Brodans Journey: Part3

In his head, dreams of his father’s stories of war and battles fought churned and twisted.  Within these visions her face constantly appeared, smiling at him, her eyes sparkling and as he smiled back, she would vanish, her beauty being disrupted by another sword piercing battle-scarred flesh.    
    The night became still and cold, not a sound could be heard, nor could anything be seen in the thick darkness.  The stillness woke him.  Everything was too quiet.  He tried to peer through the bush at the village but the darkness was too thick.  He listened for any sound at all but, nothing, not even the squeak of a night rodent and they were very seldom quiet.

    Suddenly, a flash, red and black spattered in his eyes, then darkness.  When he came round, Brodan was back in the main cabin, the chairs of leadership still standing at the front, but this time instead of Bragdon, the main seat was filled by another character, one Brodan had never seen, nor heard of.  Its’ long hair matted and ruffled, eyes as big as the circumference of a wooden beer mug and it’s mouth filled with teeth as pointy and sharp as any blade he had ever seen.  It had a strange build: it’s legs were slightly too short for it’s body but strong and muscular and it’s arms quite large emphasizing it’s strength.
    The only thing it said after looking carefully at him was “Take him to the holding, and don’t forget to beat him severely first!”  It’s breath was the last thing Brodan remembered before the two grunts dragged him out into the middle of the village and proceeded to beat him severely with sticks while the other villagers watched in horror closely guarded by the rest of the grunt troop.  He was too weak to fight back and eventually passed out from the pain  caused by his injuries.

    The village had been overrun during the night by a grunt scout troop sent by Crackan upon hearing that the village was joining the war.  How they penetrated the Northern forces is unclear.  The reality is that they were now in the village and the village was crumbling.  Just as soon as it had begun, the order was shouted into the air to retreat.  The grunts scattered and grabbed what they could.  The two beating Brodan had ceased their beating and quickly tied the broken and bloody body to a pole which both of them carried.  They ran from the village into the deep thick forest, leaving behind them an eerie aftermath, the air filled thick with confusion and shock and in the middle of it she lay on the ground her vision blackened slightly from a series of blows to the face, her dark hair wet and sticky with blood and Avidon beaten and bloody lay not far away from her, unconscious unable to come to her aid.

            She couldn’t help staring into the bush, trying to focus, hoping he would somehow have escaped and would come back holding the head of a grunt, but the memory of his beaten body flopping about as they ran brought her back to reality.  Tears filled her painful eyes “Brodan!” she screamed, full of panic and emotion… “BRODAN!” 

Brodans Journey: Part2

The noise was at a ridiculous level.  People shouting at each other, children screaming and a loud murmur of everyone talking at the same time made Brodan’s eardrums shake like a small child cornered by a hungry Black-Hound (and you don’t want to play with a Black-Hound, especially when it’s hungry).  Light from the fire-torches that were positioned around the cabin danced and flickered on the confused expressions of everyone in the room.  The chairs of leadership  were left standing vacant at the front of the room as the leaders who usually filled them were nowhere to be seen.  Huge hand-carved masterpieces, each with their own story carved into it about the person it belonged to, their battles, lovers lost and pets owned.  Each leader could pick the colour of the leather to be inset and thus, each chair was unique and different.  Once a leader had retired or had his leadership removed (sometimes with vicious force), the chairs were then either given to them as a retirement gift or merely burned in disgrace of what they had done, depending...  In the most severe cases of disgrace the chair was smashed to bits and it’s disgraced owner stabbed to death with the splinters, then both were burned together, away from the villagers as they were not worthy, even in death, to be watched by anyone.  This hasn’t happened for many millennia and is a rare occasion as it takes a very serious offence to be disgraced but is an absolute spectacle if you manage to catch the fiend being apprehended by the Guardians and beaten all they way to the Death-Pit of Fire to be stabbed and burned.

