Through the Camera Lens – Friday Fictioneers

Good Hump Day my Readers! Yes, it is that time of the week where Rochelle Wisoff-Fields entices us with an image and challenges us to write a 100-word story about what we see. This week she uses her very own intriguing picture. I cannot lie. I wrote something, flushed it; tried again and well. There you have it.

If you want to add your own vision, please do! It’s fun (most times!). Just click on the blue frog below and add your link.

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Through the Camera Lens

She loved walking past the old viaduct. Her friends thought it was too dangerous to walk in that area alone but she always felt a sense of peace and calm. People were so paranoid, believing they should fear every little thing.

She always carried her camera, knowing something new would catch her eye. It was her journal of sorts. Observing her surroundings, recording what was new. What secrets lay beneath the stones? How did those plants thrive?

Today, the stones moved. Curious, she leaned in, zooming her camera lens.

They found her camera but the blurred images told them nothing.

Weekend Writing Prompt #76 – Unlock

OK, OK, so I’m cheating.  It’s no longer the weekend but now is when I can so, now is when I do.

A word prompt to get your creativity flowing this weekend.  How you use the prompt is up to you.  Write a piece of flash fiction, a poem, a chapter for your novel…anything you like.  Or take the challenge below – there are no prizes – it’s not a competition but rather a fun writing exercise.  If you want to share what you come up with, please leave a link to it in the comments.

Word Prompt

Unlock

Challenge

Words,

Words brought them together

His, swirling and provocative, coloured in metaphors

Hers, straightforward but honest, not given to fluff

Mutual admiration expands for the other’s style

 

This exchange of words, innocent and light

At times a comedic or snarky repartee

Becomes an exchange of ideas, a baring of souls

Trust given and received sans fear

Unlocking the possibilities

For so much more

 

Impasse – Friday Fictioneers

Thanks to my oh-so noisy kids, I am up way before I want to.  Showers, breakfast making, frying pans landing not too softly on the stove…

Instead of tossing and swearing and turning and cussing, I got up and decided to see if I can make it on the first line of Friday Fictioneers!  Thanks always to Rochelle for keeping us ducks in a row and this week, she even supplied her own photo…

Join in on the madness by clicking on the blue frog below and adding the link to your story.  It’s fun and a great exercise in “removing the unnecessary fluff”.

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Impasse

“We’ve reached an impasse,” Sofia said stonily.

“Come on!  We can work this out.  It will be a great project,” Ryan cajoled.

“No,  I’m not interested.  It’s not going to happen.  You can’t change my mind.”

“It’s been in my family for years.  I don’t want to just give it up.”

“Then don’t.  Keep it.”

“But I want you with me in this!”

“No way in hell I am helping you turn this cold, dank, windowless pile of stone into a B&B.”

“It has so much potential.  We can make it work.”

“Enjoy your project.  Call me when it’s finished.”

Kintsukuroi – Friday Fictioneers

Good Wed… oh dear… it’s past midnight!  So, good Thursday, my friends.  Today’s Friday Fictioneers had me stumped somewhat.  Well, I knew where I wanted to go but the words eluded me.  Nothing like taking a step back and letting it swirl around, hoping to make it somewhat coherent…

Thank you, always, to Rochelle for keeping us wanting to come back week after week.  And this week, thank you to Sandra Crook for this wonderful photo.

Do join in by clicking on the blue frog below and adding your own interpretation.  It’s fun!

 

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Kintsukuroi

He stood there, stunned, chunks of his heart strewn about like shells tossed back from the ocean.

He bent down, determined to pick up the pieces, when a wave of anger overtook him.  He balled up his fist, prepared to slam it down and destroy what was left.

He felt two hands wrap themselves around his fist, stopping further destruction.  Surprised, he looked up and found her there.  Her intense gaze kept him prisoner as did her hands.

“Kintsukuroi,” she said.

“What?”

“It’s not over.  What seems permanently broken, is not.  Let me be the gold that makes you shine.

**********

I don’t usually on these posts, but Hey Rosetta has a lovely song that just fit…

 

Don’t Dismiss (or Diss) the Kiss

La beauté n’a pas d’importance. Quand on est un homme aimable, on finit par avoir une beauté dans le regard, dans la manière d’être en vieillissant.¹

— Charles Aznavour

The lyrics, in both French and English, are here Qui Who

Il faut savoir, coûte que coûte, Garder toute sa dignité Et, malgré ce qu’il nous en coûte, S’en aller sans se retourner Face au destin qui nous désarme.²

— Charles  Aznavour

Helluva preamble to my post, eh?  Lemme explain myself before I continue.  Yesterday, the world lost the fabulous French/Armenian singer, Charles Aznavour – also known as the “Frank Sinatra of France”.  You can’t really feel bad.  The man was 94 and had a most prolific life.  If you click on his name, you have access to a wonderful article on his life as well as a link to his most famous English song “She”.

