Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

The red-headed woman grinned happily, while backing back from the large living room where the two gargoyles were still busy working to finish painting the walls; they both pretended to be stern to her, but it was only because they wanted to make sure everything would be done later today.

The red-headed woman walked to the wonderful library where there were so many beautiful books, but on this occasion Francis and The Old One were playing chess, and very complicated too, since there were three levels on the crystal board game.

She watched for a little while saying nothing, since they were concentrating so much; so she wandered along the hall, where she found Joan and Scatty who were going to the huge kitchen just a little further on, since this was the place Mr Cushing enjoyed his cooking.

“Aha,” said Mr Cushing, “do you want to watch,” as he indicated some stools by the gorgeous streamline kitchen table, “I’ve already made some soup, and also roasted some baby potatoes which I’ve put them in aluminium foil for now, but then the main event is this.”

“I bought this earlier today, there’s a lovely market only a couple of streets away,” as he opened the fridge and took out a now filleted salmon, “it’ll be just ten minutes, would you lovely ladies want to lay the dining room table?”

And so they did, and such a splendid lunch, they’d almost finished when the two gargoyles appeared grinning, “we’ve done it!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

The red-headed woman scooted down from her tiny top apartment as she stopped for a moment at the bottom, she thought to herself that maybe she should be kinder to that concierge, but she was such an earwigging woman, old, tiny and mostly cross too, as she slipped an envelope under her door which contained her monthly euros, then rushed outside to the small road.

It had been such a scorching summer in Paris, too hot she felt, but now it was early autumn, which is so pleasant, as she strolled through the streets, making her way to the beautiful, but slightly rundown house with very tall walls.

She was always keen to try something new, and this was a new project, she rubbed her hands with glee, as she slipped into the side gate using her special key.

And there they were, her best friends: clever Joan and her husband, Francis, who were very rich, well, they were vampires after all, like The Old One too, who still stays there, although he has a chateau in Orleans, France; then there was the athletic feisty Scatty, who was an immortal from Ireland, and finally, it was Mr Cushing, also an immortal who had been an actor in the past.

The red-headed woman greeted all of them with many little kisses – very French, of course, but where were those two gargoyles?

But there they were, and she almost keeled over with laughter, they were doing some painting in the living room!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

William Bereza on Unsplash

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?

She had enjoyed that fantastic poetry slam last week, all those excellent poets, like Nick, Misky, Frank, Ange and Reelika, with all their lovely voices; then there was Reena, Aptivi and Len, and also, of course, some particular Proprietors, meaning Mimi, Denise (aka the BarTender), and the top of the list, Clark (the tall, thin man), plus, for the second time, it was the Gatekeeper and Hūnga.

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.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

More #SixSentenceStories

William Bereza on Unsplash

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!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

More #SixSentenceStories