What Do You See: Say It With Flowers

Image credit: Yana Hurskaya @ Unsplash

The image shows an earthen jug filled with red tulips. The vase/jug is sitting on old stone steps. Written in response to Sadje‘s What Do You See #127 Photo Prompt.

Today was the day, Carlos decided. The tulips were blooming. He sighed with delight. Such beautiful flowers, the colour of love. Perfect.

He hoped a year was long enough for her. But then he’d waited forty years. If only he’d hadn’t been so shy. He would have been the one to ask her to dance. It would have been his coat she held over her head as they ran for the bus in the rain. And her three boys would have called him papa.

Carlos missed Ramon, probably as much as Dolores did, but it was time to move on, to stop being so shy. He picked up the jug, the one he knew she admired, and lovingly arranged the blossoms. Then, under cover of the pre-dawn light, he crept across the street and placed his gift halfway up the stone stairs that led to her front door.


A week later, he stood in the church with her grieving sons. His tears flowed when the priest spoke of how Ramon and Dolores were together again, how nothing could keep them apart.

Not even him, thought Carlos. Their union started when he had pointed her out to Ramon. Her beauty left them spellbound until Ramon found the courage to approach her.

And now, Carlos’ carefully placed vase, and her lost spectacles, had brought them together one last time.

What Do You See: Conscious Uncoupling

Image credit; Olga Solodilova @ Unsplash

For the visually challenged reader, the image shows a couple dining. The man has a glass of wine in his hand and he is looking at his companion. The woman is staring the other way, holding a few long stem flowers.

Written in response to Sadje‘s What Do You See #121 Photo Prompt.

She gazes out of the window: her face a picture of bored disdain.

He clasps his wineglass in a sweaty hand.

Their eyes meet as she leans forward to pick up a rose.

He takes a deep breath and slams the glass down. “Why aren’t you listening to me?”

“You aren’t saying anything worth hearing.” She flings the flower at him.

“What about Pete?” He raises his voice. “Want to know how I found out?”

“Not really,” she hisses. “But is it any wonder when you are such a cold-hearted bastard!”

“Only because you froze me out of our bed and your life, you frigid bitch.”

“At least Pete knows how to treat a woman. You couldn’t satisfy a mouse!”

“Then go to him, you tart, but the next time you drop your knickers for him will be the last time you see the kids.”

“You wouldn’t?” Her voice breaks.

“They deserve better than a slut of a mother like you!”

She sobs and runs from the table. Ignoring the shocked eyes of the other diners, she disappears into the night.

He stares into space until a hand falls on his shoulder. “Sir, are you all right?” He looks around, and there is the maître d’, a picture of embarrassment who tries to avoid his gaze.

“I’m so sorry for causing this scene,” the man’s breath comes in ragged hitches.

“That’s okay, sir. Would you care for a brandy or something?”

“Yes, please, but first, I need a cigarette.” He grabs his jacket. “May I have my drink at the bar?”

“Of course.” The maître d’ melts away, and the man idly picks up the woman’s shawl. Then he trudges through the restaurant, fumbling in his pockets for his lighter and cigarettes.

Once outside, his face cracks into a broad grin and suppressed laughter erupts in a flurry of snorts.

Someone grabs the back of his coat and drags him into a darkened alley.

“We haven’t got time for that,” he tells her, removing a hand from the front of his trousers.

“Shame,” she whispers. “I want to be your little mousie.”

“Later, Hotpants!” He kisses her and drapes the shawl over her shoulders. “Who do you fancy ripping off for our next course?”

WDYS: The Key to Her Heart

Image credit: Photomix company @ Pixabay

He comes for his things
But pauses at the door
Forced to ring the bell

My key doesn’t work, he says
I changed the lock, she replies

He gives her a boyish grin
How about a cup of tea?
All right, she says

They sit in the kitchen
He reaches for her hand

I’m sorry I hurt you
Can we try again?
Let me make amends

She sighs, and hope dies
Can I have a biscuit, then?

The tin is slid towards him
They’re all broken, he scowls
She raises her head and smiles

Written in response to Sadje‘s What Do You See #108 photo prompt.