Another small boat around here? I keep seeing them. It’s rather grey today, although that’s pretty normal. Not hot, not too chilly. It’s called ‘in the middle’.
I have been trying to get the right light, since it is important to me. That little boat seems to be tacking back and forward. That’s clever.
It’s a granite grey sea, and a slate grey sky, plus a charcoal grey on the beach. But just a pop of colour from that sailing boat would be good. Ah, some ultramarine blue, a little crimson red, and a tiny bit of cadmium yellow. Perfect!
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Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: Historical Fiction Word Count: 100
The two gargoyles, who were still on that belfry, while on they smartphones, they relayed a message from Reena, to the red-headed woman and Monsieur Bourbon; it was all about the diamonds – so many useful facts continued to flow – as the red-headed woman and Monsieur looked rather amazed, as they read what Reena said.
The two gargoyles shut their phones then put them in their satchels, they had already ditched their hats and coats, and as the red-headed woman looked up, the two gargoyles were about to fly off, as both of them gave a little wave to her.
She wondered where they were going, since it seemed that they were no longer interested about those gems; all that effort, and nothing now, as the red-headed woman grimaced.
‘Well,’ said Monsieur Bourbon, ‘the brutal truth is those synthetic diamonds are not very valuable, or at least what I thought that very clever lady, called Reena, had explained, is that right?’
‘Indeed, it seems so,’ as the red-headed woman had managed to grasp much of what Reena said, as she read again while scrolling down and back again, then she looked to Monsieur Bourbon, as she said, ‘the blunt truth is there’s no point to keep those gems,’ as she put her phone down then pushed her knuckles on her jaw.
‘So what should I do,’ she muttered to herself; then she said, ‘okay, this is the best idea, I’ll give back those stupid diamonds to the farmer, I guess.’
I jumped up quickly, this is what I ought to write; not a ‘Dear John,’ no! Oh, this must be eloquent, but will he think about me?
He’s such a nice guy, always helpful and useful. We are both good friends, but could we be more than pals? He’ll begin… ‘We’re soul mates.’
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Somonka – write this Japanese form consisting of 2 Tanka (syllable count of 5/7/5/7/7 without rhyme) written as love letters. Although traditionally a collaborative form, one author can write both. Make this love letters to yourself taking two different points of view. Thanks, Val
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Image credit:Alexander Mass @Unsplash
This imageshows a woman in a night gown, sitting in front of a writing table and writing something on a sheet of paper. There is a window behind her showing that it’s day time and the bed is unmade.
It was a sea mine To keep our coasts safe. World War Two was dreadful As many lives were lost. So victory was needed. He was in the right place and the right time. It was Winston Churchill, Man, War Correspondent and Prime Minister.
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Acrostic – This form requires that the first letter of each line forms a message. It was used for messages in code between lovers, spies, and mischief-makers. Write a message to other poets. Or possibly a writer, an artist and more much. Thanks, Val
‘Oh, this is a blow,’ muttered the red-headed woman, as she wondered to herself, while she tried to put her shattered thoughts into some semblance of order.
She looked to Monsieur Bourbon, and then to the gargoyles, as she said this: ‘no, quiet… we need to put our thinking caps on, don’t we; but meantime, we will need some sustenance, at least for me and Monsieur – some hot chocolate and some croissants for dunking would be best.’
So those synthetic diamonds were put in that strong safe, just in case, as they all adjourned to a little café, a good place where no one would be nosy, and certainly not near a certain Inspector Clouseau, or at least she thought so.
‘Okay, tell me more,’ she said, as the two gargoyles leapt up to the nearest very tall building, in fact, a church with a belfry, as they both grinned, ‘so what, Monsieur Bourbon, shall we do now?’
‘Well, my dear, it’s quite true, those gems are not completely worthless, although not great, and of course, the real problem is these have been nicked, obviously, come on, we know each other pretty well,’ as the red-headed woman, raised an eyebrow, ‘but we are not quitting, are we?’ as Monsieur Bourbon finished he second croissant.
Meanwhile, the two gargoyles had been both busy on their smartphones and right by that gorgeous belfry; after a few minutes there were a few beeps, including Reena, as the two of them grinned a lot.
The two boys braked, then wheeled around and stopped. They peered at the sign. ‘This looks interesting.’ ‘Do you think there is a castle down there?’ as he read what it said. ‘Could be.’ ‘Well, it doesn’t say that we are not allowed to go along that drive, does it?’
So they started to bike while looking around the long winding road. It was pretty overgrown, and there seemed no-one around. But then, what a vista! The two of them stopped… dead.
‘What is it?’ ‘Certainly not an old castle.’
They dropped their bikes, then walked around the imposing round building. Just then, a large door opened from the inside, and a man appeared, and smiled. ‘Do come in, you’ll like this, I’m sure.’ He pointed up. The two of them looked up. For a moment they said nothing, but then they both said: ‘Wow, a wonderful observatory – how cool!’
That tatty lace was once so pretty. It covered those tall windows, and the light would shine brightly in the early evening. The sun still smiles, but there’s no-one to see it here in this house.
Then the house was a home.
The walls and the doors were painted in rich and bold colours. The garden was glorious with many exotic flowers, bushes and vegetables. And beyond, those magnificent trees would often seem to sing.
But that was a long time ago.
Would you see a ghost sometimes? Would you hear a strange knock in the night? Maybe? Maybe not.
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Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: Historical Fiction Word Count: 100
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