It’s Thursday, so it’s Friday Fictioneers time – one day late or one day early, you choose! It was the perfect day to clean out my garden (I’ve the scars to prove the roses resisted my efforts) so I forced myself to stay away from the computer. This came to me as I soaked away my aches and pains. Good thing I had my cell nearby to type out my rough draft!
So… Thank you Rochelle for both hosting and providing this second-hand photo (first for me, though). Any of you want to join in, click on Rochelle’s name for the how-to. Or, just click on the blue frog to read more wonderful stories!
Word Count: 100
Genre: Memoir with extras
Though still light outside, Mama lit the oil lamps.
“Night falls so quickly,” she explained.
Turning to my grandmother, I begged, “Oh, Mémère, raconte-moi une de tes histoires. Je t’en prie!”*
“Chérie, you already know them all off by heart!” she laughed.
“Surely not all of them – please!”
She patted the seat beside her, beckoning me. I ran across the room and snuggled next to her warm, comforting body.
“Which one do you want tonight, ma ‘Grande Bardiche’?”
“Tell me one I’ve never heard before, like the one where, to help put food on the table, you were a bootlegger!
*Oh Granny, tell me one of your stories. I beg of you!
As for the ‘Grande Bardiche’ – my grandmother called me that and could (would?) not give me a proper explanation. Thanks to the Google, I have found out this is some kind of pole weapon, which now makes sense as I once was a tall string bean of a girl…