Wednesday, 18 April 2012

#RomanticFridayWriters - #AtoZChallenge - Flash Fiction - P is for 'Paris.'

Welcome to RomanticFridayWriters!

RFW is about short short writing or flash fiction (usually 400 words), less for poems, with some romantic element. It's not Romance of the happily ever after variety, but Romantic, where it's about the story, the issue, with some romantic relationship involved. Our stories are edgy, sometimes dark, and often don't have the HEA ending!

So here we go! RFW Dribbles (50 words), Drabbles (100 words) and Droubbles (200 words) and more (400 ish)...for your enjoyment - a laugh, a cry...

It's widely agreed that most fiction (unless it's solely about animals) begins and ends with human characters: their frailties, virtues, conflicts and expectations. In our stories for the A - Z Challenge the writers attempt to more closely observe the people around us...

P is for Paris

Paris. City of Dreams. City of Light. I am always up when she awakens. I love the early-morning darkness. I love brewing my coffee in the tiny kitchen then moving onto the wrought-iron balcony. There I sit mesmerised as first light creeps over the top of the beautiful old sandstone buildings, the zinc rooftops becoming burnished fire. The wonder of the moment always enthralls me.

Paris offers such promise. Her beauty is laid out at my feet. Why then cannot I enjoy it? Greedily take such offerings to myself?  

As I sip my café au lait I listen to the sounds of the city coming to life–there is the first hum of traffic as the delivery trucks burrow into loading zones askew with crooked cars, the deleterious of drunkards. I watch the huddled shapes of shiftworkers hurrying home, I watch slowly-moving hulks heading to the job, I watch the great unwashed staggering from doorways with theatrical stretches and yawns. I’d like to take a nightstick to their lazy rumps. No doubt they’ll head off to Café Homeless for a free breakfast. They don’t have to work like the rest of us.

After the motley crew have slunk off in search of sustenance, delicious smells begin to waft my way. Ah! Divine! I inhale the delicate scent. The bakery underneath my building has just cranked out its first batch of bread and pastries. Oh, that Marcus! I sigh. The best pastry chef in the city. I feel honoured to choose from his selection each day. My taste buds tingle in anticipation of the flaky, creamy éclair I will have with my second cup of coffee. The mille feuille I had yesterday was to die for. Perhaps Marielle feels up to a little luxurious bite?

I go to the bedroom. Unlike the kitchen it is massive. Decorated in baroque splendour, a fitting setting for my Marielle. Unlike me, she likes to sleep the morning away. Her still form unnerves me.

‘Ma Cherie?’ I take her in my arms, try to tempt her with my coffee breath. But my Marielle has moved beyond temptation.

Her soul has taken flight into the grey-blue Parisian sky which she loved so well.

Au reviour, ma Cherie. 

Words 370

Denise, (L'Aussie) writes short stories, flash fiction, travel articles and newspaper profiles while working on her Great Australian Novels, one of which is set in Afghanistan. She's the founder of RomanticFridayWriters. Her writing blog is L'Aussie Writing. She'd love you to visit her there for her A - Z Challenge on the theme, BLOGGERS WERE CHILDREN TOO!


  1. I'm with Marielle - can't be woken if I'm enjoying slumber, and not beyond faking a coma if I need to. Great piece, refreshing character point of view.
    Wagging Tales

  2. I fell in love with Paris with your descriptions, which translates into great writing.
    I have mixed feelings for Marielle, is Paris worth leaving for an unknown heaven?

  3. Well written Denise. Poor Marielle, or maybe, peaceful. A pleasant way to die, in your sleep or so we assume. This could lead into many directions. Domestic violence, mercy killing for someone who is dying slowly with a lot of pain, or just an older couple who have lived life well. Tantalizing.

  4. Nicely done. I wish I could travel and see these kinds of places. My sister went to Paris once. So jealous.

  5. Oh, here I was enjoying the relaxed mood, the languid morning (and I am not a morning person), and drifting in the peace.

    And everlasting peace, it turns out; and now I'm crying and I don't know if its for them or me. I hope he finds some brandy for his cafe au latte :)



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