{A fabulous writing practice book called "Write the Story" (available from Picadillyinc.com) guides my everyday "Pajama Pages"; those pages you write when you're in your pajamas and you haven't yet brushed your teeth before crawling into or out of bed... early morning or late night scribbles. Each page gives you 10 words and you have to write a story containing all those words - Hope it entertains you.}
Saturday, 29 October 2022
Theme: A strange request at a Piano Bar
Words to include in a story:
carnival | sprained | mask | oxidation | awkward | apple | juvenile | controversy | twirl | sassafras
HERE'S MY PAGE TODAY:
"Sally" was a Piano Bar on a quiet street in New Orleans. In a city where not much was left to the imagination and nothing could stir controversy, it was strange that some considered this bar awkward. Some say it was the remote location or the chilling clientele that made it so... Those in the know, knew that many delightful acts at Sally were encouraged without judgment and that entry to the Piano Bar was a small death.
The bar was not set in the rambunctious party streets and it could therefore cleverly avoid the cacophony of New Orleans sounds, even during the chaos of the carnival. Walking into the bar was like slipping into a quiet womb. The pine-enthused aroma of sassafras mixed with a twirl of hot honey, still your mind like only a walk in the forest could do. Many come here to find refuge and safety, or long after their lives were over.
On one such steamy noisy night, a disheveled girl fell into the bar, smarting from what seemed to be a sprained ankle. Her carnival mask, a ghoul of some kind, was pushed up high onto her forehead. Perspiration matted her raven hair to her ghostly face, now etched in pain. She hobbled toward the piano man who seemed to recognize her - his smile coaxing her closer, his fingers stroking the keys without pausing the song that was flowing from his mind. He nodded as if he knew where she found herself in the story of her life. The girl had a half-eaten apple, now browned with oxidation, in her hand and she placed it on the edge of the piano. A whisper escaped from her pouty lips, the colour of ripened cherries. To him, she looked like an escapee from a juvenile fable, a gorgeous creature with poison on her breath - something to behold, over and over again.
"Play me a lullaby dear Phillip, before I fall asleep."
"Of course my dear Margaretha, I shall kiss you in the morning," He said as she slumped to the floor.
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