William Bereza on Unsplash

‘Well, that when down like a lead balloon – a total flop… even some heckling, but that’s life,’ as the red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) shrugged her shoulders, ‘no point in whimpering,’ as she muttered while jumping down from the stage.

‘Too radical,’ she thought, as she made her way to the bar, at least there’s a cabaret on next, and the tall, thin man altered the lights and turned up the volume; as La Raconteuse watched him go across the room and beckoned several people, including herself.

La Raconteuse leaned over to grab her big bag while still watching what was occurring; she’d already filled her pretty water flask which had animals around the outside, as she took a swig; she was in a quandary, should she reveal who wrote that note since that person was here?

La Raconteuse met the Gatekeeper just before entering the Manager’s Office, they stood for a moment as he showed her a new logo on his smartphone; ‘oh that’s perfect,’ she said, ‘we can definitely use that in the Six-Sentence-Café-and-Bistro, just love it,’ as she grinned up to him.

However, she’d a little chill in her bones: the seasons were changing – fall in the northern hemisphere and spring in the south – maybe she’ll go somewhere… and maybe soon.

She looked around, should she reveal, or should she let it lie for the moment waiting to see more, as all of them crammed into that Manager’s Office, as the tall, thin man closed the door.

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

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

More #SixSentenceStories

William Bereza on Unsplash

The red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) grinned for a moment, as she stepped up to the microphone, ‘Okay, can you all hear me?’ while she tilted the microphone a little higher, ‘ah, that’s better, now you can hear me, I’m sure,’ she was also talking rather loudly too.

La Raconteuse looked around as the tall, thin man had dimmed the lights, leaving only the spotlight on her; she smiled happily while scanning the room, with a quick wink for several people, ‘such a perfect place to do this,’ she beamed, ‘since this is the Six-Sentence-Café-and-Bistro.’

She continued, ‘but please don’t worry, I’m not going to sing… certainly not – who did you think I was..? but I had a thought, don’t think this is a goofy idea, nor something laughable, you see it occurred to me, some of us (and that includes me) we’re quite literary writers – are we thinking thoughts already?’

La Raconteuse looked around ones more, while she pulled out a couple of pages from her jacket pocket and her glasses.

Meanwhile a few people began to talk around their tables, including several of the Proprietors.

Before the animated conversations continued anymore, la Raconteuse started to talk again from her spotlight, where she was waving her notes – ‘my time just now,’ as she grinned, ‘I have a new poem, and I have written this only yesterday, there’s no sobbing with this, it’s a little ditty, and I will tear each section as I read them – well, why not?’

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

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

More #SixSentenceStories

William Bereza on Unsplash

The red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) had been peering on her cell phone – not ideal, but there it was, she was a keen follower off football – in particularly for the Liverpool F.C., and at the moment, they were winning yet again, just a couple of seconds to go, her app said ‘GOAL’, and then ‘GAME OVER’; she grinned to herself, as she put her cell phone back in her pocket, and then she looked around.

She was back in her booth in the Six-Sentence-Café-and-Bistro as so often she would, and things were moving in the right direction; so many choices she had, particularly since she’d eventually found out who had dropped that little note in her laptop.

She’d been still thinking about that, but now in a good way – no unwanted thoughts, such a pleasing time this evening.

She continued to smile as she read and replied on her laptop using that WordPress, it was pretty useful, apart from that niggle with that spam thing; she pulled a face, but what could she do? – as she continued to surf around.

She mused happily, there were no trashy poems or short stories in this place, even though sometimes they could be quite sad or scary, but neither was a problem; and of course, there were many other attractions in that bar and in the café.

It was time to walk into the limelight, as la Raconteuse, with a little help from the tall, thin man, she stepped up to the stage.

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

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

More #SixSentenceStories

William Bereza on Unsplash

‘Really… you know who wrote it… that little note under my laptop … quickly, tell me, dear friend,’ – the red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) looked at Denise, the Bartender, but sadly there was no time to talk just now, since a whole load of punters had arrived; the Six-Sentence-Café-and-Bistro, was almost heaving.

Mimi also had to run off into the kitchen, as she had to finish several dishes for the evening service – ‘sorry, sweetie,’ I need to control everything in the pass, although Tom’s here now… thank heavens.’

‘Oh well, nonetheless I’ll find out… eventually,’ muttered the red-headed writer to herself, ‘a plot and a plan is always useful,’ as she continued to talk to herself; she moved to her booth, she was about to work out another story.

