The Winds of Change and Continuity

The Winds of Change and Continuity

Windmill

Jean-Jacques rolled up the sails of his windmill, made sure that everything was in order before he headed home after a very long day.

A strong wind had woken him during the night, a wind like he was lucky to have once or twice per year. Not too strong, as too strong winds could be problematic, even catastrophic, but strong enough to grind as much grain as he would normally be able to do in two weeks time. Continue reading “The Winds of Change and Continuity”

First Concert

First Concert

Friday Fiction with Ronovan Writes Prompt Challenge #24-A Concert/AStoryADay May 2016

Ready for a stern lecture on why they should not be going to a concert, especially seen the security threat of the moment, Abby and Ginny were sitting on the sofa. Their dad sat down on the coffee table and looked into the eyes of his fully grown but not yet adult twin daughters.

“A concert you say?”

“Yes!” They answered in unison.  Continue reading “First Concert”

In The Attic

“Where are you?” little Mike called out, no longer motivated to play hide and seek, reluctantly he climbed up the ladder to the attic. His older sister would surely not be hiding up there in the haunted place?
“Where are you?” little Mike called out again. “I give up you know, I no longer want to search for you Lisa!”

Still there was no reply. “Are you in the attic?” Continue reading “In The Attic”

Of Finding Oneself

Of Finding Oneself

Adansonia gregorii or boab tree, Ronovan WritesAnja closed her eyes. There was just too much going on. Her manager had been stern with her minutes earlier as she had not finished her presentation on time, could he not understand? There was too much going on today. Anja could hear every siren, every striking break and every honking horn in the street below. She could not concentrate on her work.

With her eyes closed she tried to slow down her thoughts, shut out the noise. She drew a deep breath.

Suddenly, she heard nothing. Not the ringing of the phone, not the laughing of her colleagues, none of the sounds that had driven her nuts all morning. Anja felt inner peace, her thoughts were no longer racing in disorder, her stress had evaporated. Continue reading “Of Finding Oneself”

Young Love

Young Love

His lips on hers, her lips on his. Their kiss was full of youth, full of love, and full of joy.

Slowly they stepped backwards, feeling the tingle on their lips. They opened their eyes, which had been closed during the embrace and slowly raised their looks. Sparkling eyes of lovers met. Their hearts were beating in unison.

He dropped her hands, took a step backwards, and drew a deep breath. She smiled at him knowingly. Continue reading “Young Love”

The Taxi Driver

Before going into retirement Mr. P. took a job as a Parisian taxi driver. He knew when he decided to pursue this profession that when retirement would come, his life would not be a joy ride. But life as a taxi driver is no joy ride either.

He told himself that as a taxi driver he would at least meet a whole variety of people, people with interesting lives.

Drunk actors, gay couples, glamorous models and even royals made use of his taxi over the years. Politicians who forgot that there were special limousines for them, took it too.

Mr. P. more or less got to see everyone and everything there was to see, well within the city of Paris. Everything life he witnessed was from the inside.National Blog Posting Month, NanoPoblano, NaBloPoMo, 2015

He probably offers shelter to criminals, and other crooks.

Some of his clients told stories about their lives. Others did not.

The complaints of the overworked people gave him the impression that he was turning into a psychologist.


On the last two Sundays I posted about notebooks, one why it is great to use them and one on why it isn’t always such a great idea. On Wednesday I will be doing a guest post on the question of why I write over at Gulara Vincent’s blog, something that made me search through my writing past. These things combined incited me to share a story that I found inside one of my old notebooks (the editing that I have done here is very minor). The truth be told, I opened the notebook on a random page, and voilà a story to share! It must have been written in September or October 2008, but I do not recall writing it at all. Seen the story and the moment that I wrote it, it was probably influenced a by my summer job as a waitress in a fancy restaurant, because many of the characters mentioned here, did cross my path. 


© Solveig Werner 2015. All rights reserved.

Fontaine de l’Étoile de Montaigu or The Fountain of Love a short story

Fontaine de l’Etoile de Montaigu

Fontaine de l'Etoile de MontaiguIn the heart of the French kings’ hunting grounds one can, under contrition to keep the eyes and spirit open, come across a magical fountain or spring. It is the Fountaine de l’Étoile de Montaigu or in English: Fountain of the Montague Star. 

Already the name is rich in beauty and fuels imagination…

The spring itself is mysterious. Water a colour of blue, it is not the blue of the sky. Where does this colour come from?

Is it drinkable? Continue reading “Fontaine de l’Étoile de Montaigu or The Fountain of Love a short story”