A Poppy Story

Translation disclaimer

This history was written in french, so as my english is still quite… Meh. So because of the translation, most of the poetry is lost… But because I can’t stand finding resources / articles available only in one language that I can’t understand, here’s the english version.
Cheers ! ;)

How about some change ?
How about leaving the technology aside for a while, and just relax with a cup of tea ?
How about reading a cute short story ?

The concept is simple, I receive the beginning of text, history, few words or even an idea, and I extend it as best I can, hoping for the final result to be pleasant ! =]

Proposed text

A furious woman wearing a red dress gets off the bus. As soon as she puts her foot on the ground, she rushes to a mature man wearing a felt hat. He leaves in a hurry, crossing the road far from the pedestrian crossing, as he always used to.

Extended text

Their eyes had finally crossed. A moment, an eyelash, a palpitation, a clap. All these short acts seemed to last an eternity against this furtive, unassumed look. It was from this first visual contact that their feelings were born. One was burning with love, the other was burning with fear. Why on earth could two people, still unknown to each other, experience such strong feelings? I no longer had time to wonder more about the nature of their relationships, she jumped on him, like a feline attacking its prey. This vision was unreal. Her quick reaction made red dress seemed to be splashed with her victim’s blood. It was with an unexpected dynamism that he turned around to face her, using his hat as a lure and sketching a step sideways. He was no longer as sharp as, but surely remained extremely accurate, fast and fit.

Our poppy fell down, from the top of her stem, leaving a few leaves, thorns and precious dewdrops. She was there, on the ground, with her red dress as her only left petal. She also had her newly acquired hat as central poppy seed. She looked up, the cheekbones pink with shame. She was desperately looking for him but couldn’t find him. She, who could have made him happy, knocked down, abandoned before she even had a single word from him. She did not give up in the first place, walked a little, waited a few days, months, years.

One day, she came to realize that he would not come back into her life, he had fled. Tired of so much weakness, she chose to exile herself. She would remain alone. Walking so far that she would be away from everything. From the city, the people, sensory disturbances. She wanted to grow. Alone. Free.

One day, she took roots in a fresh field with no crop. A central place imposed itself to her sight. She went there, stood up, closed her eyes and then irradiated the places of her whole being.


The most beautiful things take years to build, shape and refine. It was the same for her. Always there, year after year. The only difference being her cardinal. Indeed, each season, she saw her company grow. More and more roses, tulips, daffodils, daisies and other floral creatures came to join her.

All of them had made the same choice, exile, silence and calm.

One day, an old man came to walk in this field. He walked, slowly, peacefully, marvelling at so much diversity and beauty. He closed his eyes, smelled the air taking a deep breath. A light scent awakened his senses. This scent, soft and yet so compelling… First it evoked a lack, then a regret, a pain, a deep pain.

He had once known one of this roses.

I hope you enjoyed reading this text as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Poppyingly yours,

Reasoning without headache A question of standards?
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