Berta’s Lot

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Berta sat down, dog tired.  Tears ran down her cheeks.  She brushed them away.

What had she done to be saddled with a life of hardship and misery and an ungrateful child?  Hurt and anger welled up inside her as she thought about her only daughter, Clarissa.  She, Berta had worked so hard to make sure that Clarissa went to a good Negro school where she’d meet a fine Negro man and what does she do?  She runs off with an Injun.  All that money wasted and all that hard work for nothing.

Slowly, she rose to finish the ironing.

100 Words

This was inspired by the movie, Unbowed.

This was written for the Friday Fictioneers challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields For more details, visit Here.  To read other stories based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.

No Sale

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PHOTO PROMPT © Ceayr

 

“Mother, you can’t be serious,” Matt exclaimed.

“I’m dead serious, Matt.  I’m going to sell the house.  It’s too big for me.  All of you kids have moved out and have your own families.  I’m going into a retirement home so it doesn’t make any sense for me to keep the house.  I’ve gotten some very good offers for it.”

“Mother, you can’t sell our home.”

“Matt, I’ve made up my mind.  Now, I’m going for a walk.”

After she was gone, he paced the room.  He had to stop her from selling the house. His life depended on it.

100 Words

This was written for the Friday Fictioneers challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields For more details, visit Here.  To read other stories based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.

Waiting/Yearning #writephoto

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Photo by Sue Vincent

I drift from memory to another, yearning for you.  Why did it have to end?  I thought we were so happy.

You said that you loved being with me.  Being in my arms was where you longed to be.  You said it made you feel safe.  My kisses warmed your heart.

My love was like a thick blanket you wrapped yourself in.  I thought we had something really special.  Why did it have to end?

You and me, it was sheer magic.  We were two souls knit together.  I thought we would last forever.  Why did it have to end?

The darkest day of my life was when you told me that it was over.  I felt as if my heart had been ripped out.  There were tears in your eyes as you explained that you wanted to give your marriage another chance.  I watched you walk out of my life.

I hate that you’re back with your husband.  What kind of man is he?  Is he anything like me?  Does he bring you breakfast in bed?  Does he dry your hair after you shower?  Does he cover you with kisses or buy you gifts?  Does he hang upon your every word?  Does he know your dreams, the desires of your heart?  Does he really know you?  Does he even love you?

I think about you everyday, hoping that you would leave him and come back to me.  I’m waiting for you to walk through that door.  I’m a patient man.  I will wait forever if I have to.

 

This was written for two prompts, the first is the #writephoto Prompt – Yearning at Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo.  The second is the Ragtag Daily Prompt for today’s prompt, Drift.  If you’re interested in participating, click HERE for more information.

KISSING My Professor

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I don’t know why I came over to your flat.  No, that isn’t true.  I came because I couldn’t wait until Monday to see you.  You’re surprised to see me which is understandable but you’re still polite and pleasant.  You invite me in.  As I follow you through the foyer, my eyes travel over you.  You look very handsome in the black shirt and trousers.  Your hair is slightly damp.  How I long to run my fingers through its thick, silky tresses.

My eyes alight on the table set for dinner.  You’re expecting company.  The two wine glasses tell me that it’s a woman.  My heart sinks.  I scold myself.  What do you expect? I demand.  A man like you wouldn’t be unattached.  There has to be a special woman in your life.

You stop and face me.  You smile at me, making my heart stop.  You’re about to say something, when I mumble, “I’m sorry, Professor Carlyle.  I can see that you’re expecting someone.  I shouldn’t have come.”

“Don’t apologize, Annette,” you reply softly.  “I told you that you could stop by any time.”

My eyes shift to the table and then back to you.  “I should leave before your date arrives.” I turn to leave when you catch me by the shoulders.  I gaze up at you, my heart pounding wildly against my ribs and my breath quickening.  What beautiful eyes you have.

“I don’t have a date,” you tell me.  “The table is set for my sister and her husband.  They needed a quiet place to celebrate their anniversary.  So, while my parents are babysitting the kids, I offered them the use of my flat.  I prepared the meal and set the table for them.  They should be here at any minute.”