She scanned the room, noting that the tall, thin man and the Gatekeeper were both listening to the young attractive woman – what was her name? – la Raconteuse had a dreadful time to remember people’s names… but then it appeared in her head – Rosetta Storme, that was her name.

And the other one, she thought, who is he? she craned her head – also attractive, rather older, mature, perhaps – she mused, maybe a pilot or, or… no idea, but why would she think about a pilot? – although she’d written something about a pilot, ages ago.

‘A nice long drink,’ said the tall, thin man, as he put it down by her, as he winked; ‘you should join the party, with us.’

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

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

More #SixSentenceStories

William Bereza on Unsplash

The red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) had been hurrying to the Six-Sentence-Café-and-Bistro, since she was almost desperate to understand that stupid little note; she was about to cross the busy street, while thinking about thoughts, fortunately she looked both ways by the yield sign, before she stepped across the street.

She was almost by the Café now, as a lightning thought struck her, she stopped for a several seconds, but a moment later she realised what she was thinking was on the wrong track – she sighed; it would be so much better when she was there with Denise and Mimi, especially since it was in the mid-afternoon, one of the best times to talk.

‘Okay, down to business then,’ said Mimi, ‘let’s have another look at that note,’ – while the red-headed writer showed it to both of them, while she read it out loud: ‘this is very misleading, isn’t it’ – oh, and also, do either of you recognise who had written this?’

They all stared at it for several minutes – ‘dense and denser,’ muttered Mimi, – while Denise pulled a face, ‘don’t start that again!’

‘You know what,’ began Mimi, ‘I have not a single flash of inspiration… sorry.’

’But, really it means nothing, nothing at all, maybe you could just forget about it, since I have a better idea,’ said Denise, as her face brightened up considerably, ‘you see I think I know who wrote it, and look who has just arrived,’ as she pointed across the room.

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

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

More #SixSentenceStories

William Bereza on Unsplash

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.

She was going to scoot out… this minute!

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

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

More #SixSentenceStories

William Bereza on Unsplash

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.’

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

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

More #SixSentenceStories

William Bereza on Unsplash

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).

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

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

More #SixSentenceStories

William Bereza on Unsplash

The red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) grinned a huge grin, as she looked up to see the Gatekeeper who had just arrived at the Six-Sentence-Café-and-Bistro; several other people looked as well, as he stopped at the second step down, and surveyed the room.

La Raconteuse looked the other way for a moment, as the Bartender gave a nod and a wink on the other side of the bar to the Gatekeeper: destiny was back, and the red-headed writer was more than pleased about that.

She hopped down from the stool as she turned around to see the Gatekeeper as he began to walk along the long bar – ‘gosh, you’re even smaller than I remember,’ he said – while she grinned – ‘just flat shoes for me now.’

Despite so many things had changed – and of course it had been several years from the start, but at least the main Proprietors were still in the heart of the Six-Sentence-Café-and-Bistro, although there were more exotic, devious and more besides too, who hang out there now, but the red-headed writer wasn’t worried.

The tall, thin man turned from the small group in the corner, as he strode to meet the Gatekeeper in the middle of the bar, right by the Bartender; in less than a minute, she’d served the finest malt whisky and two chunky glasses plus some ice – ‘let’s go through to the Manager’s office.’

La Raconteuse glanced out to see how dismal the weather was, as she sat down into her usual booth.

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

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

More #SixSentenceStories

William Bereza on Unsplash

Back into that wonderful Six-Sentence-Café-and-Bistro, the red-headed writer (aka La Raconteuse) was ready to write another chapter in her story.

Earlier she had been far too busy to do anything but eat and drink, since she’d had a very late breakfast (or brunch); she had been umming and arring about the menu for ages, as Tom was on leave, and Mimi was not here either. In the end she plumped for a couple of small pancakes with bacon and syrup (very proper for those American people, as she grinned), and in the meantime she munched some toast with butter and jam, or was it marmalade she wondered for a moment, but anyway everything was delicious, and she drank two coffees as well.

She went back to her usual booth where she opened her laptop, she was so happy that it had been fixed by this clever guy, since it took more than three days to work properly again. Without her laptop she had to write things down using paper and pen or pencil, and now she had so many notes and scribbles in her little notebook – what a mess! – but at least now she could continue to write on that laptop.

She had been working for more than an hour, but then she walked over to the bar, she smiled and waved to her great friend, the Bartender, while the tall, thin man gestured to the small group in the corner, and now, of course, she would be earwigging again.

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

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

More #SixSentenceStories