building, I’m sure I hear a sound.

Cursing to myself I examine the edge of my blade, a small nick, looking down into the undergrowth I see metal chair laying on its side, hidden. Steeping over it I continue along, coming to an opening I pull the plants to one side, behind them the remnants of a wooden door sit awkwardly in the frame. Flakes of pale blue paint still remain but orange fungus spots the lower half where the rot is eating away at it.

One last glance up at the sun and push the door in, it gives easily but as it move its frame gives way and the door crashes to the floor, the bottom half crumbling. The noise again causes birds to take flight, and once more I here movement inside. Cautiously I step inside, tightening my grip on the machete I draw another knife with my left hand.

Inside the door opens on to a hall with a wide staircase rising to one side. To either side are doors leading off, but they are closed. A strange smell fills the building, in amongst the mould and decay there seems to be the tantalising smells of food. Unease fills me as I’m sure I’m being watched, I look up and there they are.

Three faces stare down at me from behind the bars of the banister, crouching, they appear to be naked.
 
I'll give it a go...



The soft plant stems crack against the old road surface under my feet. Still heading west the road drives on, only now the undergrowth almost covers it completely. The damp of the morning still hangs over the valley, the sickly sweet smell of wild plants in summer fills the air.

As I press on, the sun begins to break through the morning mist and the valley starts to breath, columns of vapour rise from the dense foliage. I feel the first beads of sweat begin to form on my brow, taking my trusty hat I push my hair back and place it on my head, immediately I feel relief from the suns heat on my face.

Soon I spy an unmistakably man made shape in the jungle, although covered in heavy vines the square sides and pitched roof can only mean a building. As I get close the vegetation covering the road gets thicker and at times it claws at my trousers as I try to clamber over it, pressing it under foot. I resort to drawing my machete and hacking a way forward.

I get close and soon realise that on both sides of the road now are many house like shapes, in places a hint of stonework shows through, here and there a window is still discernible. By now the sun is climbing, free of the shackles of mist it beats down relentlessly. Soon it will be midday and I must find shelter, too often have I battled on against the heat of the sun and I’m getting too tired to fight it.

On the left a larger building looms at the side of the road, maybe three storeys tall, remnants of window frames and glass still remain. I fight my way towards it, methodically swinging the machete I cleave a way through. Reaching the corner of the building I work my way along the wall, looking for a door. Suddenly the machete strikes metal and a sharp sound rings out across the valley, birds squawk and take flight and somewhere inside the building, I’m sure I hear a sound.

Cursing to myself I examine the edge of my blade, a small nick, looking down into the undergrowth I see metal chair laying on its side, hidden. Steeping over it I continue along, coming to an opening I pull the plants to one side, behind them the remnants of a wooden door sit awkwardly in the frame. Flakes of pale blue paint still remain but orange fungus spots the lower half where the rot is eating away at it.

One last glance up at the sun and push the door in, it gives easily but as it move its frame gives way and the door crashes to the floor, the bottom half crumbling. The noise again causes birds to take flight, and once more I here movement inside. Cautiously I step inside, tightening my grip on the machete I draw another knife with my left hand.

Inside the door opens on to a hall with a wide staircase rising to one side. To either side are doors leading off, but they are closed. A strange smell fills the building, in amongst the mould and decay there seems to be the tantalising smells of food. Unease fills me as I’m sure I’m being watched, I look up and there they are.

Three faces stare down at me from behind the bars of the banister, crouching, they appear to be naked.

Awesome! Now I want to know more.
 
Come on kids, give it a try! Doesn't have to be erotic, just....interesting.:cool:
 
'Tis unfinished, but here's the start of another:-



North will take you through a snowy forest


The Forest was cold; damned cold. Any visible paths were marked by the tracks of animals, Deer, Fox or Rabbit chiefly, but here and there, there was another, less familiar, footprint. He’d fled the plains for some protection from the cold of a harsh winter. With luck, he could save a week’s journey time through this forest. Here in the forest it was noticeable warmer, the wind less piercing and this happy state was increasing as he progressed further into the dense trees. It would be a month before the weather broke properly for Spring.

