A piece of faction …

…for The Sunday Muse

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It was a lovely service. Most of the congregation had departed, and the cathedral which minutes earlier had resounded with the glorious sound of the choir and the strident cords of an organ was silent but for my echoing footsteps, and the distant giggling of the youthful choristers as they escaped into the autumn sunshine.

It was then I saw it. There on the stone floor, swathed in a palette of colour from a nearby stained glass window was a marble slab dedicated to Jane Austen.  It felt disrespectful to step upon it knowing she lay beneath!

I stopped to read the inscription. The sweetness of her temper, and the extraordinary endowments of her mind obtained the regard of all who knew her, it said.

Did you know she was just forty-one years old when she passed away? That seems so unfair when she still had so much more to give. She wasn’t even spared to finish her final story, Sanditon. It was completed by ‘another lady’.

I’ve seen a movie or two based on her work but never actually read a book so the next day I went to the library a took a copy of Pride and Prejudice from the shelf.  Romance isn’t a genre I normally go for, I’m more of a murder and mayhem kinda’ guy but I was totally immersed in her tale. I even tried to imagine myself as Fitzwilliam Darcy!

I stopped reading for a moment to reflect upon the young lady that wrote the words that so effortlessly drew me in, and as I did so, the pages became awash with a rainbow of colour as a shaft of sunlight bounced from a shiny steel panel to my side.

Gone but never to be forgotten.

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Thanks to Carrie for hosting.

Jane Austen’s final resting place is in Winchester Cathedral.

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Image: “See the Light” by Giulio Bernadi.

Eighty-two words…

for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt where the given word is Viable.

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I said it was a good idea, she said it wasn’t.

She said it’d lose money, I said it wouldn’t.

I said I thought it through, she said I didn’t.

She said I’d gone bonkers, I said I hadn’t.

I said I was doing it, she said I shouldn’t.

In time, what she said about what I said, and what I said about what she said proved me to be right and her, wrong. 

When she admitted its viability she went viaballistic!

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Five plus one equals…

…a Six Sentence Story where the given word is Knot – although actually, it is!

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 ‘When is a knot not a knot?’ she asked me.

I had not a notion, but not wishing to appear a nitwit I took a guess and said ‘when it’s knitting.’ 

‘No you nutcase’, she said, ‘knitting is lots and lots of knots knitted together’.

That was not something I could disagree with, so not knowing what else to suggest I gave in and asked her to tell me when a knot is not a not.

‘I don’t know’, she said, ‘that’s why I asked you!’

I changed the subject by telling her that the guy who invented velcro thought … ‘why not?’

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Thanks to Denise at GirlieOnTheEdge for hosting. 

A load of rubbish!

for Friday Fictioneers

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That I’ll keep, this can go. I don’t want this, that can stay.

I’ll keep the bicycle, the helmet too. I don’t want another hamster so I’ll sling the cage.

That’s okay, that’s a waste of space. These are useless, these are quite handy.

What’s in these drawers? Keep, discard keep, discard, discard, discard, keep.

Why we kept that stained mattress I don’t know, or that dotty doo-dah over there.

That dead garlic stinks and those onions pong. Bin!

I don’t even remember getting that awful mannequin. Oh, sorry darling, I didn’t realise you were there!

*note to self, get eyes tested.

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alicia-jamtaas-for-ffThanks to Rochelle for hosting and to Alicia Jamaas for the picture.

 

Click Mr Frog to partake in the conviviality.

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Storytime

for Sadje’s What Do You See? photo prompt.

 

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I’ll never forget the noise those elephants made in South Africa. I can still hear the roar of the cars at the German Grand Prix and as for the din of the Drumeo Drum Festival, it was deafening!

I couldn’t hear Suzanne Vega in Vegas thanks to the vociferous audience but I did hear the racket that rapper chappie made in Rome and I really didn’t like it!

The jets at the Abu Dhabi air display were incredibly loud and as for that Harley Festival in Sturgis, the buildings were shaken to their foundation!

When I was in the pub last night the jukebox was so noisy my beer quivered. ‘Pardon’ Pete was there,  he’s hard of hearing you know. 

