Ma Petite Fleur:

by | Feb 27, 2024 | Uncategorized | 2 comments

Marseilles was like a foreign city to him.

Steve was sitting outside a café on the Rue des Catalans overlooking the beach of the same name. Even though he was a card-carrying Francophile, Marseilles was like a foreign city to him. It was the nearest he’d been to North Africa, both culturally and geographically.

He stared down at the words on the page. The last one to leave his pen was over a week old, lying there like a stale croissant.

He had writer’s block of the worst kind. His train had not only hit the buffers, it had been derailed.

Steve desperately needed a character, an inciting moment and he was looking on the streets of this cosmopolitan city for both. He glanced up in hopeless desperation, and a young woman caught his eye. Now there were many beautiful women in France and Marseilles was no exception. It seemed like every country in the world had sent their princesses to experience this incredible place. However, the siren that strolled towards him stripped every one of them of their allure.

Everything about her was fair, in all aspects of the word. Her skin, the colour of the inside of a freshly cut Brie, was immune to the vicious Mediterranean sun. Her hair, middle parted, framed her face like the curtains of a Westend Blockbuster. As for her eyes, Steve was envious of the old Dutch jeweller who’d cut them from a single African emerald.

Was he writing this down? No. His hand was paralysed as her cherry lips formed a smile, revealing a row of ivory perfection. Her nose was not to be left out, having been created by the chisel of Michaelangelo himself.

Fairness adorned her body in a pastiche of pastel colours. Imagination was superfluous to the vision that glided past him. Past him? No! Wait! She was gone!

Having gatecrashed his literary wake, she vanished as swiftly as she’d appeared.

Steve looked down at the page and read exactly what you have just read.

He slowly turned his head in the direction in which the Angel had glided, only to catch a brief glimpse of heaven as she was swallowed up in the relative mediocrity of the morning.


  1. Kenneth Childs

    Start of a new story Brian?

    • brian



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