“Ooh, gosh, what a wonderful spread, and we haven’t even got to the table yet.” “Awesome isn’t it?” “I’m just craning over several tables to see what people are eating. No, I don’t think it’s rude. I’m just wondering what I might choose.”
“I’m going to call that waiter… rather attractive, isn’t he, don’t you think?” “Ah, we should also think about wine.” “Hmm, definitely a bottle of wine, and that will be fine.”
The two of them went quiet for a couple of minutes. The waiter appeared. Then soon everything was sorted.
“Now all we need is a selfie!”
~~~~~~
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: Fiction Word Count: 100
The red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) was very much revived now after that excellent coffee at the Six-Sentence-Café-and-Bistro, while she chatted to Mimi who had been stacking the clean glasses and other things by the counter.
“Do you need any help around here?” asked la Raconteuse.
“Gosh no, nothing needed around here,” said Mimi, “however, there is one thing you can do, as she held up one finger and grinned; “just wait for a couple of minutes, I will be back,” as she darted back through the double doors, past the kitchen, past the Manager’s Office and beyond.
Then the tall, thin man appeared from the double doors, he must have been in his Manager’s Office all the time; he was now carrying a large cardboard box which was clearly rather heavy: “hmm, intriguing,” thought la Raconteuse, as she smiled radiantly to the tall, thin man, as he put that box on one of the tables.
But then there was much barking behind the double doors: “why, it must be Hūnga!” said la Raconteuse, as Mimi and Hūnga appeared just then; “now that’s going to be fun,” grinned la Raconteuse, “I’m thinking we should go for a lovely walk, what do you think, dear Hūnga?” – as Hūnga woofed back.
And so, since it was a gorgeous spring day, la Raconteuse,Hūnga and the tall, thin man all went on a walk by the wide river and by the cherry blossom trees, and that big box was forgotten for the moment.
The two boys had been peering over one of the back gardens where there was a large shed. They could see something interesting, and they really wanted to see more. “We could go around to the front and knock.” “Or we could just bunk over the fence.”
And so they did. And luckily the shed wasn’t locked.
“Ooh look, it’s a tiny train on the track, and everything else.” “Such detail.” “And perfectly to scale too.” The two boys looked at each other and grinned, and then they stared some more.
“That little train is immaculate.” “It’s in the proper colours, like British Rail.”
Then an old man appeared. “Oy, what are you up to?” But then he grinned. “Okay kids, I’m happy to show how it works, and you can watch.”
The two boys grinned back. “This is going to be fun!” “And you can call me Uncle Bill.”
Well it’s not published quite yet, but I’m sure it will. Shall I read some to you, and you can listen? And maybe you might make some comments?
See, I’ve printed all of this out, and it’s in my binder here. I will open it at the start.
I’m quite pleased about the very beginning. It flows rather nicely since the main protagonist, well, she’s pretty feisty and she has some large and heavy keys, and that’s the crux of the whole story, even at the first paragraph.
Oh, you’re going out? Not ready to listen to what I’ve written?
~~~~~
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: Book Excerpt Word Count: 100
The red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) had been busy tidying up around her little apartment, not something she did very often, but needs must, although after more than two hours she was beginning to flag.
Still, it was definitely worth it, especially her lovely table where she writes; it was mostly for working on her laptop, but she often printed things out for prudence sake, one wouldn’t want to lose in that way after all, as she shuddered for a moment.
Now everything was in order, she had pruned all those unnecessary pieces of A4 paper, and the useful ones she had used her paper hole puncher to put them into several binders, as she smiled to herself being pleased with what she had done.
Her vintage Velos lightning-perforator two hole puncher which she’d used it in the office when she worked there (and then nicked it on that last day), now she tried to pinch it open carefully, but it seemed to be stuck, but then, of course, it sprung open and all those tiny round paper bits, almost like confetti, dropped all around the table and floor.
