As she walked along the beach. And on her own. So many memories. Some good, some bad, and some in-between. Believe the impossible. A small smile. Did she believe that anymore? She stopped. She looked out at the ocean. Always beautiful – fair weather or storm. There’s no telling beyond the seasons.
How many years had flown away? Is anyone left? The sands would know. Would they say?
She turned, but looked back again. Is it over, she wondered? Another story to break? So many broken hearts… Couldn’t it be happy – just once? But it’s time to move on. For her.
~~~
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: Fiction with a lot of Fact Word Count: 100
‘So here he is,’ grinned the red-headed woman, as all of them got out of that wonderful limo; she walked up to him, offering a firm handshake: ‘such a pleasure to meet-and-greet you, the amazing Inspector Clouseau,’ as she smiled radiantly.
The Inspector Clouseau was wearing his usual trenchcoat, it was very cold and he had been stomping around for a bit, but it was clear that he had been thinking thoughts though; although it seemed he wasn’t going to share much at the moment.
The farmer appeared, he was wearing his work jacket blues, with his beret up top and his wellington boots, as he mumbled to himself, ‘such a shame, such a devastating calamity, even though I’m often shunned, since not many people like to look after snails, but what a waste… and money, so much money.’
‘We mustn’t give up yet,’ said Francis, ‘since those jewels must be somewhere, and you, Monsieur Farmer, you shouldn’t succumb with despair yet; I’m sure these things are connected, don’t we think?’ – all of them agreed, as they began to walk around the place, especially all those sheds.
‘See that channel,’ said one of the gargoyles, ‘no, not that way, look the other way, over there,’ – ‘oh, I see, I can see a dip,’ – ‘okay, lets go have a little look,’ – so both of them set out across the last shed, while bickering a bit, as usual.
‘Hey, everyone come here, look what we have found, you’ll be stunned at this!’
‘Beach time,’ she shouted as she grinned happily. ‘It’s so warm, it’s so pleasant.’ She grabs her sunglasses – so funky, a tangerine colour, so bright. She pops her floppy hat which is decorated with little hearts and butterflies – very cool. She started to sing to herself as she went to get sunscreen – she knows she should be wise since she wouldn’t want to burn. ‘It’s going to be blazing by the beach,’ as she jumped into her snazzy car. ‘Broom, broom!’ and off she goes.
she’ll run down the beach she’ll potter around the sea she’ll take some shells back
~~~~~
Image credit: Amera Pawlik@Unsplash
This image shows an embroidery frame, coloured pens, a pair of child’s plastic glasses and tic tock signs. In the embroidery frame- different emojis are embroidered.
The two boys were laden with presents as they grinned to each other. Great Aunt Margotwas chatting to stallholders while holding her huge basket. ‘It’s a lovely atmosphere when it’s Christmas,’ she said.
‘We can sit down by that useful bench, and we can have a little unprompted picnic. I assume you’re both hungry?’ ‘Always,’ they chortled. ‘We’ve crispy baguette, some creamy butter and some pâté.’ They munched for a bit.
Then Great Aunt Margot said, ‘that’s enough for now. All we need is a smallish tree and we can hoist it back home.’ And that’s what they did.
~~~~~
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: Historical Fiction Word Count: 100
our lovely fat Budai he loves to chuckle and grin he throws happiness and joy here’s a gift, petals!
~~~~~
The Dodoitsu is a fixed folk song form of Japanese origin and is often about love or humour.
The name, Budai, literally means ‘cloth sack’, and refers to the bag he is usually depicted carrying as he wanders aimlessly. His jolly nature, humorous personality, and eccentric lifestyle distinguish him from most Buddhist masters or figures. He is almost always shown smiling or laughing, hence his nickname in Chinese, the Laughing Buddha. Budai is traditionally depicted as overweight and having a huge stomach (possibly a symbol of abundance or forgiveness) and many stories surrounding Budai involve his love of food and drink – perfect for us too!
For Colleen Chesebro’s #TankaTuesday #42 – 9 December 2025 where this week’s host Yvette Calleiro’s invitation is to focus on the word gift/gifting, as a noun or verb and to write a syllabic poem.
They had been singing for ages and loudly too, the songs, the lyrics and the melodies were all off key, but none of them cared, since this was a great outing; they hadn’t been all together for such a long time, more than half a year, but time is a strange idea if some of this lot are immortal.
