Try to catch a glow/wives.

 Try to catch a glow/wives. Aurélie ASSEO

 A poem Inspired by the beauty of the actress Maya Deren and encounters with Sophie and Alexandra separately   

A glow in eyes, dances swing then are past.

A slow turn on the lights tousled.

A dancer, a woman’s touch of grace.

All eyes fly her cloudy blue smile, hands around her hips.

Now as I tickle a friend’s wrist, she looks at me, compassionate or complacent? I could not tell!

Blond she stands with that fine figure that of a countess. She calls my driver’s van a carriage.

I am all buttoned up with my winter red coat I wear in October, I too have brown curls, dark eyes then. This friend who stands next to me she seems to bear will-o-the wisps.  What she embodies are not dead spirits but a flighty creature I would have met on the North seas if she was not from St Petersburg. Her soul sister is mine too, she a friend. A lover or a wife she could have been forever. Did she leave to the U.S.A? Red haired, and that smile, a little red sea fish, a mermaid. Beautiful and bold.

  

My diary of every day

                                                     My diary of every day    Aurélie Asseo

Dear diary

We are on the fourth of June twenty twenty-three and I am now thirty-five years old and four months. Strangely enough these days are part of a difficult life period for me. It's been like that for nine years now and if you read my memoir's draft  "the cat stumbles "you may understand why. I am in a time of wonderings I don't understand all what has happening to me the last nine or ten years and I wonder if I am the only one in such a situation. I find it very difficult compared to my previous experiences of life .I don't understand it all.The reason why I try to write short fictions now is partly because I need to think of romantic settings and such dreams I would have wanted myself to come true.Romanticism lightens my anxiety.What I like when I try to sketche these chapters is that I completely visualize them.Although my characters do  not  always resemble  me,some do. I enjoy chosing places I have not been recently and sometimes never been to. Although I know my imagination to be vivid I hope my descriptions or the knowledge I built to be insightful and mostly accurate.I have been in a very strange position lately as I hear  people screaming when I am alone at home. I feel frightened. If you read my poems "Blue and Scarlet verse" or my teenage diary you'd understand that I wrote mostly poetry from 2002 to 2017 and now it seems that I really have switched to prose or poetic prose.I as any woman had crushes  for people and fell in love too .Although I mostly failed sentimentaly  and my latest relationship was difficult. I am at loss now with certain things. My problem is that many of the relationships I had wanted  would have been wrecked by circumstances I do not understand or I was confronted supposedly to unrequited love stories (I thought about Alexandra a lot)  I listened  quite a bit to some  classical music  for a time: Rachmaninov's etudes tableau Bartok's Romanian Folk dances, Djvorak , Janacek and a few others. In the last decade I discovered a few rock bands, one is a band called Porcupine Tree and the singer is called Steven Wilson, I like his songs quite a lot and play these songs while writing, I also listen to a band called Beck ,from time to time, the singer David Campbell Hansen, is quite "Sparrowish" ( a  private joke in reference to my story "White Shore" alhough a bit different from my teacher's Monika's  male assistant, who is not a show buisness person and therefore might be an accessible friend? I wonder if so, maybe)    

