“Oh, let’s walk past, and quite quickly.” “Why? What’s the matter?” The two of them had been trailing around some small shops.
“Well, there’s nothing interesting anyway. Come on.” “But there is. In fact, rather nice things, I think.” She looks away, while he looks more closely.
Then he says: “don’t you like those colourful bottles? I used to have quite a few of those when I was a kid.” “Oh, that’s fine,” she says. Then she peers at them. “Yes, pretty. Very pretty. You want them?” “Nope, not now.” “On would then.”
“So what was your problem?” “Those dolls…eek!”
~~~
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: Fiction Word Count: 100
The red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) had woken up very early, for a moment she thought there was a huge fire in the distance, but no, it was a fabulous sunrise, more than gorgeous, it was going to be an excellent day – not dreary at all.
She got up and padded to her little kitchen, ah yes, coffee to brew, as she talked to herself as usual, and then she stared at the calendar on the door; gosh, she muttered, it was already September, as she quickly grabbed her diary to make a note for today.
With her mug in her hand, she went to her writing table, and opened her laptop, but what should she write?
Now she felt that her other red-headed woman could have another spin in Paris, with all her friends, especially those two gargoyles.
She pondered a bit, but she was getting hungry now, best to go to the Six-Sentence-Café-and-Bistro, she already knew what she would order – it will be two dippy eggs and toast, since she was pretty certain that Tom would be working that shift.
“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!
“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.”
“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.”
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?”
luna's on line 