the small pond glistened some tiny birds winged away I smiled at the crane since I felt so blissful then let me think some more nice thoughts
I smelled the coffee and I continued to drink looking at the sky I suddenly saw my hands I felt so very alive
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Melissa introduces a creative writing challenge inspired by Maggie Queeney. Participants observe from a window, write about their surroundings, and create a tanka poem using sensory imagery and personal reflections.
The red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) continued to remove so much stuff from her lovely apartment; she was determined to dismantle all this nonsense in her kitchen cupboards and under her bed – and it was the second time she’d done it, and it was less than a year – all those empty boxes.
Decluttering … that was the word, as she muttered to herself, as she started to shred all those papers which were not useful anymore, but at least they would be recycled.
She had several sacks which she had commandeered from the basement, and she’d brought them up to her apartment; she’d filled them up and now she’d put then outside in her front door, hoping that someone might help her, since it was six floors down – she giggled to herself thinking, maybe she could just drop then down, but probably not a good idea.
She shut her door and went into her living room, as she sank down on her couch, then she looked on the right; there it was – she gripped her big bag, she needed to take everything out… everything! – she took a big breath, and opened it.
Right on the top was that note, she stared and stared again, still as dense as it could possibly be; ‘dense’ she thought … that’s a useful word; she smiled again, the word dense, is almost the same as Denise – she could help me, she was sure.
The ocean beckons, what shall we do today? I know what we can do, let’s throw a pretty bottle in to the sea. Oh yes, it’s always nice to send one out. It needs a note, of course, we’ll write it together; a moment later, it was done. We just need to bung the cork back, and off it goes.
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Image credit: Tanya Barrow @Unsplash
This image showsa set of steps leading to a structure on a beach with multiple directional arrows pointing in different directions. Some of the names written on these arrows are Hogwarts, London, New York, Saas Fee, Dubai, Area 51, Bangkok, etc. In the background, you can see the ocean waves and sand.
She had been staring for some time. She’d been cradling a large brandy glass, and it still wasn’t empty, it was warm and mellow, like she could’ve had a small cigar in the past. But that was long ago, it was so different then.
She watched the young things, who were dancing in the moonlight. She began reminiscing – so many ideas and plans, but nothing was real.
She put down her glass, as she took something out. She fiddled with it, and put it back again. Nothing worked.
She stood up, and walked away. But no one saw her.
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Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: Historical Fiction Word Count: 100
The red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) had been pondering since she still couldn’t fathom who had written that strange note; it was indelibly etched in her brain, and she had shoved it in her big bag while she’d thought about something else for a bit.
She was very much happier since the whole crowd – meaning the Proprietors – were all back, plus a couple of others who had joined as well; they were all pretty busy, even though some of them had been doing certain nefarious things, well, she at least thought so.
La Raconteuse stretched for a moment then moved over to the bar; she craned over to watch Mimi and Tom who were parading their new aprons – they had found them on their pegs on the back of the door in the kitchen.
Denise, the Bartender, explained: ‘I’d wondered what would look good on those aprons since there are so many symbols around everywhere; I’d thought maybe a dove, or maybe a heart, but then, of course,’ as she grinned, ‘here it’s on the floor.’
‘Ah yes, we all know that place don’t we,’ as la Raconteuse smiled, ‘what a perfect idea.’
She turned around and looked up where the Gatekeeper was back in his usual spot – he’d returned to the front entrance, as he was lighting his cigar; the red-head writer dropped down from the bar, as she ran up to talk to him, she hugged him and said: ‘we will never forget what you wrote there.’
I’m looking down, in this interesting place, I haven’t been there before.
It’s very beautiful, and such a lovely day, I’ve always liked France.
I’ve been over the sea, but the warm land is even better.
I’m a seagull is there any food here?
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Image credit: Eugenia Pankiv @Unsplash
This image showsthe rooftop of a building, with turrets and a sloping roof! There are different birds sitting on the roof, including a seagull. There are bird droppings all over the turret, chimney, and the roof.
The red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) had just sat down in her usual booth, all seemed fine, as she started to open her laptop, as she glanced over to the bar where her usual suspects (meaning the Proprietors) – although of course they were not usual suspects at all.
However, she had realised that there were a couple of people around now who she felt were big time hoodlums – like Lou and Rosetta, still they were pretty cool and clearly well-bred and ‘interesting’, and for that she was fine about it.
Then she saw a written note inside her laptop, and that was weird: who had written that? – she didn’t recognise the writing, and why did it say – ‘this is very misleading, isn’t it’; she stared around for a bit, but the only thing she was sure, was that someone had been sitting here just before.
There was no signature, and just six words, how can that help, she wondered; but never worry about that for the moment: time to write!
She had been doing some poetry earlier; it was a good exercise to take more than one meaning; she’d used ‘witch’ and ‘which’, but what next – ‘rose’ or a pretty ‘rose’; but meanwhile, she was also writing a tiny story, one which only used 100 words.
But now she was thinking about food – some nice bread and a lovely moist and rare steak; and suddenly she giggled out loud, that was a perfect word for this… ‘stake’ (poor vampire).
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