L’amour toujours

photo-20170327143644962

Madame Sophie collected the finest things in life first. Waterford crystal. Flora Danica. And then she set her sights on people, for people were attracted to things, mais oui!

She was known for her exquisite soirees. The lustrous rope of pearls felt cool against her fevered skin. She took her place by the piano, accompanied by her dear doting husband.

Alas! La Belle Madame could not sustain the high note. She would reach it but didn’t have the confidence or the passion to stay there. She would break off…Such a pity. Oh, Mon Dieu!

She never gave up though.

Madame began trilling. She scaled higher and higher.

‘Wait for it, here it comes!’

‘Now.’

As if on cue, little Gregory, Madame Sophie’s youngest, held up the bowl of Waterford crystal and put it on his head.

Madame was well into her range when she espied little Gregory and her precious bowl. The notes escaped her glorious throat, soaring higher and higher, as she let herself go completely.

Resounding applause brought her back.

A beaming Monsieur slipped an extra pastry to Gregory.

You see, Monsieur had decided that Madame had had enough disappointment.

[193 words]

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers is a weekly challenge hosted by Priceless Joy. Thank you PJ, for the awesome opportunity! Thank you Louise with The Storyteller’s Abode for the photograph!

 

 

Maisie’s Muse

05-jules-paige-26-march-2017

Sunday morning. Finally. A glorious day. A getaway. All week in the cramped flat. Hardly any action. It was once a week, but enough for a girl.

He was always there before dawn to grab a hunk of bread and a chunk of cheese. His steaming mug of coffee slid across the counter and he caught it in time, before it became poetry in motion, scalding her if she wasn’t careful. Helping her to scramble into the little boat, he tossed the ropes aside and set sail, bobbing all day. They left before the others and he returned with her, spent, sunburnt and sweaty, just the way she liked him.

Gosh! He smelt so good!

Maisie felt the breeze ruffle her to distraction and turned, smiling into the wind. Her perfect profile, gorgeous brown eyes, oh, a man could drown in those limpid pools of honey. She had eyes only for him, and looked at him like no woman ever looked at a man.

The quay was deserted at this time. She could be herself, with an extra spring in her step and a joyous whimper, she found herself in his arms again.

It was only he.

And she.

Woof!

[200 words]

Sunday Photo Fiction is hosted by Al Forbes. Thank you Al, I enjoy this challenge immensely! Thank you, Jules Paige, for the photograph. I love it!

spf

Offcloud

clouds

As I think, I speak.

Really?

As I speak, I do.

Not really.

The thought does not always become the deed.

Deed, indeed.

For the mind clouds over.

Inaction.

The dark cloud on my horizon?

Never.

Inaction is now a habit and defines my character.

Under this cloud, I thrive.

My head in the clouds, my feet on the ground,

I have it all.

Not for me, your world, love and concern.

Don’t cast your shadow on me.

I unthink.

Why do you presume to disturb the air around me?

I unbecome.

You are just a passing cloud.

Uncloud.

 

[99 Words]

Thank you, Rochelle, for hosting the Friday Fictioneers’ Challenge.  Shalom!

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

 

A Game of Hornes

cow

Presenting-“The Cowntess Moasty-Toasty of the House Cocoamuff, First of Her Name, the Unburnt Toast Almost, Queen of all Ambling Bovines and the First Moos, Cowleesi of the Great Grassland Stretch, Breaker of Great Wind and prospective mother of Prize Heifers…”

A secret tryst in the barn, induced by unlimited Cocoa and muffins, Pat-a-cake being the predominant theme, Moasty-Toasty was christened after her gleaming brown coat reminded the others the toast was almost burnt before her first Moo.

The First of Her Name, and probably the Last. It won’t catch on, really now, would it?

The Queen of all Ambling Bovines, for Moasty Toasty has been known to emulate her mother, the Cowager, who was known errr, for  mooching. The Cowager has long since been forgotten, the public having such short moomory.