    Suddenly the room was filled with total silence as the leaders walked in and sat themselves before the people, each taking up his or her respective chair respectfully.   The Chief Leader Bragdon, a beast of a man wider than two horses standing side-by-side and taller than four barrels on top of each other, spoke suddenly and abruptly, he was a man of few words. His voice, deep and loud, smashed it’s way into the ears of anyone willing to listen and anyone else within two days walking distance from the village.  “Droogan!  Who is this person you spoke of?”
    Droogan, nodding off, woke with a fright, breaking wind as he did so, then proceeded to ignore it (no-one could ignore the smell) and cackled, “Brodan, Chief Leader, he stands before you.”
    Brodan, hearing his name, swung round to face Bragdon, “That’s me Sir.”
    “You’ll speak when spoken to boy!”  Bragdon said red-faced and looked intensely at Brodan.
    “I was merely announcing myself so you could see before you the person Droogan speaks of.” He stared intensely yet very respectfully back at Bragdon.
    “Good.”  Bragdon stated, “Introductions over!  Now, certain members of the village are leaving to join the Northern villages in the War of the North against Crackan and his hordes.  The elders have discussed with us who they would like to see lead our warriors forward, and that person is you Brodan...”
    “Me?!?”  Brodan looked on in astonishment and the astonished crown looked on him in confusion.
    “Yes, you.  Although your experience is minimal, you have the qualities of a leader and for your size – the heart of a lion.”  Bragdon motioned with his hands to emphasize how small Brodan was in comparison to him.  “You will leave tomorrow after you have been branded with the mark of the warrior, fitted with armour and presented with your unique sword.  You will march thirty men for forty days into the valleys of the north and lead them into battle.  I expect nothing less than for you to smash any and all who stand in your way.”  He emphasized his point by smashing his hand onto the arm of his chair, the impact of which shook the floor.  He then got up and left, followed by the other leaders.

    Brodan turned around and his eyes found hers.  The thought came into his mind now that he should tell her how he felt, should he not return, at least she would know.  Then as he allowed his gaze to break from hers, he traced his eyes around her face.  Her disappointment wasn’t  hidden very well, and he could tell the look on her face was for him because he was leaving.  He could tell by looking at her that there was more there and, as he started walking towards her, Avidon walked in and placed his hand around hers.  Brodans heart sank and if it could drown itself in the contents of his stomach, it would have.  Avidon was courting her and had been for some time.  He trained the young village boys to become warriors and trained them to survive in the wild, using nature to help win battles.  Because of this role, he was forbidden to join Brodan in the march, his skills were too valuable to be lost in battle.  Brodan suspected he had taken the role of training the boys so he could avoid battle and used his skills and valuable experience to ensure that he stayed.  Brodan changed his course and walked outside to be alone with his thoughts, for in his thoughts was her and when she was there, he was happy.  He walked to the tree he had fallen out of earlier, and sat under it.  The bonfire in the village was the only light easing it’s way through the gaps in the thick bush and the murmur of the villagers and trickle of the river were mesmerising.  Brodans eyes slowly closed and thoughts of the battle, the village and her mixed and swirled together as he slept...


To Be Continued... Soon...

Brodans Journey: Part1

For the people in my life in the last few weeks who have been through some really bad breakups!  Maybe this will help alleviate your thought processes for a bit... Long enough to find your smiles once again! (Now that’s deep!)

Part 1

What is it about love that can drive people into the darkest depths of dark madness?  It can make you cherish and value every second or hate the very life into which you’ve been thrust.  It can make you love the thought of each new day or it can even make you turn your back completely on it, blackening your heart and resulting in an early death.  
    Helen of Troy caused a war when one man stole her from another because of the love he had for her.  She was said to have a face that launched a thousand ships.  She didn’t, and she used to complain a lot about nothing and everything, come to think about it I have no idea what all the fuss was about.  Face that launched a thousand ships, more like a face that crashed a thousand ships.  And did I mention she complained a lot?  Her vocal chords used to rattle and squeak like the knees of a hundred year old man running after a chicken to eat for dinner.  I should know, I was there!  But that is another rainy story for another rainy day in another rainy time.  Today however our horizons are filled with picturesque, snow-capped mountains, towering over a lush green forest, through which runs a little river with the freshest tastiest water any man (or woman for that matter) has ever had the privilege of tasting.  This river winds it’s way gently and delicately from the frosty caps of the towering mountains down and into the forest and right through a small and yet very productive village.  The village is inhabited by a strong people whose daily lives were about to take an unexpected turn, a turn so unheard of in this land untouched and forgotten by time...