But I digress…

Because of his passing, I ended up on YouTube to listen to my favourite tunes by him, such as “La Bohème” and “Emmenez-moi” (the latter being, by the way, IMPOSSIBLE to sing along to in a Karaoke session.  Trust me.  I’ve tried) and left YouTube to do its thing and play whatever it felt like… well.

Along came Cesária Évora and her sultry voice singing “Besame Mucho”.  My Spanish is so-so but passable enough to know that Besame had to do with kissing.  So, of course, the Google came into use when I searched the English translation of the song for confirmation.  While I continue blathering on, g’head, enjoy the late great Cesaria…

 

I started thinking about kissing.  And how much I love it.  And miss it.  I think we don’t spend nearly enough time kissing, to tell the truth. I’m not talking about those pecks on the cheeks or those chaste, dry, barely-there touches of lips, unless those are just to lead up to the real thing.  I’m talking about those deep, long, slow kisses that turn your insides to liquid mercury.  I’m talking From Here to Eternity beach kiss scene…

Those mornings when we kiss and surrender for an hour before we say a single word.”
David Levithan

When you first start dating, you spend so much time just kissing:  while taking a walk, while doing dishes, while sitting on the couch.  It doesn’t matter where but you sneak them in  wherever and whenever you can.  You can’t seem to get enough.  And it’s not automatically a foreplay of foreplay, either.  Not saying that it can’t be, mind you… You kiss just to feel connected to your partner.  You’re getting to know them on an intimate level.  The dance appeals, you keep on dancing.

“If we’re going to kiss, it has to be book-worthy.”
Colleen Hoover

Now, what I write here is my own personal experience and I am totally generalising but somehow, I am sure many can relate.

After a while, your relationship falls into that long term category.  Kissing is still very enjoyable but the spontenaity has decreased.  As has duration of most kisses.  They are not so deep and long.  You may still find yourselves kissing for kissing’s sake but let’s face it, it is now more of a foreplay to foreplay.

“A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous.”
Ingrid Bergman

Years pass and you are happily coupled – married or not, same diff, to me…  Kissing somehow has taken a backseat.  No matter how much love is between you, those long, slow, deep kisses are now reserved for the bedroom as foreplay.  Or maybe they start in the living room or kitchen (if you’re lucky) but they’re still an invitation to make your way to your love nest.  And they don’t last that long anymore.  Mind you, my circumstances made that I didn’t get a chance to find out what happens when the children leave the family home… Does your kissing game go up a notch?  Do you do like those silly movies and transform your son’s bedroom into a “play room”?  I sure like to think so.  I like to imagine that you rediscover that freedom you had when you first met.

I’m not saying some couples don’t kiss and kiss often.  But do they last more than a few seconds?  Rarely.  But hey, they are still good.  Kudos to the couples who have kept up their kissing game.

“Now a soft kiss – Aye, by that kiss, I vow an endless bliss.”
John Keats

One last thing.  Another reason I decided to write this post it this:  I never thought to find myself back “on the market”, so to speak at my age.  Thanks, Mick.  Dammit.

That said.  I will TOTALLY judge you on your kiss.  If you don’t try to kiss me on our first date, that might be okay, depending on how the date went…. then again, it will show me you are not that into me.  Cool.  We move on.

If you do kiss me?  I will decide then and there if we move on to the next stage.

 

——————

¹ Beauty has no importance.  When we are a lovable man, we end up with a beauty in our gaze, in our way of being while growing older.

² One must know, no matter the cost, how to keep one’s dignity.  And, despite the personal cost, to move forward, without looking back and face the destiny that disarms us.

Cut To Perfection – Friday Fictioneers

It is officially Thursday as of 18 minutes ago.  Hey, what’s a girl to do when she works a 12+ hour shift and gets home at 11 pm?  I had been thinking of this wonderful picture by J.Hardy Carroll and trying to come up with something.  I dunno why, but my drive home gave me an a-ha moment so, voilà.

Thank you to Rochelle for hosting our weekly gathering of fellow fiction writers.  I so love how it challenges me to try to come up with something original.  Sometimes I succeed, sometimes, not so much.  However, we keep coming back week after week, don’t we?  Oh?  You don’t yet?  Well, what are you waiting for?  100 words, beginning, middle and end.  Full story.  It’s a challenge, that’s for sure!  If you do want to try, just click on the blue frog below and add your link to your blog.  Easy-peasy.  Not sure what else needs to be done?  Just click on Rochelle‘s name and follow the rules and regs!

