Katerina’s Kiosk – Friday Fictioneers

I remember this prompt, but for whatever reason I did not write a story for it. So, here’s a new one from me and it’s inspired by a story about Kiosks in Lisbon that I heard on NPR. See a description of the words below the story.

Thanks to our fairy blog mother Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting and to Ted Strutz for the remarkable photo. I’m five words over. Sorry about that.  I’m feeling a bit rusty.

icon-grill-ted-strutz
PHOTO PROMPT- ©Ted Strutz

(105 words)

Katerina’s Kiosk

Those from the old country knew “Katerina’s Kiosk” as simply “The Kiosk.” They nodded when they heard the words roll off Katerina’s tongue into the ears of her chosen ensemble of baristi, who prepared drinks with 100-year recipes.

Groselha. Capilé.

Patrons rubbing their temples, expecting their usual lager, received a frothy-white liquid of honeyed sweetness with crushed almonds and figs. Leite Perfumada.

A harpist played, plucking at your thoughts, inviting the gentle promise of new possibilities. After a visit here, patrons left jobs, wrote poetry, and traveled to faraway lands.

Don’t be afraid to get what you really want, a sign read above the bar.

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Baristi – baristas (plural in Italian)
Groselha – red currant refreshment
Capilé – maidenhair leaves with orange blossom water
Leite Perfumada – perfumed milk

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Linger in the Moonbeam Wilderness

Mountain1

Linger in the moonbeam wilderness
stay a while
take off your hat, your scarf and
breathe in the air

Feel it nip at your neck and
sting your eyes
dance upon your lips
and whistle in your eardrums

Its song filters through the clouds
whispered in the wind
and is carried by feathered wings
waiting in the shadows

Memories drift on frayed edges
slipping through fingertips
remembering what you can’t forget
like tracked footfalls in the fallen snow

Memories old, memories new
memories waiting for a cue
marked by the hawk passing through
who waits for no one

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Let’s all the seize the moment in 2016!

Happy New Year, everyone!  Wishing everyone the best year ever and that you’re happy, healthy and go after your dreams. How is your new year going so far?

Dreams of Solid Gold – Friday Fictioneers

“I did sit-ups to Berlin’s “Sex” song for the last two years. Do you realize how long the extended version of that song is?”

“Can’t say that I do,” Jill said, flipping through Cosmo.

“Seven minutes, thirty-eight seconds of pure torture,” I said. “Feel my abs of steel, my buns of steel. C’mon, touch it.”

“Oh, all right.” Jill patted my ass.

“At the “Solid Gold” audition, we line up and do one pirouette. That’s it. All those sit-ups for what?”

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The next day, she landed a spot in a Pat Benetar video. Her dreams were gold after all, baby.

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Genre: Humor (101 words)

Photo Copyright: Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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I confess, there’s a bit of back story here. When I was a kid, I had a master class with a “Solid Gold” dancer. This guy Tony, in the middle:

Image source: unofficialsolidgoldwebsite.com
Image source: unofficialsolidgoldwebsite.com

Here’s a picture of the whole gang. Tony is in the back:

Solid Gold
Image source: http://www.brixpicks.com

I watched the show religiously, I wanted so bad to be a Solid Gold Dancer. The following year, I took a master class with a dancer from a Pat Benetar video, and indeed, he played the “Sex” song while did our ab routine. But, I never made it to “Solid Gold” or a video! I don’t think I had the hair! I’m sure that was it.

Thanks as always, to our fearless choreographer, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Please visit the links page for fabulous stories from the Fictioneers.

One Last Hurrah – Friday Fictioneers

One Last Hurrah

Ever since the sleep study, Lenny wore the diver mask.

“It’s your husband’s old mask,” Ellen said to Margie over the phone, her voice shaking. “I don’t know how he got it.”

Margie sobbed over the static. All but the mask had disappeared. His body vanished at sea.

Ellen trembled as her son Lenny blasted the music and played air guitar.

“He won’t take it off.” Ellen called out to Lenny, “Turn that down.”

But Lenny pounded his head into the wall until he collapsed.

Ellen shivered, taking off the mask. Lenny’s eyes appeared like dark buttons on a shriveled doll head.

‘”Margie,” he said, and rolled over choking.

 

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Thank you to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for her devotion to this group, and to this week’s photo contributor, Doug MacIlroy. Thank you, Doug.

I miss one week of Friday Fictioneers and I feel rusty. I drove more than a thousand miles and most of it in a two-day period. Why is it that we don’t have wings? Certainly, we need them now.

Please be kind. I’m just glad to be back.

Click HERE for more offerings from the Fictioneers. Why not give it a try yourself? Everyone is welcome to participate.

Genre: Mystery (106 words)

Copyright – Douglas M. MacIlroy