I couldn’t hide the relief on my face.  The dinner wasn’t for you and some woman as I feared but for your sister and her husband.  “Your sister is very lucky to have a brother like you,” was all I could think to say.

You smile.  “That’s what brothers are for.  Now, since you’re here, I was wondering if you would like to have dinner with me?”

Stunned, I stare at you for several minutes and then, I manage to say, “I’d like that.”

You are staring straight into my eyes as you inform me, “This is the first time I’ve asked a student to have dinner with me.”

“Could you get into trouble with the university for this?” I ask.

“No one has to know.  It will be our secret.”

“Yes,” I reply breathlessly.  You are still holding my shoulders.  Your fingers feel strong and firm.  Our bodies are inches apart.  I can feel your warm breath on my forehead.  In the background, soft music is playing.  The air is suddenly very charged between us.  I can’t tell if it’s your heavy breathing that I’m hearing or mine.

My eyes drop to your mouth.  I watch enthralled as it parts before it starts to move closer.  My eyes fall shut when it touches mine.  I feel the heat course through my body, making my head spin.  As our lips lock, my hands grip your shirt at the waist.

This feels like a dream.  I can’t really be standing here kissing you.  If it’s a dream, I don’t want to wake up.  Your hands leave my shoulders to cup my face as the kisses become more intense.

The sudden peal of the doorbell jolt us and we reluctantly fall apart.  While you go to answer the door, I try to pull myself together.  When you return with a pretty brunette and a tall, attractive dark haired man are in tow.  You introduce me to them.

“It’s nice to meet you,” your sister says as she shakes my hand.  “Did you help him to put all of this together?” she asks, referring to the dining table.

I shake my head at once.  “No.  He did it all by himself.”

She looks at him.  “I’m impressed,” she admits before hugging you.  “Thank you.”

You smile.  “You’re welcome.  And now, Annette and I will leave you two alone to enjoy your evening together.”

Your brother-in-law claps you on the back.  “Thanks, old Chap.  It was rather sporting of you to do all of this for us.”

“It’s my pleasure.  Besides, it gives me an opportunity to take this beautiful young lady out for dinner.”

I smile shyly up at you, thrilled that you think I’m beautiful.

“Well, have fun you two,” your sister says.

“You’re welcome to stay here for as long as you want,” you tell her.  “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.  It was nice meeting you, Annette.”

“It was nice meeting you too.  Goodnight.”

You take my hand and precede me to the front door.  We enjoy our own sumptuous dinner at a lovely restaurant overlooking the Thames.   It’s the first of many dinners and dates.   

This was written for the Ragtag Daily Prompt for today’s prompt, Sumptuous.  If you’re interested in participating, click HERE for more information.

I Still Enjoy Good Food but…

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I was a gourmand.  Food was my obsession.  I gorged on it every chance I got.  Whenever I traveled, I preferred to pop into the different restaurants and enjoying the different cuisines than go sightseeing.  My friends and family stopped going abroad with me because I always wanted to stop somewhere to eat when they wanted to be on the go.

While they were pounding the pavement in the midday heat, I was in a nice, air conditioned restaurant, enjoying great food. This love for food began when I was in my late teens and continued into my late twenties.  Unlike most of my friends and relatives, I was still single.  I dated a couple of times but the men were turned off because I ate more than they did.

I hardly socialized.  I was used to eating out alone and when I wasn’t doing that, I was at home, reading or watching television while enjoying take out or recipes I tried from the scores of cookbooks I had.  Then, one day,  I looked a really hard look at myself and realized that if I didn’t stop, I was going to eat myself into an early grave.

So, I did what I never thought I would ever do.  I gave away my cookbooks and went on a diet.  I ate mostly fruit, grains and salads.  It wasn’t easy but determination can be a great motivator.  Besides, I wanted to live to a ripe old age like most of my family.

I started going to the gym as well and that’s where I met Peter.  He was the most attractive man in the entire place and I was blown away when he noticed me.  I had lost some weight but still needed to lose a lot more.  Anyway, after weeks of catching each other’s eye, he finally came over and introduced himself.  We spent the rest of my time at the gym together.  Before I left, he asked me out.  I was on cloud nine.  I ran down the sidewalk like a giddy school girl.  It felt great to be going on a date after such a long time.