©J.Hardy Carroll

 

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Cut to Perfection

Bit by bit you cut away at me.  I don’t really notice it at first:  a chisel here, a cut there, nothing significant.  I’m flattered you care enough to better me.  Over time, more cuts, more changes, all in the name of making me perfect, you say. I protest.  You dismiss my concerns as nonsense.

You say I have a great base to work with as my frame is good but just needs some improvements to make the whole me that much prettier.  “Just think beautiful cut-out objets d’art!”

Outside, I look good.  All that was me has been discarded.

 

 

 

 

 

Scenes From the Beauty Parlour

Ever since her bout with cancer, my hairdresser only works three days per week (can’t say I blame her, quite frankly) – usually on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays.  Occasionally, she’ll switch her Saturday for a Friday.  More often than not, I get an appointment on Tuesdays (nice and quiet), sometimes on Thursdays (a bit more action); I avoid Saturdays because, frankly, I just do.

Last week, I called Françoise to see if she had any openings and she could only give me the next Friday morning at 9:00 am.  I accepted (gawd that is early!) since I usually have Fridays off and if I don’t, I probably won’t start until 4:00 pm which just so happened to end up being the case.  I know for most people 9:00 am is no big whup but when you work the night before until 11:00 pm or later, you just don’t really want to have to put the alarm clock on…

There was just Françoise, waiting for me, and one of her colleagues, let’s call her Yolande, because I have no clue what her name is, and she is taking care of one client whilst another waits in one of her chairs.  Yolande talks loud.  No, I mean LOUD.  And she sounds like a dock worker.  I asked my sister if she knew what her name was and her response was:  “The one with the potty mouth?  No clue.”  😉  So. Yolande it is.

Another customer comes in –  Yolande’s.  The noise level has gone up more than a decibel.  Not long after, in comes Pierre-Luc, owner of the shop and requisite gay coiffeur – walk and talk as one has come to imagine as well as the expressive hands.  What can I say? Stereotypes were not born of the air.

Pierre-Luc’s customer comes in.

During all this coming and going, at the other end of the salon, Françoise and I exchange looks and smiles, with the occasional laugh at the conversation behind us, while she does my own roots in a shade of exactly my natural colour (coz I’m wild like that) and if she wants to speak to me, bends down close to my ear otherwise must shout above the din.  She is not the shouting kind.

Dye applied, she leaves me to read for my 45 minutes as her customer comes in.  Or rather, attempt to read.  I go through comments on my last post, chat with a friend on messenger, and then try to get into my book.  I, at first, keep my back turned to the circus behind me in said attempt.   Finally, unable to concentrate, I give up and turn around to enjoy the show fully.

One woman, who is trying really, REALLY hard to “keep it young” is sitting in the third chair.  Her flaming red hair is standing up in chunks all over her head, while her roots are being refurbished with the appropriate shade of “You Can’t Miss Me”, giving one the impression said chunks are pulling her face up though we know it’s the result of one visit too many with Dr. Nip and Tuck.  Her face is painted to match her hair, clothes appropriately loud – ’nuff said.  Trying hard to look sophisticated and worldly until she opens her mouth and the trash talk that emits is enough to make one take a step back.  She is Yolande’s customer.

The door opens and a man pops his head in, letting Ms Flashy-Red know he saw her car and knew she must be close by and hoped to see her.  Then leaves.  Well THAT starts a whole rush of “What was that?” and she admits the man seems a tad smitten with her and basically follows her around.  The comments of “Did you call the police?” are mingled with the “Look at you with your admirer!”  One can’t help but laugh.  The man is in his early 70’s or well-used late 60’s…

Just as my timer pings, Mr. Loverboy pops his head in to check on his “sweetie”, well hidden behind Yolande, who is just finishing up one of her ladies – you know the type who comes for her weekly wash and set, now properly pouffed and spray-netted and sent out the door..  He says: “I get to see you in your pre-beauty stage!” and leaves.

Ms Flashy-Red says, “Oh my God, he won’t leave me alone and he can’t see me!”

To which I retort:  “If you want to get rid of him, maybe you should let him see you like this!”  Everyone cracks up.

By now, I have had my hair washed and have moved to Françoise’s chair for my cut.  In the mirror I can see Pierre-Luc teasing (they still tease?) the hair of one of his weekly-wash-and-set ladies and find myself wondering if all of this should end up in a post.  Of course it must as here I am.

The conversations are one one top of the other; a true cacophony.  The customers know each other; the hairdressers (we are not in the “stylist” business here) interjecting their two cents’ worth…  I feel I’m in the middle of a mix of “Coming To America” and “Steel Magnolias”.  Everybody knows everybody and their business and I’m just sitting here enjoying the show

Oh… and, before you ask… end result (once I re-wet it and removed all the gunk…)