Mr Cushing was driving, as always, in his purring limousine, and The Old One sat next to him; they had both been living in the south of France – very clement and useful too, since they both love going to the Cannes Festival and hang out with the hoi polloi (not).
Francis was sitting in the middle row, he had been reading the newspapers avidly, almost desperately to find anymore news about those jewels which had been stolen from the Louvre; it was only he who wouldn’t sing, while his wife, Joan, and her best friend Scatty, were clapping their hands on the other side and singing their hearts out.
The two gargoyles sat in the back and looked out in the rear of the car, eager to see a particular police car, since Inspector Clouseau could be just behind them.
The red-headed woman had been moving around in that gorgeous long car, talking to all her lovely friends; she was very keen to see what would occur, and she shouted: ‘we must be almost there at that farm.’
And a moment later she grinned: ‘it’s that it… all those big sheds.’
what a wonderful time it is so much happiness and joy!
all those little businesses are busy since they will be closing soon.
we peer in various shops is there anything else we need?
no, we think we have everything let’s run home now!
~~~~~
Image credit: Deep Doshi@Unsplash
This photo shows a snowbound scene from a street in Quebec, Canada. There are Christmas trees outside almost every home and they are sprinkled with snow. People, warmly dressed are going about their business.
‘We went into a little supermarket, didn’t we?’ ‘We did. Happy memories…’ ‘It was in a foreign place and quaint. You remember?’ ‘Greece?’ ‘Not that time.’ ‘No, you’re right, it was Turkey.’
‘We sat down, since there was a few tables.’ ‘And we drank some very thick and sweet coffee.’
‘Then we had a little look around the shelves…’ ‘… and we bought some postcards and we sat down again and wrote them.’ ‘They even had some stamps.’
‘Then after that we bought a tiny bottle of raki.’ ‘And what else?’ ‘You must remember that?’ ‘Oh, of course – Turkish Delight!’
~~~~
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: Memoir Word Count: 100
it’s almost Christmas and we will have a fish feast elegant, possibly but don’t miss any lovely juice since we will have some mussels ~~~
Keith Floyd’s Moules Marinière
Ingredients
Fresh mussels, cleaned and de-bearded
Butter
Shallots (or onion)
Garlic, unpeeled and crushed
Fresh parsley
Good white wine
Instructions
Prepare the mussels: Clean them thoroughly, removing any beards or barnacles.
Melt the butter: In a large saucepan, melt a generous amount of butter over high heat.
Sauté aromatics: Add the chopped shallots, crushed garlic, and most of the parsley to the melted butter. Stir for a moment.
Add wine: Pour in the white wine and let it come to a boil.
Cook the mussels: Add the mussels to the pot, cover tightly, and cook over high heat for a few minutes until they open. Shake the pan occasionally.
Discard any mussels that remain closed.
Serve the mussels immediately with their juice and sprinkle with the remaining parsley.
Enjoy: It is customary to serve with crusty bread for dipping in the flavourful sauce.
~~~~~
For Colleen Chesebro’s #TankaTuesday #41 – 2 December 2025 where this week, Colleen’s invitation is ‘to write a syllabic poem on the food/or foods that are served according to your December traditions.‘
The red-headed woman had been feeling rather pensive as she continued to listen to the two friendly gargoyles, while she rummaged in her big bag.
‘As you know we had enlisted several clever animals for a while, although sadly they have moved on to another case, we believe,’ – ‘not surprising though, since they are jet-setting animals who solve crimes all around the world,’ as the two of them grinned to each other.
‘You know there are still protests around the Louvre,’ said one of the gargoyles, ‘since so many very exquisite jewels had been stolen, and they are still mostly missing, so it’s vital that we stay in touch with Inspector Clouseau, you must know him surely,’ as the two of them looked at her; she affirmed.
‘So what are we going to do now?’ asked the red-headed woman, as she opened her notebook and clicked her retractable pen; while the two gargoyles looked at their phones, and a moment later they both said: ‘ooh, breaking news… look.’
One of the phones pinged, it was Inspector Clouseau who said: ‘it’s a decoy, I’m sure – never mind about those escargots, but those fabulous jewels, they will be hidden in some very strange place – they will reappear, mark my words.’
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