Dear Diary, June fourth, twenty twenty-three, and I find myself at the age of thirty-five and four months. These days mark a challenging period, lingering for nine years now, as chronicled in my draft memoir, "The Cat Stumbles." The complexities of my life puzzle me, and I often wonder if others face similar enigmas. This phase feels more demanding than any I've encountered before, leaving me grappling with understanding. To navigate through these tumultuous times, I've turned to crafting short fictions. Creating romantic settings and dreaming of what could have been lightens the weight of my anxiety. The process involves vividly visualizing chapters, sometimes with characters that mirror aspects of myself. I take solace in selecting locations I've not recently visited or have never experienced firsthand. Despite my vivid imagination, I aspire for my descriptions to be not just imaginative but also insightful and, ideally, accurate. Lately, an unsettling development has emerged. Alone at home, I've been hearing people screaming, a haunting experience that leaves me frightened. Perhaps delving into my poetry, like "Blue and Scarlet Verse," or revisiting my teenage diary might offer insights into these unnerving occurrences. Reflecting on my past, I acknowledge my share of crushes and failed romantic endeavors. The most recent relationship proved to be particularly challenging, leaving me grappling with various uncertainties. Many relationships I had envisioned were thwarted by circumstances beyond my comprehension, and I've faced what seemed like unrequited love stories, notably thinking of someone named Alexandra. In terms of artistic companionship, classical music accompanied me for quite some time, featuring the likes of Rachmaninov, Bartok, Djvorak, Janacek, and others. However, in the last decade, I discovered rock bands, with Porcupine Tree and Steven Wilson's songs becoming a comforting backdrop to my writing. Another occasional muse is Beck, led by David Campbell Hansen, whose music intertwines with my creative process. As I tread through these uncertain waters, I wonder if there's a connection between my fictional worlds and the disconcerting screams that echo in my solitary moments. Could music, particularly the tunes of Steven Wilson or Beck, guide me through this maze of confusion? Only time will tell, and as I continue to explore the realms of prose and poetic prose, I hope to find clarity amid the mist Yours sincerely,

White shore, first chapter and begining of chapter II and III

White shore A  short fiction by Aurélie Asseo

 Chapter I Lola 

On the shores of Denmark was a tranquil sandy beach, immaculate. This shoreline was that of a small island part of a channel of islands caressed by the salty water of the North seas. The light of the sun was low in the sky and shone gently on clear waters. Rays almost blond were playing on the horizon, a theater. A fisherman’s sailing boat had been left on shore then yet without its owner in sight. A young woman named Lola was strolling on the beach, slender she was, although not that tall. Her long hair fair and wavy was stylized in a bun with a tin fairy pin. Her eyes were expressive and blue and her cheeks with freckles occasionally. Lola spoke four languages at least. She wanted to talk the more she could of her beliefs. She believed in magic firmly. She thought that kings and queens of the Rosenborg castle were cursing her. Lola’s enigmatic encounters had started last Spring as she had paid herself a visit to the castle perched on dry and green land. She had come very early in the morning the place was damp with fog and dew, and in the distance, it was the mirror of another time. As if time indeed was suspended. A castle in the hands of morning fairies, a yard of witches and wizards, of kings and queens. A fisherman had come alongside the young woman, probably the owner of that lone sailboat. The fisherman named Jan, tall fair and old had told Lola of a lords ’conspiracy. Jan had also told her that they, the powerful lords of the castle, threatened to kill her if she did not find a lost golden crown. Lola had never expected such a dim prospect had been wished for her. She had no choice but to fulfil her mission, find that crown and give it to the Lords. Lola was now in her house by the sea near a light house and in her living room she had picked a notebook writing what she had planned to help herself on her journey. 

" Dear diary, Jan the old fisherman told me of a handsome young man named James who lives around and would be entirely devoted in helping me finding that lost possession of the Lords. I am ready to meet that man and probably other people along the way. I know I will have to wake up early tomorrow morning and start my mission. I know it’s a difficult challenge what is happening to me, and I never expected such a thing, however I remain optimistic and believe in a positive fate. I know I will succeed. 

 Yours faithfully

 Lola Rose Andersen. "

 The next morning Lola was thus getting ready for a meeting with that man named James Sparrow. Jan had told he was not living that far from her. They had to meet on the shore on the most picturesque side along the small rocks. Lola had dyed her hair brown, and it suited her and likewise she had outlined her blue eyes with black pencil. Nervously she twisted the rings on her fingers while waiting for Mr. James Sparrow. There was a light wind and droplets of a very thin and intermittent rain. Lola had found some shelter under a small rock folding her umbrella, the sight here was beautiful, the sea blue grey, resembled glass. Lola leaned back against the rock gently waiting for her visitor. She wondered how that man could be and so far, she only knew his name. Several minutes passed before she heard footsteps and the sudden voice of a man asking, "Are you Lola Andersen?" "Yes, I am, and I suppose you are mister James Sparrow?" 