    He watched her from the branches of a tree on the opposite river bank collecting water and couldn’t help thinking how she was everything he looked for in a woman. Smart, funny and not to mention absolutely gorgeous.  He also couldn’t help thinking how he felt he was always at a distance from her, she could be right next to him and yet she was miles away, almost like she was holding something back.  
    She dipped her bowl into the water and watched it fill.  A strand of her long dark hair fell across her face, she pouted her lips and attempted to blow it somewhere other than where it was but it was adamant it wanted to stay and pretended for a second that it was going in her chosen direction then returned to it’s original position.  She lifted the bowl from the water and placed it gently on the ground being careful not to lose a drop.  She lifted her second bowl and did the same.  Then she sat staring into the water, dipping her fingers in and playing with the surface, deep in thought, allowing the days worries to dissipate from her mind and leave her restful and calm.  He allowed his eyes to trace her face, moving over her soft skin and stopping at her eyes.  They were dark eyes, deep and friendly and seemed to draw anyone in who would give a few seconds of their time to look into them.  Just as he started getting sucked in, she felt that feeling you feel when you’re being watched and she looked up and spotted him instantly.  Struck and unprepared with being seen by her, his branch seemed to remove itself from it’s task of keeping him safely secured to the tree and he fell, somersaulting as he did and landed straight onto his face.

    He slowly eased his head over until he could sneak a peek to see if she was still watching him.  His gaze was instead met by another set of eyes, albeit much older and a lot less attractive, and about two inches from his own.  The eyes became slits as the face which held them wrinkled up into a wide and slightly toothless grin.
“Good to see you can take a hit Brodan!” Were the words that seemed to crackle off his chapped lips.  “That’s another reason why we want to talk to you.  Quickly now, follow me.”
    Realising it was Droogan, one of the village elders, he pulled himself together, wiped the blood from his face and followed without question, looking back once to the spot where she was, only too see that she wasn’t there...

To Be Continued...

A Unfortunate Event.

Night was falling gently around them by the time they rounded the last corner near Jean-Philippe’s flat.  Tired and hungry from the long walk Claire-Bear was well and truly over walking and was relieved when the only thing that stood between her and the safety of an armchair was the front door to the flat, complete with shoulder indentations.
    Jean-Philippe inserted the key and turned it until he heard a the gentle click of the door unlocking.  If the door had a head, it would have hung now in disappointment, having finally been defeated.  Jean-Philippe eased it open and stepped inside, followed closely by Claire-Bear.   Before he could say, “Make yourself at ‘ome,” Claire-Bear had already found refuge on a large suede-covered armchair and kicked her shoes off.  She leaned back and couldn’t help but notice the wine bottles lining the walls of the flat and they seemed to flow into every room.  Jean-Philippe noticed her noticing the bottles and explained that his father used to own a vineyard and made one of France’s most popular red wines and he had inherited all the remaining bottles from that vineyard before his father closed it.  He further explained that the flat was temporary and he intended in owning his own vineyard to carry on the family tradition but was waiting for the right opportunity to do so as this year was not the best year for French red wine.
    “I am taking you away.”  He excitedly said to her. “You have much of France and the world to see!”
Claire-Bear’s face showed reluctance until he showed her his car parked inside a little garage around the back of his flat.  A black Lamborghini Gallardo which seemed to reflect a deep red glow wherever light hit it.
    “It is one of a kind,” Jean-Philippe said, his chest filling with pride. “A gift from my Fazer to commemorate the vineyard.”
Claire-Bear promptly agreed to the trip and after packing many bottles of red wine and cheese croissants they set off to have many adventures through the French countryside filled with laughter and challenging challenges.