Thus, the addition First Moos.

Cowleesi,  note the eyes, the tuft of hair, the distinct resemblance. The sun never sets on the Prairies, Pampas,  Veld,  Rangelands, Steppes, and Savannah, Great Grassland stretches all.

The ABC diet, rich in asparagus, beans, broccoli, brussels sprouts, and cabbage contribute to the penultimate title.

Throw in handsome Angus, and you’ll have little Bullah, and Cownnie gamboling in no time at all.

Charmed.

[200 words] Sorry, went overboard!  😀

Thank you majesticgoldenrose for the photograph. A million thanks, PJ, for hosting Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers challenge! I had loads of fun with this!  ❤

 

Stuporia

drinks

it begins with just a glass

 

the thorn in your side

being passed over

a hundred things

clutch at your throat

refusing to let you breathe

 

you plod doggedly

gulping in fresh air

whenever you can

 

a smile feels raw

laughter threatens

to slash your stomach

you are afraid

it might all spill out

powerless to contain it

anymore

your heart crushed

in the vice of a cold hand

 

and then this glass

beckons

 

a sip doesn’t amount to much

 

the blood around your cold heart

begins to unfreeze

 

astonished

it rushes to your head

 

giddy now

the world around you

ceases to be

 

ceases to stifle

 

a film covers your eyes

your senses sing

and then are lulled

 

incredible

huh

 

soon

you cannot do without

this escape

 

illusion

 

this trance-like state

now eludes you

 

years of suppressed agony

threatens to escape

wrenching life from you

as it struggles

a sapling

growing

on impervious rock

 

somewhere along the line

you have become the perpetrator

all because you sought comfort

in that one glass

 

they avert their eyes

they walk away

you are so alone

 

all you have is this one glass

refills maybe

and an olive

that’s just an afterthought

[200 words]

This piece is in response to the weekly prompt at Sunday Photo Fiction. Thank you, Al Forbes, for hosting it.

Photo prompt courtesy – A Mixed Bag

 

Vantage Position

airport

It’s all about waiting.

So that’s where I come in.

A need to break the monotony.  And a quick bite.

They come to me; the aspiring, the ambitious, the smart and the successful. For, invariably, there is a delay and their best laid plans are thwarted.

I take their orders and execute them in silent efficiency.

Newspapers are whipped out. Screens light up and they are lost to the world.

From the corner of my eye, I make note. The regulars. The daily travelers. The once-a-weekers. More than that, I can’t be bothered.

The married, on clandestine escapades, betrayed by hands rendered bare, base of fingers decorated by rings of pale skin, in place of metal twisted off, in furtive haste.

The eyes give them away first.

Nothing much escapes me.

I pick up a card and read the name.

I’ve always kept my eyes and ears open and my mouth shut.

Wait and watch, I’ve been told, and things will come to you.

Jackpot!

[165 Words]

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers is a challenge hosted by PJ. Thank you!

Thank you Dawn Miller for the photo prompt.

Elegant Exit

al_forbes

Empty velvet lined boxes

Stand proudly on shelves

Their rightful occupants

Being awaited for

In vain

 

A lesser life this

Than believed

Far from prying eyes

Too hard to bear

Exquisite pain

 

Behind lush foliage

A mansion stood

Anticipating

A fresh coat of paint

In vain

 

The vintage car

Last to go

Larger than life

No discreet way really

Inevitable shame

The pursuit of dignity

In vain

 

Deeds signed

The ink barely dry

Time to call it a day

Finally

Time to leave town

Might as well leave in style

Head held high

A fitting end to a lifestyle

Vain.

 

[100 words]

Thank you, Al Forbes, for the photograph.

Thank you, Rochelle, for hosting the Friday Fictioneers’ Challenge. Shalom!

To read more entries please click here.

