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.

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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.”

This week, the writers of Tuesday tales are writing to the word prompt soft. This is my last week sharing the geese story as it is now complete. It’ll be in a book of short stories released in the fall.

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After dinner, Brenda Sue went upstairs to work on her essay assignment for English class. She fell asleep with her face on her arms at her desk and woke with a start when she heard the front door shut.

Glancing at the clock, she noted it was close to midnight. Mom must have had a great time with her friends to be out so late.

Still groggy, she shoved aside the papers she’d crushed with her head and staggered to the bed. She didn’t take the time to change into her pajamas.

A little while later, she sat straight up in terror. A nightmare of epic proportions where she was chased by bloody geese. Her blood or theirs? It was hard to tell.

Brenda Sue leapt out of bed and paced the room trying to shake off the dream.

It stayed with her so she eventually took a soft yellow throw off the back of her desk chair, went downstairs and snuggled up on the couch. Maybe a change in location would help.

As she tossed there, she decided she might have to go ahead and ask someone else to feed those geese. They were affecting her and she couldn’t seem to shake the idea they were out to get her. No prom dress was worth lost sleep and nightmares. Besides, she only had a couple of days left to finish that essay that counted as a big chunk of her grade.

The next thing she knew, her mother was shaking her awake. “Time to get up, dear. You don’t want to be late.”

Brenda Sue pushed her hair out of her face. “Great. What time is it?”

“It’s 6:15. You have to feed the geese, remember?”

“Ugh. Yeah. I wish I’d never agreed to it.” She swung her legs off the couch and planted her feet. “I’ll take a quick shower.”

“Just a few more days. I’m warming up some Jimmy Dean biscuits. You can carry one with you and eat on the way.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

Brenda Sue got ready in record time, grabbed the sausage biscuit and munched on it as she walked to the goose house.

Upon arrival, she went in the barn and grabbed the feed.

Entering the area where the geese roosted, she called out, “Food. Come eat.” She was tempted to call for Madge and Gladys but she really had no idea if those were real names or made up in her concussion brain. Best to leave that be.

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt cup. I am still in my geese story.

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When she arrived home and entered via the back door, Brenda Sue’s dad looked up from peeling carrots. “Good grief, B., what happened to you?” He set the peeler and carrot on the cutting board and took a step toward her. “Did someone attack you on the way home?”

“No, Dad. I’m fine. Unless you count a group of six geese who decided I wasn’t feeding them quickly enough. One of them bit me and I fell. It’s nothing.”

“Your shin is dripping blood. Let me help wipe it off.” He wet a paper towel and nodded her to one of the chairs. “Sit.”

While he tended to her goose bite, Brenda Sue watched and thought about hearing those geese talking. “Hey, Dad, do you believe animals can understand us and vice versa?”

“If course. Dogs understand when their owners take out the leash for walks and things like that.”

“No. I mean like regular conversations.”

“To some extent, sure. But not to the extent of quantum physics.”

“Goodness, even I don’t understand that.”

He laughed “Have you been trying to talk to animals? Or those geese you’re feeding?”

“Not really but I wonder what they understand when we speak. You know, why that one would bite me when all I was trying to do was give her food. I mean, I was being nice and she bit me.” No way am I going to mention Gladys and Madge actually speaking words. If they really did.

“Seems to me she should have realized that.” Her dad smirked. “Unless she thought you were doing it wrong. Could be a picky goose.”

He had no idea how close to the mark he was. “Ha. As if.”

“I’ve got to finish getting this roast in the oven. You want to help with the potatoes?”

“Sure. I need some water first. That geese feeding is thirsty work.”

Her dad patted her leg dry with the towel he had over his shoulder, stood and walked to the cabinet to grab a cup. Once he’d filled it with water from the Brita pitcher, he set it beside Brenda Sue. “Drink up. I’ll work on the gravy while you peel a few potatoes. We don’t need a lot. Just us three for dinner tonight. Your brother will be home from practice in an hour or so and your mom has plans for dinner with friends.”

The writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt wicked this week. I am still in the contemporary I was writing but it has taken a veer into fantasyland. The joys of not plotting ahead…. LOL

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Brenda Sue woke with a wicked headache. Her eyes took a moment to focus and she almost shrieked when one of the geese was staring right down in her face.

“You all right there, girly?” The goose asked.

Brenda Sue shook her head to clear it. Surely that goose did not just speak to me. I’m concussed for sure.

She tried to sit up, but nausea flooded over her. She put her head back on the ground and closed her eyes. I’ll just wait for it to pass. It’ll pass.

“Maybe we should try to help her up,” someone said. Brenda Sue had no idea who since last she looked, she was alone with six geese.

“You shouldn’t have bit her, Gladys.”

“She was too slow. We’re all ready to lay our eggs and she was dragging around throwing out feed so slow. You know how much hungrier I get when it’s time to lay.”

“You’re doing nothing to help the girl now. We need to get her up and out of here before she realizes we’re talking about her.”

“I can hear you,” Brenda Sue said before she could stop herself. What am I doing talking to these birds? Hope no one comes along and hears me. I’m losing my mind.

She tried again to sit up. Her head felt like a cracked egg.

“No you can’t.”

Brenda Sue opened one eye and peered up at the closest goose. “I know it’s not real but if you’d quit talking, I could maybe focus and get up. I need to go home.”

“Madge, get behind the girl with me and help me sit her up. The sooner we can get her out of here, the sooner we can roost and lay our eggs. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m tired and want to go roost for the night.”

Betty Sue really wanted to go and was surprised when two of the geese got behind her and, using their beaks, pushed her shoulders until she was fully sitting up. This cannot be really happening. These are animals, not people.

She put her hand on her head. “I have to go. This is crazy.”

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to a picture prompt. We are limited to 300 words this week.

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“Will you be all right or do you need help going home?” Mike asked.

“I’ll be fine. I’m goose sitting for some people who live down this road and have to go check on the geese. Once I’m done there, I’ll head home. Should be fine. Thanks for your help.” Brenda Sue hobbled off, hoping Tyler wasn’t looking at her like she was a loser.

She stopped at the mailbox and gathered the mail before leaving it inside the door of the home then headed out to be sure the geese had their evening meal. Her leg muscle was still tight but she thought she would make it home okay. It wasn’t that far.

Out in the yard, she flung out more of the feed and the geese swarmed around her as if they hadn’t eaten in thirty years as opposed to just that morning. “Do you usually get fed all day? Or think you’re at an all-you-can-eat buffet?”

None of the geese answered her but one actually nipped at her shin. “Hey, stop that. I’m feeding you as fast as I can. You’re an ungrateful wretch.”

Something trickled down her leg. Brenda Sue looked down. A stream of blood. “Great, you nasty beast, you’ve cut my leg now.” She dumped the bowl of feed on the ground and turned sharply to escape from the mad frenzy that ensued when the food hit the ground.

As she tried to run away, her left ankle twisted and she fell to the ground, conking her head on a rock.