"Yes, delighted to meet you Ms. Andersen" James was a handsome man she found. Blond and dressed so elegantly he immediately pleased her and his face, she wondered if he was also from the place. "Where are you from? "Well, I am a melting pot» he replied. "My maternal grandmother was born here native of the region, and my grandfather, her husband was Swedish, they gave birth to my mother, Anna in Italy. My father, Michael Sparrow is British and was born in London, his mother, Christine was Born and grew up in Dublin. My parents Anna and Michael Sparrow met in Italy in Florence, Tuscany, on a holiday. I grew up and spent most of my childhood there before going back to Britain in my twenties, I also lived in the United -States for a decade. What about you?" 

"Well, I was born here and frequented an English school. My mother Emily Rose is British. My father Dave Andersen was born in the Rosemborg Castle although he is an ordinary man not a Lord. Originally the Andersen’s are native of the region, nevertheless my grandfather moved to New Zealand when my father was a child and so they lived in Wellington for twenty years. My father met my mother here as they were both studying archeology for college. My mother Emily Rose was born in Kent in a small village named Willburg, her mother was Russian by blood although her family the Shevas had emigrated to Britain in the nineteenth century from St Petersbourg.Her name was Leah Sheva, she was Jewish. I travelled quite a lot in my life and lived abroad. As I matter of fact I left when I was eighteen and traveled for ten years. I came back here only two years ago to settle. What I know is that there's a curse with that castle. Let me tell you and I suppose it is also the reason you are here to help me. When he was thirteen my father burglarized the castle and stole one of their most expensive crowns which must be worth something like two million pounds and is of archeological value. The crown is made of very expensive jewels and carats. An enquiry was made, and the crown was not found anywhere in New Zealand. I was told now that the Lords are crossed with me for that reason, and I need to find that crown" 

 "Well this is precisely what old Jan told me. As you may have heard I am a highly qualified detective and specialized in stolen values and counterfeit. I graduated from the university of Chicago I came across your story in the newspaper when I was back in New York. I remember this was in the top stories of the New York Time and I was fourteen when I read it back in 1998. "I was fourteen too" Lola replied and " I remember the article way back in 1960 priceless crown of the Rosenborgs was stolen since then nor the crown neither the suspect had been found, however there's been an ongoing enquiry for years 

"I had read that article too and was so frightened to be discovered, said Lola." 

"Don't worry Ms. Anderson I will be somewhat of a bodyguard. Your safety is a priority to me, you won't be in danger at all. Indeed, our journey will be pleasant despite the huge work needed to accomplish our mission. You and I will enjoy our time and visit the greatest spots in Denmark. Moreover, it is likely that my neighbor and a sister of mine will complete our team, two admirable ladies I can tell." replied James

. Chapter II: James

 Lola had accepted the deal and had enjoyed her consecutive meetings with James Sparrow. She discovered he had a raffish facet added to his highly cultivated soul and interest in many things in life. She enjoyed meeting him in that pub near the fire where they would talk of what they had planned to do. The man sat in the corner of the fire, he had quite a youthful complexion in his mid-thirties and looked at her with a sharp look sagacious and dreamily thoughtful or self- absorbed. He indeed looked wise and worthy of trust. He was handsome Lola found him quite seductive naturally. He was indeed worthy of trust. The more they talked the more she found that his devil-may care attitude was only a way he had to introduce himself and that he was showing signs he liked her a lot although a little surreptitiously. nobody could get mad at him for sticking a tongue from time to time. She started seeing his eyes that were sky blue as a new shelter where she would find reassurance and approbation. They would achieve a long inquiry, they would befriend, and maybe more she told herself.

 Chapter III: Magic in the house 

 The young woman had been asked by mister Sparrow to sketch in details the whole surrounding around the castle as well as the castle itself. It took her time then she enjoyed doing so as she enjoyed more and more the time, she spent with mister Sparrow. Lola was focused on her drawings at her table. This young woman felt wrapped in a new adventure and beside her navy-blue eyes that displayed the expression of the most beautiful, frightened doe. She was quite a bold person and ready for her mission, she also wanted to improve her life standards, although her small house near the sea was very pleasant. The woman had looked deeply into people’s eyes and souls. One evening the lady was sitting in her armchair home and wondered if she always had the right perceptions.