    Eventually though on one fateful day somewhere in the French coast Jean-Philippe found a lovely secluded spot on a ledge of a cliff overlooking the ocean while relieving himself after a long day of driving and keeping his hydration levels up.  He went back to the car to find the little exhausted Claire-Bear fast asleep and at ease with life, drooling slightly while dreaming pleasant dreams of fairies and angel cakes.  Quickly and quietly he packed a picnic basket and went back to the ledge.  He spread out a blanket and put out the food and wine, he lit candles and filled their glasses, this was going to be a picnic he would never forget.  
    He rushed back to the car and gently woke the sleeping Claire-Bear, now dreaming deep dreams of adventure and sandwiches, she was hungry.  He coaxed her away from the car under the guise that he wanted to show her the view from the cliff.  Reluctantly she followed, feeling the pains of hunger growing stronger, she would much rather have stayed in the car and tucked into the sandwiches she packed earlier.  Jean-Philippe lead her to the cliff ledge, his hand over her eyes to keep from spoiling the surprise.  He removed his hand from her face.  She opened her eyes and was totally lost in a wilderness of feelings.  She threw her arms around him and put her lips close to his ear.  “You did all this for just me?”  She asked, trembling slightly.
“Yes!”  Jean Philippe replied, his courage now rushing to the surface like a volcano, dormant for years, getting ready to finally unleash it’s fury upon the landscape.  “There is somesing I need to ask you first before we eat..”
“What is it?”  Claire-Bear asked still rummaging through her feeling wilderness.
    Jean-Philippe dropped to one knee, the sun setting over the ocean forming the perfect backdrop for such an occasion.  Birds sang their song of love and the gentle breeze took it upon itself to carry this song across the landscape and envelope the two lovers.  The sun gently kissed their skin, slightly warming them as the evening started to cool.  Jean-Philippe opened his mouth slightly and poised his finger as his question rushed to the front of his mind, his other hand occupied in his pocket trying to secure the little box in which lay the most beautiful diamond ring.  The words started to edge their way out of his mouth and as they did so the ground under his knee overcome with suspense, gently released it’s grip on the situation.
“My Darli...”  The words had barely started to leave his lips when he fell, he managed with his free hand to grip a stray root  on the edge of the ledge.  He looked desperately into her eyes which in sheer panic were filling with tears.  The root, surprised by the sudden fall of Jean-Philippe had no time to secure it’s grip and finally let go.  Claire-Bear stood staring in disbelief as Jean-Philippe fell towards the rocks to a gruesome but certain death.

    From a distance he heard people talking and felt the sensation of someone holding his hand.  Light flickered in his eyes as he tried to open them and like that feeling you get when standing on a subway platform and a passing train enters the terminal at the speed of a drag car being driven by a drunken lunatic with a death wish, everything came rushing back to him.  
    His hand being held was now warm and slightly damp, the smell of the small shop seemed strong in his nostrils and fighting his gag reflex he opened his eyes.  
Leaning over him in the way that a massive cruise-liner leans over a small fishing boat was the fat store owner, a few strands of his hair were dangling off his head, with small drops of sweat hanging onto the ends with every ounce of strength they had.
“You ok monsieur?”  He asked, his voice sounded like it was exiting a deep cave.
“I sink so,”  Jean-Philippe replied, “I fell over?”
“Ah, you did monsieur, you did,”  replied the store owner trying desperately to hold back his laugh, “You fall down like lead parachute ha ha!”
    And with that everyone around him, like fireworks at a Chinese festival all accidentally lit at the same time, exploded with laughter.  Everyone that is, except for her.  He looked up and caught her gaze.  Being very careful not to break it nor freeze time again (because freezing time is dangerous when performed by a novice and takes many years to perfect), he lifted himself off the floor relieved not to be dead but highly confused.  “My Darling.”  He said to her holding his hand out for her to take his grasp.
    “I’m not your darling!”  She replied strangely disgusted with the actions of this peculiar Frenchman.
“But my Darling, I love you,”  He said, confused by her complete disregard for him. “You ’ave my keys!”
“The only keys I have are these!”  She pulled out the keys she found at the airport and held them in front of his face.
Snatching them from her grasp he exclaimed, “My keys!”
    Suddenly with a crash the door swung open, the bell above was so taken by surprise that it forgot to ring.  Light poured into the shop and in the doorway stood Justin striking a heroic pose.  
“Take your keys and leave my Claire-Bear alone!”  He said, having heard the commotion from the street.
“Justin!”  Claire-Bear said with a fright, “I thought you were...”
“I was.”  He replied, “I got tired of trying to open the lock and rolled over to have a little nap and wait for you when the combination for my lock came back to me.  I came here as fast as I could to tell you you don’t have to get anything for me to break it.”  And with that he took her by the hand and led her out of the shop.
    Birds twittered and danced, bees danced and buzzed, the clouds just danced as they can make no sound, and suddenly an overwhelming feeling of joy and serenity came over the both of them.  
   