“At least you can turn off your hearing aid,” I yelled. 

“Pardon?” he replied!

Yes, I’ve experienced cacophony and caterwauling, bellowing and bedlam the world over but never anything like this.

Oh! At last, it’s gone quiet! I thought this moment would never come! I do believe little Lilly’s finally nodded off!

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Original image credit; Kelly Sikkema Unsplash

A little longer than usual, sorry!

For The Sunday Muse

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Rosey winkMy friend Rosey would love to have been an actress. She claims her Grandmother was quite a prima-donna back in the twenties.  

Rosey once had a part in a school nativity play in which her performance brought the house down, literally, when she leaned on the fragile inn wall and it toppled sideways into the wings! 

We went to watch a play last night in which her mate Anne, sorry, Anastacia was performing. She thinks Anne doesn’t sound very thespianish, hence the change of professional name even though, as we pointed out, it did nothing to hold back the careers of Mssrs. Bancroft and Hemmingway! 

Anne’s acting career is mainly as an extra, lurking in the background in plays, television dramas and soaps. However,  at the theatre last night she had a speaking role rather than a pretending-to-speak one (that’s apparently what extras do) and as the curtains swept back, there she was under a spotlight in the centre of an otherwise empty stage, poised to deliver a scene-setting soliloquy. 

Rosey, in her excitement, decided to give her a little encouragement by calling out “Cock a leg Anne” much to the mirth of those around us. Anne, sorry, Annastacia however did not appear amused.  Rosey shrugged and gave me a questioning look as if to say ‘what have I done wrong?’ I whispered to her that firstly, she should have kept quiet, and secondly, the phrase starts with ‘break’ not ‘cock’ which sent her off into a fit of stifled giggles.

Unfortunately, the play was a little boring. I couldn’t stop yawning and Rosey actually nodded off towards the end, but when it was over I joined the audience in a warm(ish) applause as Rosey stuck two fingers between her teeth and let out a deafening whistle!

Good try Anne!

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Thanks to Carrie for hosting.

I’m late!

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt where the given word is Renege

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I promised myself I’d always submit my WWP masterwork by twelve hours, fifty-nine minutes and fifty-nine seconds post meridiem every Saturday, but it’s eleven hours, thirty-two minutes and twelve … thirteen … fourteen seconds ante meridiem Sunday making me a renegātus as that Medieval Latin lot used to say!

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A sixer…

for Six Sentence Stories where the given word is Guard.

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“Guard it with your life,” he said, ”I’m going to be away for a couple of days and I daren’t leave it unattended at home”.

“But it’s just a jar of strawberry jam”, I said, “why would anyone want to knick it?”

“Ah, but it’s not any old jam it’s special jam, now do as I say and don’t let it out of your sight”, and with that, he slipped out of the door and disappeared into the darkness of the frosty winter’s night.

I was curious and thought I’d sneakily try a little bit, so I toasted a slice of bread, liberally buttered it and plopped a spoon of special jam on top and when I took a bite I nearly broke a tooth before swallowing what I thought must have been a very underripe strawberry!

A couple of days later he returned, and after he sidled through my back door I asked him to please explain what was special about that jam, and he said, in hushed tones, that a priceless diamond was concealed within it.

That explained what had happened, and I felt obliged to tell him what I’d done, promising to keep an eye out for it when visiting the you-now-where for a you-know-what!

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Thanks to Denise at GirlieOnTheEdge for hosting.

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One hundred words…

for Friday Fictioneers!

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trish-nankevilles-flowers“They’re strange flowers, what are they?” she asked.

Not the response I’d hoped for from the young lady I was trying to impress. I didn’t know so I made something up. 

“Their Latin name is Porcupinuss  Lookalikus”, I said, trying to sound knowledgeable, “better known as Prickle Petals”.

She had a sniff but got too close, and one of the little devils tickled her nose. I’ve never witnessed a sneeze like it. Ten on the Richter scale! 

To cut a long story short (100 words!) she handed them back, sneezed again, walked off, sneezed again, disappeared from view, sneezed again…

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Thanks to Rochelle for hosting and to Trish Nankeville for the photo.

000Click Froggilous Floribuncious to join in the fun!