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A Title (or The Cookies) (1 Viewer)


Senior Member
A Title
(or The Cookies)

Some people are sitting comfortably and thinking about the past. Beside them there are their relatives, their friends, their enemies, their everyone, as well as their everythings. What they now have is a chat about what has happened over the centuries, decades, over the years. Their chat becomes a mind twisting at times. It is something that they want aside: they want stumuli. Basically, they need their chat unobstructed, although they are aware that chats are there to be open to each and every option, to each and every twist of chance, so chance is to be reckoned with. They know that they are now in the unknown branche of their luxurious, fundamental existences. So, mum's the word.

''David, old chap... our dear Marianne is not here with you to join us here... Why's that?'' asked Thomas while giving David a jumpy look. David's and Thomas' images were the only ones that the mirror's daylight chose to mediate. Besides the two of them, the room offerered some tight space for Annette and Rose to join the party, both being of potential harmful effect to the chat's future.

''Yep'' added David, as if he were a part of Thomas' image in the mirror. ''She's not here... She has a splitting headache... not that I believe her. Having in mind all her escapisms she's done lately.''

''What do you mean by it, Dave?'' asked Rose, letting her rightful pride show in every syllable that she would utter. ''I think she is great! Amazing! You should but recall of what a woman she is!Bringing up the brats and everything...''

The silence started to creap in between the by then old company as soon as Rose came to the place. The place, if it could, would object to her coming there; it was a cosy radiant room, with shining old furniture items. It was a part of the castle whole that the Yanks, David and Marianne had bought from its previous owners Rose and Thomas.

And Rose was British, aristocratic of course. The good ol' castle's paintings, refusing to lie (meaning made by reknowned Brits), were offering the new owners psychological perspective projection on their purchase.

What greatly underestimated phenomena traditions are!

Thomas was a post–World War II baby boom result of the love made by an American trooper and an English lady factory worker. He considered himself an American and loved England. Loved it beyond loyalty. He would often ponder on one issue, the result of which would be that he'd, if he only could, give his ''both lives'' for both England and America. ''What a bloke...'' thought Rose as she met him. ''Now that I call a good party...!'' she glowed.

She was now taking an introspective look on David. He noticed it and asked her.

''Rose, what do you think pray tell... What would your parents say about our buying this castle? Can you imagine their reaction?Who were they, in fact? Weren't they the ones who made their fortune by selling their... negro cotton plantation, the ones who returned to becoming British?'' This tease is well-intentioned, honest, thought David. He was a white descendant of an former African American slave being treated as a human being by his neighbor, the former slave owner.

''A great question, David!'' responded Rose to the honesty. ''My parents are descendants of those people, as a matter of fact. They hated the slavery business. They couldn't stand the French back there, for some reason... Religiously, I think... I don't care for the matter at all...'' a vague oddness was unveiled in all of its reasonless harmony.

''Mon nome est Annette, say cheese'' Annette used the harmony to stand up and take a photo of the perplexed bunch. ''Je suis femme de chambre... français... je suis...oui...'' added Annette. ''You all seem to speak French, I see.'' Annette was pouring her giddiness. She was glad to have shocked – wow – the company. A little divertion... what's the matter with them? She has French ancestry, they're talking about the territory of Louisiana. What's the matter, so?

Any answer from nowhere?, Annette ran it. She guessed that she may use the verb ''run'' in such a context, but who cared -- she smiled.

''Allez, allez! Choo choo train!'' David came up with that. Thomas smiled. Rose felt like putting on a shorter skirt, but Annette wore similar clothes to hers. Annette winked at her. The paintings kinda approved of le situation.

Then the maid stepped into the room carrying tee and coffee and some really nicely baked cookies. In the nick of time; the company kinda hurled to drink and eat. Invigoriting was taking place. The looks seemed more relaxing, the space shouted for more, so no one said a thing.

''France is great!'' said David. Rose nodded to that, than coughed. It might have been the cookie. Le grand coookiiie, thought she. ''I second that!'' added Thomas. ''Hear, hear'' agreed Annette and David.

Marianne rang the doorbell. Soon she was added to the show, although she didn't quite know what was going on. She was somehow coldly greeted, but she began to anticipate some high spirits. She was offered a distilled beverage by David. She thanked him and took a seat.

''What's the matter? Why do you all look...'' a loss of words. She wore a short skirt, so she took a look at Annette. Annette was curling her hair around her finger. She was serious.

''What aren't you telling me? Am I a stranger? Can I have a cookie?'' smiled Marianne.

''Sure, dear... Make yourself at home...!'' Rose sounded so strangely, positively tense. She was gazing at the fruit basket on the table.

''Hellooo, Rooose... This is my home... Sorry...'' smiled Marianne to Rose. She was benevolence incorporated.

''Yeah, sure it is...!'' said Rose, as she was taken by surprise.

Several minutes of Marianne's calm quietness.

''Marianne...'' David began. ''Meet Annette. Annette, this is my wife, Marianne.''

Both were introduced to each other.

Silence, again.

''You are French, Annette, aren't you? I love your pommes frites... the fries... you know!''

''Well, I'm glad to hear that, Marianne'' Annette smiled seriously; she was still French, oh yeah!, big time.

''David, I'm tired, I was studying French all day, you know. I'll need the language once we'll have come to France to search for a villa to buy, won't I?''

''Sure you will, dear...''

''And, how's your French?'' suddenly asked Marianne David. She was looking at the Annette's seriously charming look.

''Excuse our... indispensability.'' said David.
The company had to part.

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Senior Member
Hi, Everyone,
Here I go again with a sort of a short story... I'm hoping You'd find the humbleness of it worthy of a criticism or comment...

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