Time for Tuesday Tales! Here you’ll find entertaining excerpts from a group of hard-working writers. Since this week’s word prompt, picnic, does not fit with a medieval time period, I am leaving our manly knight, Nicholas de Beaumont, and jumping to a horror story for this one. After reading the passage, please leave a comment and then make sure to visit all the talented authors of Tuesday Tales.
A golden sunbeam woke me. I rose and stretched, feeling the soft air fill my lungs and each particle of my being. Everything appeared cast in gold and blue light, and I remembered that today was special.
Family Fun Day, the annual reunion of the Storms and Nashes, had come at last, and only a smidge slower than Christmas. I wasn’t the first to arrive. (I was never the first to arrive.) Who wants to appear so needy as to be waiting—waiting, mind you—on the horde? Not me. One needs an audience.
I am always secretly pleased about Family Fun Day, but seeing the family is not the biggest draw. What I love is the day itself—spent in the sun, or the rain, lounging among the yellow petals, dancing to Uncle Newt’s flute or Rance’s guitar, the food, the classic cocktails assembled beneath the topper of Cousin Louie’s pickup, and even Aunt Elsie’s sermonizing and Ira’s history lessons.
Heading toward our usual gathering spot, I counted fifteen or sixteen people already there. I fluffed my long hair, pouted my lips, let my lashes descend, and put on my best saunter. Gotta live up to your reputation. “Here’s Dovey,” someone called out. A bevy of voices joined in. “Is it Dovey or Veronica Lake?” “Hard to tell.” “Peek-a-boo,” someone else lilted. That last one never gets old.
I pantomimed a mermaid undulating to the surface. The effort was met by a chorus of thumbs up, catcalls, and one congenial wink.
As I joined the group, Roxanne purred and reached her bony fingers toward my dress. “Girl, I’m gone on that blue frock. Is it satin or silk?”
“Sateen.” I flicked my hand in a graceful wave to all and lowered myself to the bench, patting the fabric over my knees.
“It’s rather fine to wear to a picnic!”
I shrugged. “If not now, when?”
“Leave it to you,” she snorted. “And that rock!” She grabbed my hand. “Fifty carats at least!”
“Sixty,” I replied, with only a tinge of smugness.
The coffee smelled good, and I accepted a cup from Young Jolly, one of my British cousins who had developed a career here on our side of the pond. He continued down the line, handing out drinks from a huge platter—coffee, hot tea, iced tea, water, and various juices.
“So good,” I remarked to Roxanne, who sipped OJ through a cocktail straw. I peered at the juice. “Anything in that?”
She cackled. “Not yet.”
I hope you enjoyed the snippet based on the word prompt picnic. Thanks for stopping by. Read the other remarkable excerpts at Tuesday Tales.
Happy Reading!
Flossie Benton Rogers, Conjuring the Magic with Spirited Stories
All rights reserved, copyright @ 2021 Flossie Benton Rogers
I love they excitement that she has to see her family. I also love your description of her. I can’t wait to see what happens. Great job!
Thank you, Tricia!
Well done. Who doesn’t love to make an entrance? Looking forward to more.
Heh heh. Thanks, Susanne.
I loved it! What excellent descriptions. I really wanted to keep reading. As always, your snippets leave me wanting more!
I’m so glad it made you want to keep reading, Mae!
Great slice of life, painting the scene, setting the backdrop for action to come. I’m waiting, perched on the edge of my seat!
Thank you, Jean!
Marvelous snippet!
Thank you!
Even though we jumped to a whole new story – which is fascinating in its own merit – the writing is top caliber as always. Enjoyed it!
Yeh, this would be a strange story.