 Lola had left the living room’s window ajar and so with a view on a tiny garden in which was a small oak tree. It was not unusual to see birds coming and going freely flying toward their fates and sheltering in the garden’s trees from time to time. As she was pleasing her eyes with such a show, she noticed a small white owl dropping an envelope in the oak tree. It was not unusual to see birds coming and going freely flying toward their fates and sheltering in the garden’s trees from time to time. As she was pleasing her eyes with such a show, she noticed a small white owl dropping an envelope in the oak tree. A little surprised, she stepped in the garden quickly and fetched that letter in the tree handling it carefully.Her name had been scribbled on the envelope, stamped with a waxy crown: 

 “Dear Lola, The latest sketches you drew of Rosenborg are good.I put them on a computer software to generate three dimensional cardboards which will be easier tools for our search. I really appreciated the time we spent together at the pub, and I would like to meet you even more, you are quite a pleasant person to be with. Despite my work I enjoy walks in the countryside, near the harbour or in any of our gardens, I would be pleased to spend such a time in your company, we could visit a library too and have a café in a bakery. I would be glad if we meet tomorrow morning and spend that day together, what do you think? We could then spend the evening together at your home. You can answer me with a text message writing “Yes “or “no” I hope you’ll say yes, Kind regards James Sparrow.”

 The next morning Lola had made herself very beautiful dressed in refined clothes. She could not wait any longer. Now she was hearing the bell ringing at her door. She walked on doorstep opening it. To her greatest surprise she saw another young woman, also beautiful, at the entrance. “Hello Lola, nice to meet you I am Laureen, James ‘neighbour I am going to spend a little of the morning with you both. I wanted to meet you I need to make new friends indeed.” Lola dressed in a lovely and long beige skirt with her long hair braided in many tiny plaits below her shoulders smiled at Laureen who she did not know but liked immediately. Laureen was a petite woman, a little tubby with harmonious curves she had long curly brown hair and two big oriental eyes.

 She looked kind, with a fire in her eyes. She looked a little playful, Lola liked her expression. “Delighted to meet you Laureen” she replied. The two women talked for a couple of minutes and suddenly a man arrived in a very discreet white car, he parked it and left it. It was James Sparrow. The man dressed quite well although casually, took his bike from his car’s roof and with a gentle smile biked towards Lola and Laureen. Sparrow wore a white dressed shirt and a white hat. He would quickly swift his thick blond hair with his fingers and say “Hello” in a voice soft and present.The two women talked for a couple of minutes and suddenly a man arrived in a very discreet white car, he parked it and left it. It was James Sparrow. 

The man dressed quite well although casually, took his bike from his car’s roof and with a gentle smile biked towards Lola and Laureen. The man wore a white dressed shirt and a white hat. He would quickly swift his thick blond hair with his fingers and say “Hello” in a voice soft and present. Laureen looked at James almost blushing and was playing with Lola’s plaits once there were in the car. James kissed Lola and Laureen kissed both although, clutched at Lola’s every breath wrapping herself in James' arms and letting him wrap Lola's and her ethereal beauty wakened by her presence.Lola, James and Laureen went out of James Sparrow's car after they had drove for  fourty-five minutes. James had parked near the Tivoli's gardens.Although there were tempted to go to the amusment park.James lead the ladies to a more secret spot that was behind: a park. The garden's park was adorned with many trees: oak trees, plane trees, ash trees and  a yew tree as well as one  cherry tree.The latter were disposed harmoniously and so the park did not look cramp.It was in a perfect cosy light.A huge green path with a road paved in the middle  would lead to a majestic nineteenth century  mansion which had the colour of  wine.

"This now has became a collective play house for children and families to come in for free, it's been like that for the last forty years. The mansion is two floored, there's an independant  cafeteria for people to store food and drinks, they can even decorate the place themselves" The three friends entered the mansion.