Story starter

[sirhugs]

Here I sit in my little dark cave.
And then SHE walked in.

So many questions from such a short couplet:
~ who is SHE?
~who is SHE to the Nameless Narrator (NN)?
~ is SHE pleased to see NN?
~ is NN pleased to see SHE?
~ why is NN sitting in a little dark cave?
~ how little IS the cave?
~ is it a literal cave, or is it just a tight lonely space? (it was my dark bedroom that inspired the original thought)
~ why does SHE walk in?
~ does SHE know that NN is sitting there?

~ what happens next?

 

[TheWritingGroup]

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/She:_A_History_of_Adventure

--Annie

 

[sirhugs]

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/She:_A_History_of_Adventure

--Annie

I believe that I read it, long ago in a galaxy far far away, in my adventure fantasy period. I do know that I read my share of h Rider Haggard back in the day.

 

[Carnevil9]

The last man on Earth sat alone in a room. There was a knock on the door......

 

[sirhugs]

The last man on Earth sat alone in a room. There was a knock on the door......

was it the last woman on earth?
what if it was his sister?
(yeah, I know, more readers would like it to be his mother... I've just never "got" mom-son incest)

or what if it was a hermaphrodite?

 

[Carnevil9]

was it the last woman on earth?
what if it was his sister?
(yeah, I know, more readers would like it to be his mother... I've just never "got" mom-son incest)

or what if it was a hermaphrodite?

If you read the original Frederic Brown story, you will see that it was

 

[sirhugs]

If you read the original Frederic Brown story, you will see that it was

which could be his sister

 

[KindredFlame]

A molten river of rich Auburn hair, seemingly spun from fire and polished mahogany, flowed past her shoulders, tumbling in luxuriant waves that caught the ambient light, creating a vibrant halo around her head. It was impossibly long, cascading almost to her waist, a testament to careful cultivation and natural beauty, framing a face often described as classical. Her form was a testament to classic allure – a true Marilyn Monroe figure, an hourglass of generous proportions with a cinched waist, a full swell of bust and hip that promised voluptuous curves without a hint of excess. Whatever she wore – and tonight it was a garment that seemed custom-poured onto her frame – clung with exquisite precision, every seam and dart serving to accentuate rather than conceal, molding to her shape like a second skin.

The act of her entrance wasn't merely walking; it was an event. She didn't just step into the room; she unfurled into it, her movement a masterclass in effortless grace, a serpentine flow that made it seem as if her feet barely brushed the ground. Smooth as polished silk, each step was deliberate yet fluid, carrying an unspoken promise, a quiet power. There was a languid, almost hypnotic quality to her stride, a subtle sway that drew the eye without being overtly provocative, a silent symphony of confidence and allure. It was an invitation, a whisper of untold stories, an undeniable gravity that commanded attention without demanding it, leaving a palpable ripple in her wake.

 

[sirhugs]

A molten river of rich Auburn hair, seemingly spun from fire and polished mahogany, flowed past her shoulders, tumbling in luxuriant waves that caught the ambient light, creating a vibrant halo around her head. It was impossibly long, cascading almost to her waist, a testament to careful cultivation and natural beauty, framing a face often described as classical. Her form was a testament to classic allure – a true Marilyn Monroe figure, an hourglass of generous proportions with a cinched waist, a full swell of bust and hip that promised voluptuous curves without a hint of excess. Whatever she wore – and tonight it was a garment that seemed custom-poured onto her frame – clung with exquisite precision, every seam and dart serving to accentuate rather than conceal, molding to her shape like a second skin.

The act of her entrance wasn't merely walking; it was an event. She didn't just step into the room; she unfurled into it, her movement a masterclass in effortless grace, a serpentine flow that made it seem as if her feet barely brushed the ground. Smooth as polished silk, each step was deliberate yet fluid, carrying an unspoken promise, a quiet power. There was a languid, almost hypnotic quality to her stride, a subtle sway that drew the eye without being overtly provocative, a silent symphony of confidence and allure. It was an invitation, a whisper of untold stories, an undeniable gravity that commanded attention without demanding it, leaving a palpable ripple in her wake.

Please finish this and submit it to the story side.

 

[sirhugs]

sweetie, wrong place for something this long. Please move or edit it, or tell me what to do before I have to take an ax to it, which would be a shame.

 

[KindredFlame]

Sorry babe I thought we were in a conversation

 

[Rob_Royale]

Here I sit in my little dark cave.
And then SHE walked in.

I see this in a very noir setting. Casablanca style. 'Of all the gin-joints in all the world ...'
In my mind the dark little cave is the dark corner booth of a dive bar, where our down-on-his luck hero is drowning his sorrows, when the woman in the red dress walks in. She looks like a million bucks and a million kinds of trouble all mixed up into one hot dame who makes you feverish the moment she walks into the room.
"Hello Jake. It's been an age. Mind of I sit down?"
Every brain cell in his head, every string in his heart screams at him to say, "Not just no, but hell no!"
But that last hopeful part of his soul takes the reins. "Sure hun, have a seat. You still drinkin' tequila sunrises?"
The dame sweeps her dark flowing hair over her shoulder and gives him the smile that he still sees in his dreams. The butterflies in his gut turn into dragons.
Their eyes meet over the dirty table and he can see the anxiety in her green ones and her white teeth biting her bottom lip. "Jake, I need your help."
Oh here we go again, Jake says to himself, knowing he should have just stayed in bed that day.