for #FOWD with Fandango where the given word is Smitten. I have chosen to use the Olde English version: to strike sharply or heavily with something held in the hand.
We are not fooled by your guise, sir. ‘Tis you, as certain as can be. Try as you might sir, we have your number. For ‘twas you who set the fire this Spring past.
Poor Ned still bears the scars of that dreadful day. Though smitten by your jagged rock then gagged and bound, he writhed free. Champion though he be, he had not the means to quench the terpsichorean flames that cruelly robbed him of his dwelling place, his wife, his beloved family.
You imagined we would not discern you, sir, did you not? How wrong could you have been. For you, deplorable sir, the die was cast that fateful day. And now, the nethermost depths of your repugnant mind are reached. ‘Tis us who will strike the final blow; ’tis us.
My friend Rosey loves the snow, so she went for a slippery stroll in the park.
She spotted two kids from her class at school feeding the ducks, Cheeky Charley and Mischievous Millie. Just for a laugh, she threw snowballs at them. Mistake! They bombarded her in return. Turning her back, she found herself facing two more little devils, Giggly Grace and Joker Jack who joined in the fun!
‘Hey kids, stop that’ called one of their Mums and off they scarpered.
‘Bye Miss Snosey’ Charley shouted!
She looked like a living snowman but she didn’t mind, she’d loved every minute of it!
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting and to Dale for the picture.
Often he’d gather a few, tie them with a ribbon and hand them to a passing stranger.
Columbine, thrift, ragged robin.
He’d hold a buttercup beneath a child’s chin, if their skin glowed yellow he knew they liked butter! He was a great believer in folklore.
On the village green, amid a carpet of blossom sits a wooden bench. The villagers placed it there after he passed, beneath the cherry tree that he and his wife Florence adored. They mixed wildflower seeds with his ashes and scattered them there.
Daisies, cowslips, poppies.
Arthur loved wildflowers.
For the A-Z Challenge in 2017, I wrote a story each day about the fictional village of Amble Bay. Arthur featured in most of them, but sadly he died in the final instalment. You can read it HERE should you so wish!
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting and to Ted Strutz for the photo.