Jillian Chantal

this week the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt dirt. I am working on another short story. This one aboue a high school girl who took on a part time job to make money for a prom dress.

Check out the other tales here.

Someone at church told her mom about the Mims’ geese and their plans to be out of town for a month. Not that her mother knew she’d gone to their house to talk them into letting her take care of the animals. Mom told her about the need but also told her she couldn’t do it as she didn’t know anything about birds. And what if they laid eggs while the Mims’ were gone? She’d have no idea what to do.

Brenda didn’t let that worry her. Until today. The reality of the birds was totally different than her idea about them.

The only experience she had with geese was that silly Jack in the Beanstalk story with the goose with the golden egg. Of course these birds wouldn’t have golden eggs but she also didn’t know they’d be so mean.

They clucked around her and she tossed the rest of the feed to the ground at once. “I have to get to school. You can fight over it for all I care.”

She turned and left the coop. She stopped at the shed to leave the bowl before continuing on to the school.

When she arrived at the door, it was close to time for the tardy bell to ring so she darted inside and down the hallway to her home room.

“How’d it go?” Her best friend Charlotte asked as Brenda slid into her chair at the exact moment the bell buzzed.

“It was frightful. Those things ae beasts when they’re hungry.” Brenda Sue held her hand out. “Look, I even have dirt under my fingernails. I wasn’t meant to be a farmer.”

“But think of the gorgeous prom dress you’ll get with the money you earn.”

“It’s not like I even have a date yet either. If I have to go alone and wear it, I guess I will.” Brenda Sue darted a glance across the room toward Tyler Madison, the boy she wanted to ask her to go to prom. The pie in the sky dream. But she did love that dress.

“I don’t think he’s ever going to ask you if you never speak to him,” Charlotte said.

“Ladies. Do you have something you want to share with the class or can I continue with roll call?” Mrs. Anderson asked.

The week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to a picture prompt. The posts are limited to 300 words. I am still in my swan story.

Check out the other tales here

He shook his head and took his seat beside Mavis.

As he bit into his burger, Emma arrived at his side.

Clark almost choked on the bite of food in his mouth, He swallowed hard and tried not to cough.

He looked up at her face. She was smiling with a blush on her cheeks. Or is that sunburn?

“I wanted to compliment you on jumping in like you did. I’m sure the Thames isn’t the cleanest of rivers and that was quite brave. Hopefully, you won’t suffer any effects of the dirty water like some kind of fungal infection.”

Clark frowned. What is she on about? Fungus? What a thing to focus on. Not the birds I saved but fungus?

For as long as he could remember, he had wanted to have a real conversation with this woman and this was it? Strange.

“Well, anyway, I wanted to congratulate you on your bravery for a couple of silly animals. I guess it’s admirable but will the king actually care? Or was it a draper’s swan do you think?”

“I didn’t do it for the king. I did it for the birds. They were in distress.”

“Ah yes. Very noble.” She sniffed audibly.

As she turned to walk away, Clark said, “If you don’t care about the swans, why do you do this job?”

She flicked her hair over her shoulder. “It’s not a requirement to care in order to collect one’s pay packet, is it?”

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt Tough. I am working on my short story set on the Thames River in London.

Check out the other tales here.

Gliding farther downriver, more swans were hefted out of the water and inspected. A group of seven floated by. It appeared to Clark they were the same little family he’d seen the day before as he made his way to the pub. A set of parents and five cygnets. Of course, they probably weren’t the same. There were a lot of baby swans at the moment it seemed but he liked to think these were the same group. He’d taken the ones he’d seen as a good omen for his first time in the lead boat, so he chose to believe they were those.

They moved along at a slow pace for the next few minutes. Once in a while, Clark would spy the little family from the corner of his eye. No one had gotten close enough to tag them yet. Hoping his boat would be the one to reach them first, Clark kept his steady pace of tagging, assessing and releasing, calling out information to Mavis as he went.

A loud squawking startled him.

“What was that?” Mavis darted a glance around.

Clark also searched for the source of the sound.

It came again. This time louder and longer. And more like a chorus than one voice.

Mavis let out a screech and pointed to the edge of the river.

As soon as Clark saw what was happening, he didn’t stop to think or consider anything other than the safety of the two swans who were trapped at the edge of the water in a thicket.

