From the window of the smallest attic in Dijon, she calls to the boy teetering on the ledge below.
“Fais pas ca!”
He looks at her blankly. Not French then.
“Tue das nicht!”
He shuffles towards the edge.
“No lo hagas!” Perhaps he’s deaf, poor mite.
As she climbs onto the roof, a phone rings.
The boy rummages in his pocket. Not deaf then.
Oh, English, never thought of that, being in France and all.
“Nah, I’ll get back to you, mate. Came up here to get a signal, but there’s some mad bird here speaking in tongues … looks like a jumper.”
The photo prompt this week is mine, taken in Dijon. France. The rooftops of Bourgogne are a sight to behold for their design and craftmanship. I can’t begin to imagine how hard it must be if you need to replace a roof tile. 😦 Friday Fictioneers kicks off again today, with Rochelle playing centre-forward. For my American colleagues, that’s the person who’s supposed to kick the ball thingy into the net thingy. Anything you want to know about English football, ask me.