Perdu and Dod o Hyd


Henri couldn’t believe his luck, stranded at Aberystwyth with only the clothes on his back.

“Don’t worry; you’ll only need your carry-on,” his wife had said. “You can even put your wallet and passport in there.”

He stared up at the station timetable, trying to make sense of the ridiculously long Welsh words, and sighed.

Gwilym, meanwhile, couldn’t believe his luck. As a pickpocket, he needed to be careful working the stations; and yet, he’d not lifted a single wallet for today’s find.

Once outside the Hereford station, he opened the battered suitcase. “Henri, eh? Merci, mon ami.”


Carrot Ranch Literary Community Entry

15 thoughts on “Perdu and Dod o Hyd

  1. I wonder if you’ve considered why your victim is French? Some deep seated rejection of a neighbour? Agincourt Syndrome? Someone who displays a subconscious need to put up two fingers to people called Norman?

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Interesting question, Dr. LePard. *settles onto sofa* My inspiration MAY have come from some raging British ancestor of mine, calling for humiliation of all frog-eaters by any means necessary. What I consciously thought to be a good choice of tourist may have actually begun 600 years prior… 😀


      1. Ah Ms Owens. Sounds like you have a fromage fixation; people expect you to arrive covered in brie but in fact you cam-em-bert… oh god, did I really just try a french pun? Save me…

        Liked by 1 person

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