He dove in without any hesitation and swam toward the group of swans.

Five swans were frantically calling for the two who were in the grasses.

When Clark reached them, he realized what the problem was. They had become entangled, not in merely grass and reeds, but in some kind of plastic netting. How did that get in the water?

Furious that the birds had been put in such danger by someone’s carelessness, Clark treaded water while he tried to dig his small knife out of his pocket. It would be tough to cut off the plastic with the birds so upset and flailing to try to get free but he had to try.

He was vaguely aware of people calling out to him but he tuned them out as he tried to focus.

As he moved closer to the two swans in distress, he realized the other five were closing in on him. He couldn’t let that bother him. These two were in danger of drowning if they didn’t get free.

He was finally able to get hold of the leg of the one closest to him.

As he grabbed hold, someone yelled, “Watch out, Clark.”

This week, the authors of Tuesday Tales are writing to picture prompts. I chose the brie one. I am working on a short story set in London in July when the swan upping is done. The posts are limited to 300 words.

Be sure to check out the other tales here

“We did.” He pointed to his friend Nigel. “It was Nige’s idea. He’s always been a clever one.”

The bartender waved Clark’s lager. “You going to pick it up, mate?”

“Sorry. Sorry.” Clark turned to Tabitha. “You can join us if you like. I’m not planning to stay long but I’m sure my mates won’t mind if you hang out.” He smiled. “Since none of your pals are here.”

“Thanks. I think I will. At least until some of the regulars come in. I hate to sit alone. I think it attracts the wrong sort of bloke when a girl is alone in a pub.”

“You’re probably right. I know some of us can be insensitive to women. Not that I think that’s okay. I just that I know it happens.”

“Too often for comfort, to be honest. Safety in numbers and all that.” Tabitha followed him to the table where his friend Nigel sat with several others and he pulled a chair out for her.

When she was settled in, he took the seat opposite and introduced her to everyone.

“Are you ready to lead us all tomorrow, Clark?” Nigel asked as he eyed Tabitha across the table. He cut a slice of the brie on the table and put it up to his mouth.

Of course Nigel is attracted to the blonde. She’s just his type.

Afraid he’d brought Tabitha to the attention of the very kind of bloke she was trying to avoid, Clark had a moment of regret for his efforts to befriend the girl. Hoping Nigel wouldn’t be a jerk, he said, “I’m not technically the leader, you know.”

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt luck. I finished my story I have been working on and will start something new next week. This is the last of this one to be shared here.

Check out the other tales here

Before he could voice the rest of what he intended to say, she said, “I owe you an apology.”

His heart sunk before he even knew what she was going to state next. “Why?”

“I have seen you around the school and town. I wrote to my mother that you were here and mentioned how odd it was.”

Dread rolled down his back like sweat on a hot day in July. That man he thought he recognized in the cafe had to be who he thought. It would be too coincidental if not. “And why does that warrant an apology?”

The music stopped. Henry released his partner and returned the gramophone. “All right, ladies, switch roles.”

Miss Billingsly joined him beside the gramophone. “I am sorry. My mother told others in Town where you are. I saw your father’s steward coming in the building on my way in here.”

Henry grabbed onto the table where the gramophone sat, his knuckles so tight they were white. He would surely be dragged home in shame. What a terrible thing to happen. And if he knew the steward—and he did—the man would barge right into this classroom and haul him out forcibly. Ah well. The nine young ladies would get a show to tell their friends about. And a firm laugh at his expense.

He could not go on with the lesson. He stopped the music and clapped his hands. “Miss Billingsly will lead you all for a few moments while I take a short break.”

“Have you got a tummy ache, Mr. Smythe?” Mary Ann asked.

“No. He has to go out and adjust himself from having held Miss Billingsly so close,” Cecily said with a wicked laugh.

“Cecily. Young ladies do not speak of such things.” Miss Billingsly appeared outraged.

Henry almost smiled at her discomfiture but he was in enough trouble himself that he could not.

“But they do, Miss Billingsly. I even wager you have done the same with your friends,” the scraggly-haired girl said.

Henry idly thought he should have at least tried to learn the girl’s name. Now it was too late. With his luck, he would be sent away in disgrace. He was surprised at how much that idea hurt.