Jillian Chantal

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt Mirror. I have started a new short story for the anthology that will come out this fall. This tale deals with a man who is not athletic and yet is participating in the field day races at his sons’ school.

Check out the other tales here

David grinned at his friend. “You know I hate these field days. They seemed designed to humiliate parents like me. I never got chosen for any side when I was in school myself and now, I have to relive the shame again as an adult.” He tilted his head toward Geoffrey Mandeville. “And that one makes it doubly hard since he knew me back then and never hesitates to remind me of how bad I was at sports.”

“Ignore that idiot. He’s got a lot of problems that have nothing to do with you. He seems to take joy in causing dissension.” Hubert nodded at the starting line.  “Better get over there and get set. I’m in the second heat so I’ll probably be joining you on the sidelines in a little bit. I bet I won’t make it to the finals either. Those guys, Roger, John and Richard are usually the winners—in that order. We all have older children than you, and believe me, I’ve seen them win too many times for comfort.”

“So, we’re good with giving up now?” David laughed as he walked away toward the blocks at the start of the race and took his place. Somehow, having Hubert’s permission to fail made the race less of a monster to overcome. Even if he made an idiot of himself, he’d still have the love of his wife and children. True, they might tease him unmercifully but that was out of love as well.

He glanced around at the others in his heat. Bertie Fitzherbert and William Malet would be the ones to beat. He snorted. Beat, yeah right.

They took their stances as the man with the starter pistol stood to the side.

Right before the gun went off, David took one more glance to his left to assess the situation. He almost missed the start of the race but was able to get off properly. He focused as he ran hard then leapt over each of the hurdles.

To his amazement, he was in third place when he got to the end of the race. All his hurdles stayed up and he was in third. He could scarce believe it. He’d be in the final heat after the next two were run,

His two sons ran over and bounced all around him. “Papa, Papa, you did it. You’re in the final.”

His wife joined them and kissed his cheek. “Look at you. Well done.” She laughed. “If you could see yourself in a mirror right now, you’d be amazed at the size of your grin.”

“I can feel it. It’s stretching my cheeks so hard, I think my whole face might crack. You know, I’ve never done this well in a parents’ day race. I can hardly believe it. I know third isn’t a big deal to most people, but from someone who is usually last, this feels very much like a win.”