Jillian Chantal

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales a writing to the word prompt black. I am still working on my set of short stories for fall release. This is the last one and I hope to have it done by next week so I can get the volume to my editor. The protagonist in this story is a PR person who is trying to revamp a hotel to get more clientele. She has gone into town for some supplies. One of the hotel workers took her.

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Scott bagged my items and we headed back to the truck.

As soon as we stowed the packages, Miguel said, “I need ice cream. Want some?”

“Why not? It’s been a long time since I treated myself to a cone.”

“It’s my treat today. Come on. You’ll love this place.”

Miguel was right. It was a cute, old-fashioned place that looked like it would have been right at home in a 1950s movie. Scuffed wooden floors with grooves worn in them where people had walked over the years. A long freezer counter with domed lids stretched the width of the store. Just a little gated area for ingress and egress for the employees to get from behind it to the front of the shop. Scattered in the front were several round iron tables with iron chairs for customers to sit and enjoy their ice cream.

We ventured forth to peer into the freezer to choose our poison. There were probably twenty cartons of different choices. One was a dark color. I tapped the glass. “What is that?”

The clerk said, “Black licorice.”

“Ugh, That doesn’t sound good, but it looks like some people like it since some scoops have obviously been dipped out.”

“No sense of adventure?” Miguel asked.

“Absolutely not in that regard.”  I moved down to look at the other choices. So many to contemplate. “Oooh. I don’t know what to pick.” I pointed at a familiar-looking option. “I always loved coffee ice cream as a kid and also this tart looking raspberry. I’m torn.”

“No need to fret. Get a scoop of each.” Miguel ordered rocky road for himself.

While the employee dipped Miguel’s, I said, “But those flavors don’t go together.”

“Eat one scoop at a time and drink water in between.” Miguel laughed. “You need to learn to relax. Thinking up reasons to stress isn’t good. If you like two flavors, get two.” He nodded to the clerk. “Give her both.”

When I received my cone and he’d paid, we walked back to the truck. As I got in, I said, “I can’t stay here long. If I hang out with you too much, I’ll be in trouble. Eating two scoops of ice cream.”

“Won’t hurt once in a while.” He licked his rocky road and inserted the key in the ignition. “Back to the hotel. Hold on.”

The writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt finish this week. Luckily, I am writing still about the field day races from my story.

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The pistol went off and the runners headed to the first hurdles. David lagged a bit but found a burst of steam when he closed in on his first leap. Hearing his wife and sons’ voices over the others on the sidelines spurred him on.

He kept running and leaping, running and leaping, running and leaping until he reached the finish line.

Doubled over, hands on bent knees, trying to catch his breath, he didn’t glance around to see who all was beside him.

To his astonishment, his older son ran up beside him. “Second place, Papa. You did it. You’re in second place.”

Before he could react, his other son and wife were at his side. “Look at you. The non-athlete came in second.” His wife hugged him. Hard. She whispered in his ear, “Well done. You did it.”

He had a gut feeling Geoffrey was going to have been the winner but even if he was and would be gloating about it, it didn’t matter.  Second was better than he ever dreamed he’d do and not one person was going to steal his joy at his accomplishment.

David looked down at his sons. “So who won? I’ll need to congratulate him.”

“It was John de Lacy.”

“What? John?” Mandeville must’ve fallen or knocked over a hurdle not to have won. It’s unbelievable.

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.”