Justin boldly took Claire-Bears’ hand in his and danced her into the Streets of France to enjoy a lovely holiday with the love of his life and her wonderful family before reluctantly returning home to the heat and taxis of Durban.

Jean-Philippe returned to his flat, packed up his things, put them into his Lamborghini and took himself off on an adventure to forget about his ordeal and put things in his head back into order.  This adventure would eventually lead him to crashing his car in an open field, growing in which (from a combination of a strange bird-seed taking refuge in the flattened corpse of a small bird that died from a serious case of indigestion) was a peculiar grape which, upon tasting  lead him to buy the property and grow his own vineyard, which by total fluke produced the best red wine France and the world had ever tasted.  Jean-Philippe lead a full and happy life and eventually met the woman of his dreams, produced seven children and eventually died peacefully in the ocean after falling off a ledge he found one day driving along the French coast.

The birds’ nagging wife eventually left their home behind a painting of the Eiffel Tower in a small hotel room, with her ten children, after giving up on her useless husband when he never returned after venturing out to find food.
    The bird-lice left behind lived a happy life in the hollowing, eventually being sprayed with a lice-killing spray by a disgruntled hotel guest.

THE END!!

The Prodigal Keys

Claire-Bear opens her eyes slowly.  Still sleepy from a long night of dancing and drinking red wine, she rolls over only to fall off of the edge of the huge king-size bed that, with her constant tossing and turning through the night, was now ruffled beyond recognition.  She must have been dancing in her sleep.  The huge door with a skilfully carved Art-Nouveau pattern right across it, slowly creaked open.  Jean-Philippe proudly walked in holding a tray covered with a lavish breakfast of Eggs, bacon, four cheese croissants and a glass of sweet red wine.  Claire-Bear stared at the tray, her stomach so empty now that it was now putting plans into motion for an aggressive assault on her spleen.  She lifted herself back up onto the bed.   Jean-Philippe laid down the tray and turned around to open the curtain, which by now was struggling slightly to keep out the morning light.  He straightened them out to look neat and then turned back around to see Claire-Bear finishing off the last morsel of her breakfast.  She stared back at him slightly embarrassed that she had wolfed down her food without even giving it the slightest chance for escape, and let out a tiny burp.
“Excuse me.”  She said now blushing.
“It eeees no prrroblem ma petite,”  Jean-Philippe stated with love filling his eyes and hunger filling his belly, “Jus’ glad you enjoyed it eh!”
“Oh, I did.  Thank you so much!”  Claire bear said flopping back onto the bed, her stomach now contented, ceased any further action on her very relieved spleen.
    She noticed that through the door there was another room, in which stood a very hard looking couch with a duvet half hanging off.  She realised that this is where Jean-Philippe had spent his night.  Although it was a hard and uncomfortable couch on any other night, to Jean-Philippe that night before, it felt as if it were a bed of roses.  Content at having met the girl of his dreams, it could very well have been a bed of razor blades and he would still have had a comfortable sleep.  He was a gentleman by nature and insisted that Claire-Bear have the luxury of the bed.

     Claire-Bear and Jean-Philippe sat and enjoyed coffee together on the balcony overlooking the street, the chilly morning air refreshing their tired faces.  The people below were happy and content with life as they went about their French business: shopping, eating cheese croissants, drinking red wine and dancing in love.  The birds fluttered by and the insects butter flied and Claire-Bear and Jean-Philippe felt the warm feeling of love, like being in bed in the early hours of the morning when the winter chill lightly touches your toes and you pull them back under the covers.   Jean-Philippe explained that he had been staying with his neighbour on account that he had lost his keys and each day he dedicated his morning to battling the wits of his door and try and get himself back into his flat, he also explained that his neighbour was a complete lunatic and instead of taking her back there he splashed out on this hotel room so she could have a comfortable night.  
    His keys, he had actually accidentally dropped a few days before from his window one drunken night after returning home from a croissant festival in the town square, they bounced off a drainpipe and found themselves on the window-sill of his lunatic neighbour.  The keys later found that they had tipped over a small bowl spilling birdseed across the sill and this attracted the attention of some small strange French insects brought to the city from the countryside.  