More than irritating as she glared at the once clean and sparkling area, as she trudged to the kitchen cupboard.
But then she had a thought as she looked outside, it was such a lovely spring day; she should go out and have a quick walk over to the Six-Sentence-Café-and-Bistro,since that would be the perfect coffee to drink just now.
But is it art? What do you mean? Well, it’s not really real. Sorry? It has been generated with software.
It’s not surreal, no. It’s very realistic. Now that I understand. I could munch some fruit in there. That bit of banana is beautiful, isn’t it? And that mug of coffee looks hot.
That old photo looks interesting too. I like the way that artist is working outside. It’s called en plein air Ooh, impressive.
You know there is a market for buying crypto-art? You don’t say? Yep, it’s called Non Fungible Tokens. Well, all I can say is… blimey!
~~~
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: Fiction Word Count: 100
‘Odd,’ said Joan, ‘we haven’t seen our lovely friend, the red-headed woman, for several days, have we?’ – ‘no indeed,’ as Scatty looked up for a moment, as she laid down all her cards, and shouted, ‘Rummy!’ as she grinned happily, ‘all out, again,’ as she gathered the cards together, then began to shuffle them again.
Meanwhile, on the next table, Francis and The Old One were concentrating playing poker, while outside, Mr Cushing was busy cleaning his gorgeous limousine, he had just finished polishing the car, when he looked up to see the red-headed woman standing near him.
‘Fancy a drive, my dear?’ said Mr Cushing, ‘I think I know where you want to go,’ as he stared at her, while she gripped her bag more tightly, then nodded.
‘Can I come too?’ as The Old One appeared outside, ‘I lost again, poker is not my strong suit you see, my pride has been injured yet again, but never mind, it seems we have a job to do.’
So off they went, the three of them, it was such a lovely day, and soon they arrived at that particular farm, and even from there, they could all see the poor farmer was clearly still brooding over life’s injustices, well wouldn’t he?
The red-headed woman jumped out, trotting to the farmer, the two of them began to walk in step together; then they popped inside the farm house, then a moment later, the red-headed woman appeared again, and said, ‘all done.’
Another small boat around here? I keep seeing them. It’s rather grey today, although that’s pretty normal. Not hot, not too chilly. It’s called ‘in the middle’.
I have been trying to get the right light, since it is important to me. That little boat seems to be tacking back and forward. That’s clever.
It’s a granite grey sea, and a slate grey sky, plus a charcoal grey on the beach. But just a pop of colour from that sailing boat would be good. Ah, some ultramarine blue, a little crimson red, and a tiny bit of cadmium yellow. Perfect!
~~~
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: Historical Fiction Word Count: 100
The two gargoyles, who were still on that belfry, while on they smartphones, they relayed a message from Reena, to the red-headed woman and Monsieur Bourbon; it was all about the diamonds – so many useful facts continued to flow – as the red-headed woman and Monsieur looked rather amazed, as they read what Reena said.
The two gargoyles shut their phones then put them in their satchels, they had already ditched their hats and coats, and as the red-headed woman looked up, the two gargoyles were about to fly off, as both of them gave a little wave to her.
She wondered where they were going, since it seemed that they were no longer interested about those gems; all that effort, and nothing now, as the red-headed woman grimaced.
‘Well,’ said Monsieur Bourbon, ‘the brutal truth is those synthetic diamonds are not very valuable, or at least what I thought that very clever lady, called Reena, had explained, is that right?’
‘Indeed, it seems so,’ as the red-headed woman had managed to grasp much of what Reena said, as she read again while scrolling down and back again, then she looked to Monsieur Bourbon, as she said, ‘the blunt truth is there’s no point to keep those gems,’ as she put her phone down then pushed her knuckles on her jaw.
‘So what should I do,’ she muttered to herself; then she said, ‘okay, this is the best idea, I’ll give back those stupid diamonds to the farmer, I guess.’
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