It’s a great river. I stand by the sturdy railings, looking out near to the ocean. It’s warm, as I continued to stare out.
But things had been less pleasant then. I remember some of that. Parts had disappeared. And I’m grateful for that.
It had been an art exhibition. Some little random talking, and rather too much champagne. An older man brought me out by the railings, and he hoisted me up. He smiled in an odd way. I’d realised what was happening. But it was too late by then. . . . Still, I have a daughter now. Pretty, isn’t she.
~~~
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: Truthful Fiction Word Count: 100
The red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) grinned happily as she and Aurelia sat together in that excellent booth, the one where la Raconteuse preferred, they had continued to work, her on her laptop, and Aurelia on her bells and whistles smartphone, and they felt that both of them had achieved quite a lot already.
“That’s good, isn’t it,” said la Raconteuse, “I’ve lots of little silly stories and some poems, and a couple are okay, I think, but, you, lovely Aurelia, you have many fantastic ones and much more as well.”
“But I do have a problem though, and I’m wondering if you can help me, dear Aurelia, you see, I think I need to archive some of my emails and photos, there’re too many on this rather old laptop.”
“Not a prob,” smiled Aurelia, “it’ll only take a jiffy, or I could give you the steps to do it, if you prefer?” – “oh no, you do it, please!”
“Oh, excellent,” grinned la Raconteuse, as she stooped down to massage one of her feet, “you know, my foot arch is still sore even though my lovely new trainers are very comfy, you remember when I slipped when I first saw you,” as she grinned again.
“Anyway, let’s go to the bar just now,” as they began to walk; “gosh,” muttered la Raconteuse, “look, it’s Frank, Lou and the tall, thin man, they’re talking nonsense again, at least us two, plus Mimi and Denise, we’ve many useful conversations, don’t we think?”
No, you’re crazy… really crazy, and heaven forbid. Just don’t do it.
But, again, why not? There’s no value in these, so what’s the point?
But, but… But what can I say? It’s, well, just wrong. In fact, I’m thinking you’re deranged.
I know what you’re saying, but at least we can use those books to make part of our fire.
Now what are you thinking? I’m thinking you might be… well, right!
~~~
Image credit:Ebahir @ Unsplash
This image shows a table top with a glass of a drink, probably juice or cold coffee, and a few open books, one of which is either in Persian or Arabic.
“I can just reach it, well almost. Why don’t you try… you’re a little taller than me, aren’t you?” “Ah, that’s it.” “Oops, don’t drop it.” “Impressive, isn’t it?”
“Now give it to me. I am going to open it. And smell it. Hmm, seems fine. So, another sniff… mm, I’m liking this.”
“You don’t want to smell it?” “Thanks, but no.” “But you do want to stay with me, don’t you?” “Sure, of course.” “Well, phew!”
“Now it’s time to have a little sip. Luckily I can tip it up with both hands. And slowly too.”
“Wow. That’s strong. It’s certainly an interesting aroma.” “Hmm, is it nice?”
“Well, I will have another tiny sip. Just to make sure. It’s certainly warming. “And that’s a good thing?” “Sure. Now, another shot…, definitely nice now. Are you sure you don’t want some…? Oh well, all for me. Glug, glug, hic!”
The red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) was more than relieved, she had sat down at the pleasant table not far from the bar and by Frank, the tall, thin man and Lou, and all of them were talking about various things, including that strange voice which no one could see.
But la Raconteuse was already rather restless since she had not been able to write for far too long; she quickly arranged all her stuff in her big red bag, then she stood up (carefully), and walked to the bar, right by one of her best friends, Denise aka the Bartender.
“You’ve been busy for a while, haven’t you,” grinned Denise as she put the coffees and cakes on a long tray, “do you want some of this as well?” – “very much so,” said la Raconteuse, “although I would rather go back to my usual booth,” – “not a problem,” said Denise, “I’ll join you for a bit.”
So, Denise and the red-headed writer had a great gassing time; they grinned, they laughed and, well, what a riot they had, as they made many jokes and schemes.
But then Denise had to go back to the bar, and the red-headed writer was back to her nonsense writing very tall tales and many spinning yarns.
A little later, la Raconteuse looked up, she muttered to herself, and said, that must be the pretty young woman who Denise mentioned in passing, I’m sure she’s a poet, I’ll have to meet her, and soon!
I do like this park, it’s peaceful and gladdening. I often sit here and look up at those great trees, where birds are all around there.
“Trees are poems that the earth writes upon the sky.”
Shall I write today? I have my notebook and pen, but it seems too hard; so I’ll just look up again and enjoy the lovely day.
— Khalil Gibran
Image credit:Shan Ali @ Pexels
In this image, we can see a park with wooden benches installed at regular intervals. There are tall green leafy trees all around, and the ground is covered with grass. A walking track is passing in front of the benches.
I walked around a pleasant park. I often go there. I love to stroll by trees, bushes and colourful flowers, the scent is always magnificent. There are bugs, bees and birds, so much to look at, and maybe take a few photos with my phone; but my favourite part is the beautiful pond where those not so coy carp, or rather those koi (like from Japan) would bubble up and ask for food – and I can.
Then often I would sit, or even lie down, to continue to watch them, and maybe have a daydream or two. And then I might pull out a notebook and a pen to write a little poem.
dream, dream and enjoy a delightful day in spring what could be better?
~~~
This week for #TankaTuesday, Yvette asked us to write a poem about a dream that came true or a dream that fell apart.
“Do you think I can do this?” “Why not?” “It’s a bit scary, and I’ve never used a mic.” “Never?” “Nope.” “Well, you can have a go. It’ll be fine. Trust me!”
“Hmm, I’m thinking about it. Let me look at all those wonderful books.”
“Ooh, I have got this… and this… and this as well.” “Look, we’re in this one together.” “It’s that anthology.” “Great book… all those poetry people.” “And almost all around the world.”
“Anyway, that was fun, but now I have to dash.” “So you aren’t going to do this?” “What shall I say? Later, perhaps?”
~~~
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: The Truth and Nothing but the Truth Word Count: 100
The red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) was feeling rather off-kilter since that odd room, called Room 215, was still bugging her, she had notice that it said it was only for Proprietors on the door, but clearly she had seen other people inside, likeFrank, for example, so that didn’t seem correct.
La Raconteuse had dithered for a bit, wondering what she should do with that small card that she had got, it said, “Get out of jail, it’s free”, but in the end she managed to poke it under the door, maybe Moxie might decide to come into the hallway?
But little Moxie had been adamant to stay in those areas around the Room 215, and the last thing la Raconteuse heard was Moxie running with a little pink kite.
Heaving a small sigh, la Raconteuse held her big bag tightly as she had a last look at that door, but then she thought she should not go any further along the hallway to the back, but rather she should go to the Six-Sentence-Café-and-Bistro.
She was walking quite quickly now, but she stopped to see if the tall, thin man was around in the Manager’s Office, but no-one was there; but then she saw a young pretty woman who was about to go into the bathroom.
She had stopped just before opening the door, as she took one shoe off then rubbed her foot; she was wearing kitten heel shoes and it was clear that one of them pinched.
luna's on line 