We went to Spicy Affairs, a vegetarian restaurant (he was vegetarian) and over Mushroom Marsala we talked and laughed.  We had such a wonderful time together that we made other dates.  When we weren’t at the gym together, we were going to the beach for long walks or drives up the coast, the movies, museums and art galleries, all the kinds of things I wasn’t interested in when food was all I cared about.  Now, I have so many other interests and I met a terrific guy who makes me feel beautiful.  It is because of him that I haven’t lost all of my chubbiness.

Did I forget to mention that we’re engaged?  Oh yes, he popped the question yesterday when we were taking our regular stroll along the beach.  That photo you see of us was taken after I said YES!   Every time  I look at it, I am ever so thankful that I had the good sense to turn my life around.  I still enjoy food but not as excessively as before and besides, I have Peter to keep me in line.

This was written for the Ragtag Daily Prompt for today’s prompt, Gourmand.  If you’re interested in participating, click HERE for more information.

A Familiar Face

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After losing her fiance, Boris in a horrific car accident, Claire packed up and left Montreal and moved to Paris when her company opened a new office there.  It took a while but she soon settled into her new life and immersed herself in the Parisian culture.  On the weekends, she went sightseeing and to museums and art galleries.  It wasn’t long before she fell in love with the city.

One Saturday, she was standing in the Place de Furstemberg when she felt someone staring at her.  She glanced up from the guidebook and her eyes met those of a very fine looking black man.  He looked familiar.  She was sure that she had seen him somewhere before but couldn’t remember where.

As they continued to stare at each other, a slight smile tugged at his perfect looking mouth.  She felt her heart flutter.  That never happened to her before–not even with Boris.

A man with his looks couldn’t be unattached, could he?  Several women threw admiring glances his way as they walked by but he was oblivious to them. She was flattered and flustered at the same time.  Dressed in a yellow tee shirt and denim Capri pants and her hair pulled back in a ponytail, she didn’t think she looked all that but he was just staring at her as if she were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.  She wasn’t sure what to do.  It feel a bit awkward just standing there locking eyes with a perfect stranger albeit a drop dead gorgeous one.  Part of her felt guilty for being attracted to another man but it had been three years since Boris died.   Boris, sweet guy that he was, would want her to move on with her life and be happy again.  Francois Angoston3

Okay, I getting ahead of myself, she thought.  For all I know this guy may be married and is looking for a summer fling.  Maybe I should just turn right around and walk away with my pride still intact.

Perhaps he had read her thoughts or her body language but the next thing she knew he was walking over to her.  She watched him get closer, trying to appear calm when she was anything but.  He had a graceful, unhurried walk and the denim jacket, white vest and jeans looked good on him.  It was then that she remembered where she had seen him before.  It was in a double page spread in the January issue of Vogue.   He was a model.  If anyone had told her that she would meet him in person…He was standing in front of her now and holding out his hand, he smiled.  “Laurent Baptiste.”

She shook his hand.  “Salomé Leblanc.  I saw your two page spread in Vogue.”

“Yes.  I’m in Paris for Fashion Week.”

“Are you from Martinique?”

“Yes.  Saint-Pierre.  Don’t tell me you’re from Martinique too.”

She laughed.  “As a matter of fact, I am.  I’m from Fort-de-France.”

“Are you here on holiday?”

“No.  I live here.  I moved here about five years ago.  I left Fort-de-France after I graduated from university and moved to Montreal, Canada.”

“Do you mind if we continued this conversation over lunch?”

“No, I don’t mind at all.  It isn’t every day that I bump into someone from Martinique.”

He smiled making her breath quicken.  “Let’s go.”

Over Roasted rack of lamb and Home made duck confit, they got to know each other better.  Before they parted company, she had an invitation to the Fashion Show he had mentioned earlier followed by dinner for two at Le Jules Verne restaurant at the top of the Eiffel Tower.

 

Source:  The Culture Trip

Prisoner

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Thoughts of you meander through my mind like weary travelers, seeking rest but unable to find any.  No matter what I do, you fill my head, defying all reason.  I want to erase you from my heart and my soul but it’s hopeless.  I’m your prisoner forever.

 

47 Words

This is for the Weekend Writing Prompt by Sammi Cox. For instructions, click Here.

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