another artist what will this be? it seems to be a landscape and it’s pretty accurate.
I wonder if I could get a bit closer although I don’t want to put him off; rather I should walk a little further such a lovely lake.
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Image credit: Salva Jamm @Unsplash
This imageshows a man, probably an older man, sitting by the shore of a lake and there is a painting / picture in his hand. It looks like he is trying to capture the scene in front of him on paper / canvas.
‘Something delicious to eat this evening,’ as they walked through the hall to the dining room and sat down. ‘We need to order, but we also need to do something else.’ ‘True. We should crane around the tables and chairs.’ ‘We maybe could have a little look in the library – there is one, isn’t there?’ ‘Plus, we could also duck into the kitchen, we could see what is best.’
They stood up, leaving their napkins. So what happen next? . . . ‘I’ve got it,’ she said. ‘It’s me, Miss S in the hall, with the candlestick. That’s it, we were playing Cluedo!
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Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: Historical Fiction Word Count: 100
‘Really… you know who wrote it… that little note under my laptop … quickly, tell me, dear friend,’ – the red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) looked at Denise, the Bartender, but sadly there was no time to talk just now, since a whole load of punters had arrived; the Six-Sentence-Café-and-Bistro, was almost heaving.
Mimi also had to run off into the kitchen, as she had to finish several dishes for the evening service – ‘sorry, sweetie,’ I need to control everything in the pass, although Tom’s here now… thank heavens.’
‘Oh well, nonetheless I’ll find out… eventually,’ muttered the red-headed writer to herself, ‘a plot and a plan is always useful,’ as she continued to talk to herself; she moved to her booth, she was about to work out another story.
She scanned the room, noting that the tall, thin man and the Gatekeeper were both listening to the young attractive woman – what was her name? – la Raconteuse had a dreadful time to remember people’s names… but then it appeared in her head – Rosetta Storme, that was her name.
And the other one, she thought, who is he? she craned her head – also attractive, rather older, mature, perhaps – she mused, maybe a pilot or, or… no idea, but why would she think about a pilot? – although she’d written something about a pilot, ages ago.
‘A nice long drink,’ said the tall, thin man, as he put it down by her, as he winked; ‘you should join the party, with us.’
hearts are broken that’s life some will mend and some won’t is there a judgement? wrong or right or is it just luck?
blind sight that’s all there is just the seasons winter or spring that’s just life and how long you might live.
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Image credit: Gio Bartlett @Unsplash
This image is titled “broken heart graffiti.” It shows a sad face painted in blue, with red hearts for eyes, and a heart that is outlined in white and appears to be broken, painted in red with a blue zigzag line in the middle, on a white wall.
‘Wow! What a sculpture.’ ‘Do you like it?’ ‘Very much so.’
‘Is it made in bronze or copper, perhaps?’ He peered even closer. ‘Hold on. Are they real ones? I mean, real guitars?’ ‘Sure.’ ‘But how did you do it?’ The guy… the artist, shrugged his shoulders. ‘But, will you tell me… or is it a secret?’ ‘Well, basically just lots of paint.’ ‘Could I buy it? Although, I guess it’ll be very expensive.’ ‘Not as much as you would think.’
‘Those guitars had been in a locker, but now no-one would pay anymore. I got it for a song.’
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Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: Historical Fiction Word Count: 100
It was a big Sunday roast, and all the crowd were here, since it was Granny’s birthday. I was the youngest, and I giggled out loud when I saw those bloomers from everyone. She also laughed, in fact, she had to wipe her eyes, using her pretty hankie, which always had the scent of lavender.
I had a little job on Sunday. I would walk down the long back garden, passing the huge fig tree – what a brilliant smell – then I picked some spearmint leaves, and brought them back to the kitchen.
Then soon it was lunchtime and all those smells were divine. There was roast spuds – just a half one for me though, and a little lamb, but best was the mint sauce, not too much, not too little, just the right amount – just heaven!
such a lovely day we had eaten gorgeous food, but gosh, those bloomers!
The red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) had been hurrying to the Six-Sentence-Café-and-Bistro, since she was almost desperate to understand that stupid little note; she was about to cross the busy street, while thinking about thoughts, fortunately she looked both ways by the yield sign, before she stepped across the street.
She was almost by the Café now, as a lightning thought struck her, she stopped for a several seconds, but a moment later she realised what she was thinking was on the wrong track – she sighed; it would be so much better when she was there with Denise and Mimi, especially since it was in the mid-afternoon, one of the best times to talk.
‘Okay, down to business then,’ said Mimi, ‘let’s have another look at that note,’ – while the red-headed writer showed it to both of them, while she read it out loud: ‘this is very misleading, isn’t it’ – oh, and also, do either of you recognise who had written this?’
They all stared at it for several minutes – ‘dense and denser,’ muttered Mimi, – while Denise pulled a face, ‘don’t start that again!’
‘You know what,’ began Mimi, ‘I have not a single flash of inspiration… sorry.’
’But, really it means nothing, nothing at all, maybe you could just forget about it, since I have a better idea,’ said Denise, as her face brightened up considerably, ‘you see I think I know who wrote it, and look who has just arrived,’ as she pointed across the room.
That’s right, more coffee – and soon. She bent down to pick up her bag; she needed to write.
She looked over for a moment, the view was divine – sea and sky, but back to work.
Will she ever finish this great tome?
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Image credit: Peter Thomas @Unsplash
This image showsa table for two, set overlooking a picturesque scene. There are two teacups on the table, one of them is empty while the other is full of tea! In the background, you can see bright orange flowers, and far away mountains are visible too.
It was a good year, in fact, it was a great year, so many people said that. Do you know why? I will tell you.
Come, sit down here. Just next to me. Ahh, such a booming town. Lively, busy, such a good place to be then. He thought for a moment, and continued. What a beautiful car. It was my first, you see. Very grand at the time. He smiled, showing his gums.
I wonder what happened to it. You see, I don’t remember that. Lots of things I don’t remember now.
Does anyone know? I guess not now.
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Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: Historical Faction Word Count: 100
luna's on line 