    A small bird flying over lazily fell from the sky and crash-landed onto the sill.  The Inability to find food for six days had left him weakened and unable to fly any longer.  As he lay there panting, taking what he thought were his last breaths of French air, he sucked in one of the insects which was now highly confused and had no idea where it was, disorientated, it sat down and waiting for a rescue party.  Rolling over, the small bird opened his eyes to reveal a wonderful spread of bird-seed and insects laid out in front of him.  He hungrily devoured the entire contents on the sill and in doing so, accidentally ingested the keys that were content to lie there and keep the frightened insect community company while they waited for rescue .  The bird after it's gluttonous binge then set off home to finally feed his ten hungry babies and appease the nagging of his wife who said she absolutely could not go out and find food because she had a headache and her feet hurt.

    Claire-Bear jumped off her chair and ran into the room, she grabbed her handbag and pulled out the set of keys she found.  She explained to Jean-Philippe that she had found them at the airport lying on the runway and thought that maybe they could be of some help to him.   He held them in his hand staring at them as if they had crawled out of a piece of cheese, and in total disbelief exclaimed, “My keys!!”  Claire-Bear could not believe this and had to sit down from the shock.
“Come!”  He said with immense authority.  “I want to shooow you my loverrrly home.  There is a lot to do zerr!”

With that, they both quickly got dressed and set off up the road to Jean-Philippe’s flat with Jean-Philippe leading the way and Claire-Bear following close behind, slightly confused with the feeling like she was forgetting something.


To Be Continued...

Lovers Dance

The stillness enveloped him like those few seconds after you have been hit by a twenty foot wave and you find yourself suspended upside down, motionless and quiet.  He stared at her, her shoulder-length hair blowing softly in the breeze easing in from the slowly closing door, her eyes, transfixed on his, were big and seemed to stare right into the very depths of his soul.  The door which was now almost closed let in a final little gust of disobedient air that when mixed with the smell of her shampoo and perfume, danced through the air and knocked him straight off his feet.
    From a distance he heard people talking and felt the sensation of someone holding his hand.  Light flickered in his eyes as he tried to open them and like that feeling you get when standing on a subway platform and a passing train enters the terminal at the speed of a drag car being driven by a drunken lunatic with a death wish, everything came rushing back to him.  
    His hand being held was now warm and slightly damp, the smell of the small shop seemed strong in his nostrils and fighting his gag reflex he opened his eyes.  
Leaning over him in the way that a massive cruise-liner leans over a small fishing boat was the fat store owner, a few strands of his hair were dangling off his head, with small drops of sweat hanging onto the ends with every ounce of strength they had.
“You ok monsieur?”  He asked, his voice sounded like it was exiting a deep cave.
“I sink so,”  Jean-Philippe replied, “I fell over?”
“Ah, you did monsieur, you did,”  replied the store owner trying desperately to hold back his laugh, “You fall down like lead parachute ha ha!”
    And with that everyone around him, like fireworks at a Chinese festival all accidentally lit at the same time, exploded with laughter.  Everyone that is, except for her.  He looked up and caught her gaze.  Being very careful not to break it nor freeze time again (because freezing time is dangerous when performed by a novice and takes many years to perfect), he lifted himself off the floor, grabbed her by the hand and ran towards the door.  Gallantly and with the strength of a warrior on a diet of red wine and cheese croissants, he kicked the door open and it reluctantly obeyed revealing the brightest day in France Jean-Philippe had ever seen.    Birds twittered and danced, bees danced and buzzed, the clouds just danced as they can make no sound, and suddenly an overwhelming feeling of joy and serenity came over the both of them.
“I am..”  Claire-Bear tried to get her name out into the open but Jean-Philippe put his finger, which was still poised and now starting to cramp a little, gently onto her lips.
“Shhhh..”  He said,  “Poly voo, shoo shoo patu rigagoo.”
“I have no idea what you just said?”  Claire-Bear looked into his eyes very confused.  “I don’t speak French.”
“Eet eeez not emportaaant, enjoy ze momaaaaant.”  He replied.
    
