Fiddle (Photo credit: Emily OS)
‘Flimflam and fiddlesticks!’ he finds the phrase fantastic and flings it forth at least fifty times for each fortnight.
‘Fie!’ she says, ‘it’s true.’
‘Is that a fact?’
‘Yes.’
‘For real?’
‘Yes!’
‘For real,’ he whispers.
‘Finally.’
Flabbergasted he fumbles with his fiddle and his faculties frantically fly to a place they where they feel safer, the frieze.
‘You forget yourself,’ she slaps his cheeks, ‘we must flee.’
He wakes from his fear induced astonishment and fidgets with his collar for five seconds. Then his fright becomes fully fledged panic and, fiddle under the arm, he begins his faltering run for freedom.
A Bolg? 
The English Gardener
/ May 10, 2013Fantastic fable- fanks!