(Source image: "Casablanca" by TC Reiner)
She was everything I'd come to love about Casablanca: full of grace and spirit, a glint in her eye and spring in her step, white teeth agleam in face kissed by the sun, body taut but full of promise. For weeks my waitress at this dusty little streetside café, she danced right along the edge of flirtation but never overstepped it.
Till the day I brought my guitar. From the first chord I struck there was something in her eyes, dark and flickering. I wrapped cadenzas around her, held her fast with fingers dancing on the strings, her gaze locked with mine, the spark jumping.
After, she settled onto my lap with a swirl of skirts. “So beautiful,” she sighed with a lilting French accent. “Why did you not tell me you played?”
“Better to show you,” I grinned.
“Ah! yes, it is better to show,” she agreed. “Like....this?” Her eyes danced, flicking downward, to where she had pulled up her skirt. She was bare beneath it.
“Very much like that,” I agreed, and slid my hand up her thigh.
Your challenge for today was to use the picture above and write a flash fiction of 119-187 words. Additionally, I provided a key phrase I wanted to see used somewhere in the submission:
"...kissed by the sun..."
Nobody's checking word counts, or for the key phrase, but you're only cheating yourself if you break the rules. Unless you're doing it to earn a spanking (in which case, see me after class).
Special Bonus Director's Commentary Track:
Originally I'd planned to call this one "Moroccan Fire" and play up the sensation of heat I got from looking at the photo. I pictured long, humid glances of passion between the players in the tale, sultry heat in a café, sweat rolling down bodies, torrid romance building slowly. And then my research on Morocco and Casablanca informed me that it has mostly a very pleasant and mild climate with neither extreme highs nor extreme lows. That threw that approach out the window.
So I seized on the guitar instead. Music is always flowing through my head, and so it was almost effortless to fit a fiery Moorish rhythm into the story I had in mind next. I tried to suggest this was a glimpse into the Casablanca of yesteryear, before its jeweled luster dimmed, by giving her a French accent. Maybe the waitress wouldn't give him the time of day, but she went all to pieces when he played for her. Stranger things have happened. It makes me wish I had more musical talent than I do, but I'll settle for wordsmithing any day of the week. I hope you enjoyed this little fanciful tone poem.
Please note that I am no longer collecting the participants list. If you are playing along this week, please leave your link below using the widget. It will appear in the text of the post itself, not in the comments, so everyone that's playing will be listed here. This frees me from having to chase people down to find out if they're playing or update the Friday post several times for late entries. Your cooperation is appreciated.
In any case, the participants list is below. Go check them out, and thanks to all who played along.
Check back here on Monday for the next challenge! And if you have any photos or artwork you'd like to see in a future challenge, please send them my way.