“Why have we got such a bad press? I mean, we are not deliberately cross.” “No indeed. We live in our group, like aunties and uncles, and we are busy and productive.” “We always do many things each day, although fun is not our normal state.” “No, sadly not.” “However, we can be helpful, and actually pleasant as well. Believe me.”
“So, what can we do, we are wondering?” “A challenge?” “Well, we can say that.”
“So let’s make a statement.” “We’re pretty nice, and most of the time.” “You know, we could have a party?” “What a splendid idea!”
~~~
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: Historical Fiction Word Count: 100
The red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) was grinning to herself – my word, this place is buzzing, really buzzing, as she entered the Six-Sentence-Café-and-Bistro, – there are so many people I know, this is going to be fabulous.
But earlier she’d had such a dithering afternoon, almost a calamity in fact; it started with what she would wear at the Café-and-Bistro later.
She’d opened her wardrobe, and messy it was, as she threw out various things, but what to choose, not that there was much choice, and of course, she didn’t often vary her colours of clothes, her motto being: just black and black, but this was a proper event, so nothing ventured nothing gained, she will wear a flowy and pretty dress, long too.
So that was sorted, as she went to her laptop, opening it up to look at her poetry section, rather vast now, she would have to memorize a couple of those, and that could be a problem.
She wrote three of her most recent poems which she hadn’t yet released, and copied them on some small cards, then she looked to decide which would be best, then the second one for reserve, and finally the last one if required, although she felt it was rather unlikely, still all she needed to do was… practice, practice, practice, and out loud.
La Raconteuse was meeting and greeting, smiling and waving, but the sad news was this, as she held this up – I’ve lost my voice completely, more than hoarse!
It’s so, so dry. Look at the grass, it’s brown. It’s dying or dead. Ridiculous! Actually it’s not just ridiculous, it’s rather worrying. I have never known a summer as scorching as this. Although 1976 was pretty similar. Gosh, that was a long time ago.
The worrying thing now though is this. It’s El Niño effect. And that is going to be brutal. It’s already beginning. There is drought, wildfires and heat waves too. Then on the other side there will be torrential rain with floods.
Now we need to think. Crops, livestock and infrastructure will reduce food production and disrupt markets. As supply falls, prices rise and food becomes less affordable. When combined with existing pressures such as conflict these climate shocks can quickly increase hunger.
so brace, brace and brace many things will be required let us keep alert
“Shall we try that place,” said she. “We could,” said he. So the two of them moved up those rather grand steps. But then they stopped before opening the front door.
“It looks very nice,” she smiled. “It seems pretty posh,” he grinned. They looked at each other for a moment. Then between them they went through the door.
“Gorgeous,” said she. “Perfect,” said he. They both winked together… twice.
“I’ll go this way…” “And I’ll go that way…” They were busy for a little while.
“Okay, that’s enough.” “Indubitably.” So off they went, and quickly. And almost nobody noticed.
~~~
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: Historical Fiction Word Count: 100
The red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) dashed down from her apartment (all six floors), then trotted across a couple of roads to get to the Six-Sentence-Café-and-Bistro; she was about to enter the establishment, and she was sure she could smell the particular aroma of a cigar… she smiled… a lot.
La Raconteuse scanned around the place; it was quite early, so few people were around, but Mimi and Denise, aka the Bartender, were talking about making lunch.
“A lovely selection of tomatoes, courgettes, carrots and lots of spuds,” grinned Mimi, “and all organic food of course,” – “perfect,’ smiled the Bartender, “you’ll use the carrots to make carrot cake?” – “oh, naturally,” as Mimi went back to the kitchen to organize everything.
La Raconteuse sat on a stool opposite the Bartender and said, “what’s happening just now,” as the Bartender slid a flyer, “look at this.”
“See, it’s going to be a function, right here,” said the Bartender, “where there will be music and lights, and then everything will go dark and then the spot light will come up… it will be a slam poets party… see, look it says here.”
“And I will be the overseer,” said the tall, thin man, as he suddenly appeared from the hallway, “you’ll enjoy this a great deal, won’t you,” as he grinned, “we’re starting a list, all those poetry people, either actually here, or on line… it’ll be next week, oh, and don’t worry, our excellent friend, the Gatekeeper, will be looking after the door.”
Ah yes, my first flat, well, it was almost it. A tiny bedsit, what a find!
It was old even then, a little table, a chair, and behind that tatty bed.
Eish! I would say now.
Just a couple of things, some books and records, but my pride of place… that little black and white TV.
Ah, memories… I’ll just take that useful suitcase.
~~~
Image credit: Tolga Ahmetler @ Unsplash
This image shows a scene inside a room. There is an old-fashioned TV sitting on a small table. There is a big white kettle on the TV. There is a yellow bag in front of the TV. There is a wooden chair on the right of the TV. On the back wall, there are windows with metal grills over them.
“Awesome, aren’t they?” “Expensive?” “I guess so, but matters not.”
“All very pretty, and so detailed. Now I need to squint. Hmm, it must be in another kind of language.” “Something like Cyril?” “Can’t be Cyril, Cyril is our President.” “I do know that. I’m going to Google this while you continue to look.”
“All these gorgeous churches, they are called churches, aren’t they? Or maybe cathedrals, seems more… more, well whatever. But have you got some information yet?” “I have. And here it is.”
So they looked together, and that was great. “Okay, what’s next in this excellent museum?”
~~~
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: Historical Fiction Word Count: 100
“It’s such a hip joint, isn’t it,” grinned the red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) as she and Aurelia sat up by the beautiful mahogany bar in the Six-Sentence-Café-and-Bistro: “you see, if we sit just here we can see everything from the back mirrors behind us.”
“You’re right, you can,” smiled Mimi as she appeared from the double doors in the kitchen, next to the middle of the bar; then she extended her right hand to shake Aurelia, “please to meet you, my dear, it’s always nice to have a new friend… anything you would like to eat, by the way?”
“I bet cake will be involved,” grinned la Raconteuse, “but before that, what in the Sam Hill have you been doing for so long, dear Mimi?”
“But surely both of us have been busy in the hall and further up to the different floors in that very large building,” said Mimi – “ah yes, that’s very true,” as la Raconteuse gestured to the darker parts by the hall, “lots of interesting doors and windows as we know.”
Then Aurelia said, as she jumped down, “I need to go to the bathroom, I’ll not be long, I promise, it’s just a little problem,” as she rubbed her back as if there was something niggling in her pretty shirt.
So the two of them, Mimi and la Raconteuse, began to talk and quickly, starting with Mimi, as la Raconteuse said, “go on, fire away, there are so many stories we need to tell.”
luna's on line 