 

Immutable

temple

The streets unfold

I’m lost

In a maze

Of my making

 

In the unfamiliar

 

Tongues make no sense

Raucous static

 

I strive

To hear myself

 

A turn

Pockets of Faith

Concentrated prayer

The aura

Unmistakable

 

This is it

I’m home

In a strange land

 

Guided by You

I do not even question

 

The world is my shrine

I close my eyes

In total surrender

 

My Faith transcends

Everything

 

I learned long ago

No question

You know best

 

l am but a flame

Burning with the intensity of your fire

 

I know You

Have always known You

Myriad lifetimes

 

An ancient shrine

Of a long forgotten mystic

 

At the little chapel

You gazed at me

With so much compassion

My heart almost burst

 

I find You in every idol I see

 

Every stone

chant

song

flower

that blooms

 

In the people I meet

 

I now stand here

Before this shrine

And look up

To You

Yet again

 

You wait for me

All I need to do

Is close my eyes

 

Tuning in

I connect

 

Once again

 

[175 words]

This week’s photo prompt is provided by Singledust. Thank you Gina! Such a beautiful photograph! ❤

Thank you Priceless Joy for the lovely opportunity provided for this week’s writing prompt at  Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers !

Dingy Digs

hotel

Ye olde County Hotel,

Vestigial pride of the city.

No need for reservations.

Who comes here anymore?

 

Dark corridors, damp walls and mouldy furniture.

The door creaks open. A dingy little room.

A lumpy mattress.

 

A television set in the corner blinks to life.

The sound of traffic from the street.

Persistent.

 

A mini refrigerator rattles with a couple of sodas.

A packet of crisps, a carton of cookies and salted peanuts.

The electric kettle hisses steam.

The teabag rests in the mug waiting to become an infusion, exploding into clouds of golden light.

The steady hum of the air conditioner is comforting.

 

The evening palls the horizon.

Everywhere lights are switched on.

Pockets of illumination.

 

I lie on my back, my shoes kicked off.

My head hits the pillow.

I close my eyes.

 

Like Pippa,

on her one single holiday of the year,

I make the most of my shoestring budget.

 

I’m on vacation too.

 

No cocktails, racy fiction, harmless flirtation by the beach; moonlight, starlight, sunrise or sunset; frangipani, marigold and magnolias; canapes, lobster swimming in butter, eclairs; satin sheets, fluffy towels, scented soap.

 

Hello, room service…

I’ll have a cheeseburger.

 

Who are you to judge?

Now scoot!

 

[200 words]

Written for Sunday Photo Fiction. To read more entries click here.

 

 

 

Finally Felled

The walls came up.

Towers shot up.

Brick by brick.

Layer by layer.

 

Witness to slaughter and mutilation,

I stood,

the sickening creak and crash

everywhere

assaulting my spirit.

 

What was worse?

Waiting or watching?

 

Meanwhile, I grew tall and proud.

I shot branches into the blue.

I dug deep with my roots,

anchoring myself firmly

in the black depths of soil.

 

They walked to me with their motor tools

and the whirr heralded my glorious fall.

My turn.

Finally.

 

First my young limbs

fell, with gentle thuds

and a soothing rustle of leaves

like the whoosh of a shroud

as it falls gently,

shielding the body

from prying eyes.

 

Limbless, I waited.

 

Chips flew about

dents carved me.

The saw,

finally,

broke the stature

I so carefully cultivated.

 

I gave up.

Not without some noise though.

 

I fell.

A mighty crash.

The dust rose and blinded the sun.

 

My roots were pulled out

with the ruthless perseverance

and incompetence

of an intern dentist.

 

I bled, a bloodless sap.

Hewn into manageable chunks, I was taken away.

I didn’t look back.

 

A vagrant stump,

a distance away,

stubborn,

resilient,

soon shot

a few green leaves

into the air.

 

Surreptitiously.

 

[200 words]

tree

Thank you PJ for hosting this awesome challenge Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers.

Thank you Shivangi Singh for the photograph!