    And enjoy the moment they did.  Jean-Philippe strongly took her hand in his and slipped his free arm around her waist, his poised finger now relaxed and content, cramped no more.  He danced her right through the street twirling her, dipping and swinging.  This action was commonplace in France, the world capital of love, lovers and dating couples could often be seen dancing their way to the cinema and lavish restaurants or the local Monsieur McDonalds depending on their budget.  
    He danced her right into the night.
“Does this always happen in France?”  Claire-Bear wonderingly asked while her legs seemed naturally to find their own way through the dance steps.
“Oh my darleeeeng,”  Jean-Philippe replied full of confidence  and manly-ness, “You av no idea!”


To Be Continued...

The Door That Mocked

He stares at the door relentlessly with his piercing French relentless stare.  The door, as if mocking him stands very still and calm.  He puts his right leg back slightly and digs his toes into the ground.  The door continues it’s mocking.  Finally with an exploding leap he bounds towards the door, which by now is a little bored of mocking him and just stands there waiting for impact, and the impact comes with a loud thump and a crack, dust flies into the air, birds scatter and a stray chicken decides that this is the right time to pack up it’s things and leave the area, forgetting only an egg on the pavement.  The dust settles and nature gathers itself together once more and left in the middle of the small street in agony,  Jean-Philippe sits and the door mocks him once more, “Perhaps ziss eees not a goood day to be Frrrrench!”  He thinks to himself between the spasms of pain in his shoulder.
    For three days he has been trying to break down that door, for three days he has been eating cheese croissants and drinking red wine to gain strength and numb the pain for the next battle against the door, for three days he has been wishing that he hadn’t lost his keys.  For three days he had been staying with his lunatic neighbour who ate nothing but bird-seed and strange little insects he gathered from the country-side on his weekend adventures.  For three days he has been wondering, “Why?!?”

    “Wow!”  Claire-Bear exclaims looking out of the window, “Look how massive the Eiffel Tower is.”
“It’s amazing isn’t it?”  Justin replies.
She turns to him and sees him sitting on the end of the bed in his hotel room, getting very frustrated with his bag.  The walls a pale yellow with one painting of the Eiffel Tower above the bed, despite the view from the window.  Behind this painting was a small hollowing that used to be home to a small bird, but now lies barren waiting for the little resident to return, only a small family of bird-lice are left as a reminder that he was ever there.  The bed is a little rickety and creeks when sat on, or in fact, even when sat near and the sheets matched the colour of the wall perfectly, the bottom corner though, slightly lifted by a gentle breeze coming through the window which is jammed open.  Justin, a tall and slender man was sitting on the end of this rickety, creaking bed trying hopelessly to remember the combination of his lock to open his bag.   
“Claire-Bear!”  He said in frustration, “Do you have anything that will open this lock or perhaps even break it?”
“No,” she replied, “But on the corner of the street I saw a small hardware store, I will go and see if they have something that can help.”  
    With that, she kissed him and left.  Justin continued his efforts to remove the lock eventually giving up, and having no clothes that didn’t smell like animal sweat, he rolled over and creaked his way to dreamland waiting for Claire-Bear to return with a plan.