Here and there was a clearing, often made possible by the falling of a large tree or similar event except where a stream wound through, and the clearing was made by animals seeking water. He’d only seen evidence of one clearing made, or at least maintained, by man; there would probably be others for there was evidence of charcoal burning. He’d found one such hut the other day.

He’d been careful to leave as few tracks as possible. His resting places had been in the space under the roots of huge trees, or in the lee of a fallen oak and his cooking fires dug well into a pit to be properly covered afterwards. He was confident about not leaving much evidence of his passing and even the animals would not mind. He passed on with a light heart into the denser forest.

He’d been tramping through some dense, not to say obscure, undergrowth when he thought he was imagining things as he looked up. The first thing he noticed was that it was warmer, despite the wind’s noise in the tops of the trees above his head. The little stream ran just to one side of a track, and on the mossy bank lay a figure. He stood back for a moment and checked the surroundings; the last thing he needed was a bunch of local yokels enquiring after his business. Then he heard the moans. What whatever or whoever was the figure was in some pain. He carefully approached and reached out with his staff to touch the figure gently on what he assumed was a shoulder. The moan was louder and, by the sound of it, female.

“What ails thee, maid?” he thought, rather than said. He looked carefully about to see that they were alone. As he quickly bent down to attend her, he heard the sound of a quarrel whistle past his head and bury itself with a distinct ‘thunk’ in the tree behind him. He dropped low and was still, listening for the sound of footfall as he quietly withdrew his dagger. Whoever it was would have to come to him. He could wait.

He slowly and silently slid himself lower into a fold in the ground with his head almost screened by some thick grasses. He slowly and carefully lifted his head; there, on the other side of the little space was a figure carrying a crossbow. The figure put down the crossbow, looked about and almost slid to the lying figure.

Turning his knife in his hand, he raised himself up, aimed and threw it.

==

It was his eyes deceiving him, because the figure seemed to flicker and change. After the image had stopped shifting, there stood in front of him a Faun.

Nay, my Lovely, I’ll not have thee ‘till thou art whole and a real woman, not a figment of my fevered imagination or a water-nymph.
 
West will take you to a deserted village.

In single file, arms at the ready, we walked cautiously into the old village. The smell of the hot land pervaded everything about; even the ‘orrible smells of unwashed humanity, which we were. We’d been on the go for three days and nights, on foot, and we’d been sweating profusely.

As we passed through the square, there was a very different smell pervading the air. We’d got used to refuse and such like but this was nasty, and most of us knew it without much thought; Blood, and there had been a lot of it.

Strangely, there was no evidence on the ground or the walls of such buildings as were still standing after the bastards had been and gone on their raiding way. A religion of tolerance? Don’t make me laugh. They just wanna kill for the sake of killing. It’s all old-fashioned tribal, innit?. I mean, if the bastards weren’t after us they’d be at each others throats.

But this one looked ‘different’ somehow. My personal first thought was ‘murder’, plain and simple. I guess the others had a similar view, but we didn’t discuss it; not at the time, anyway.

We were just sort-of relaxing into the place, there being nobody to see and it being damned quiet, when the first shot rang out and we dived for better cover, weaving as we’d been taught, each looking round to see where it came from, with weapons at the ready.

Davy clicked his fingers and pointed up to a roof; whatever it was up there, it was definitely not made by the builder. As several of us pointed our rifles in that direction and readied to shoot, there was the most god-awful screaming and yelling from one of the near buildings. On the roof line, a dark figure appeared, followed swiftly by a grenade launcher. Five shots rang out and the figure fell back. The weapon fell to the ground with a clatter.

The screaming had now changed to pleas for help, in both English and their jabbering local tongue. Using clicks and hand signals, three of us moved carefully forward towards the dark portal of the nearest building. The cries for help were now quieter, and mostly in English.


And there she was, wrapped in dirty blankets and covered in blood.
 
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