    Finally the thought popped into his head.  After three days of continuous mocking by the door and extreme pain in his shoulder Jean-Philippe finally thinks it.  He summed up all his strength,  peeled himself off the street and limped his way to the street corner shop.   “A Hammer!”  Why didn’t he think of it before?  He would simply buy a hammer and smash the door lock into oblivion then replace the lock.  Simple.   The door now began to worry slightly and ceased it’s mocking.
    The bell that guarded the door to the shop, noticed him edging the door open and proudly announced his arrival to the customers and the store owner who lazily turned his head, like an owl slowly scanning the horizon for a rat disobeying curfew, and lifted his eyebrows in a form of greeting.  He was a fat man with a bold moustache that resembled the furry end of a broom with a tomato-shaped nose peaking over the top. His hair was thin, slightly curly and greased back and looked as if some of it was even drawn on his scalp with a pen.  He was sweating, he was always sweating, it was his body’s way of trying to rid itself of the contents he packed into it each day.  The smell in the shop emphasized the fact that he was sweating.
    Jean-Philippe lifted his finger and poised to ask the question that would end his misery and allow him to resume his normal life, the fat store owner turned to face him, eyebrows lifted and mouth slightly open waiting for the information to hit him so he could process it and return with a definitive answer, but from behind them the bell proudly announced yet another customer entering the store.  Jean-Philippe spun around on his heels and froze as she walked in.  Their eyes met.   Time seemed to freeze and everything around them stopped.  His finger still lifted, a new question found it’s way to his lips and started it’s slow journey out.


To Be Continued...

The Introduction

He gently raises his delicate glass of robust red wine to his pursed lips and sucks a little into his mouth letting it wash around and release it’s timeless flavours on his tongue, he thinks to himself about life and the way it has turned out for him,  as he remembers that fateful day when he lost his keys.  He takes a bite of his cheese croissant.  “Ah!” he thinks, “It is a gooood day to be Frrrench.”  For some reason unbeknownst to him, he has a good feeling that something good will happen to him – like the day that two particles of unknown matter and majesty collided together after journeying perilously through time and space to create a tiny planet which would come to be inhabited by many species, the most successful and youngest of which, the human race, from which would spawn Jean-Philippe and through his life he would take many turns and paths and each time he would wonder if it was the right way to go, not realising, of course, that they would all add together and lead him straight to this point now, with his good feeling and the taste of cheese and red wine fighting for the love of his tongue.

    Behind him the Eiffel Tower sits proudly dominant over the horizon and anything else that wishes to challenge it’s dominating dominance.  At this moment a small bird is releasing from his nether regions, in mid-flight, the breakfast of small French insects, some French bird-seed and a set of two keys, which it ate the day before in a binging exercise that was brought on from not eating for six days.  

The insects were left feeling extremely confused as to their specific location, coming from a very dark, wet and sticky environment to now feeling the wind in their “feelers” and a burning sensation in their eyes which became worse as they have no eyelids and cannot blink to alleviate the burning.
    The bird-seed fell for approximately ten seconds before deciding to each go their separate ways (which were quite a few considering how much the bird ate during his binge) and the keys decided that straight down and as fast as possible was the best option for the fall and carried it through with perfection.  Unfortunately for the keys though, their plan was hindered by a low-flying aircraft hurtling towards it’s destination, desperate to stop and rid itself of it’s massive load.  Highly upset by this inconsiderate interruption of their course, the keys bounced off the windshield and found themselves stuck on a bolt attached to the EMERGENCY DOOR.  They could not move and decided rather to hitch a ride on this inconsiderate contraption until such time as another plan could be made.
    The bird could later be found falling from the sky after dyeing from a heart attack which was brought on by a serious case of indigestion caused by his massive breakfast binge the day before.  His body though, found it’s final resting place, albeit slightly flatter, in a field where it was discovered by some falling bird-seed which set up camp and later grew a vineyard that produced grapes which, by a total accident, were discovered to produce the best red wine France and the world had ever tasted.

    The captain of the inconsiderate aircraft which so disgustingly interrupted the falling dance of some very disgruntled keys, projected his voice into the in-flight communications system and announced their arrival and explained that upon departure of the aircraft, red wine, a cheese croissant and love letters (as this was the world capital of love) would be distributed to all passengers to welcome them finally, to France.  One of these passengers left eye was interrupted from taking in her surroundings by something shining on the tarmac, she bends over to pick up the shiny object and upon closer inspection realises she has found a set of two (now very agitated) keys.  “Claire-Bear,”  asks her mother, “What have you got there?”
“A set of keys,” she replies putting the keys in her pocket, “It must be my lucky day...”



Continued next week...