Day 8 of National Novel Writing Month! It’s time for the neighbors to start their fencing…in more ways than one. 🙂 This may take me a few days, though–I’m also attending a big conference this week, which means several hours of each day must be dedicated to presentations. Blech. Still, for this NanoWriMo Writer, the goal is to get into writing every day, whether it’s just a few hundred words or a few thousand. Thank you for your support as I work towards this goal!

Day 8, Story 3: The Bee Trainer’s Revenge

It was not uncommon to see the Bee Trainer Barab Oowi gift small jars of honey to the families of Honey Street. On this particular occasion, each jar contained a delicate woodland strawberry flower with some slivers of pear mingling with her golden specialty. In the twine wrapping she often included a few of her own lavender sprigs and acorns for decoration…at least, they were acorns for the jar marked Nacle Themormo. They lonely looked like acorns on all the other jars, when in reality they were little wax earplugs inside acorn caps. Barab counted on this as she braced herself to enact her plan. With her absurdly large sun hat’s peach ribbon tied flamboyantly beneath her chin, she set out down her front steps.

Ah, the sunrise was glorious that day! Yet the wind was a bit chilly, as midsummer mornings often are in those first hours. Dew still sparkled her walkway and front lawn, and even the rundown fence between her and Nacle’s plot gleamed as a woodpecker knocked a beam for its breakfast.

“Good morning, Ex-Banker!”

Nacle Themormo paused in his fiddling with the folding chair. He’d yet to wile anyone out of their breakfast, and he simply must have a good mug of coffee and cream with strawberries in order to perk up. “Morning, Bee Trainer,” he grumbled as he wondered where the blasted Strawberry Grower triplets were hiding. All boys, that lot, and easy pickings for his magic.

“Dear me, you sound a bit down.” Bee Trainer could feign concern with the best of them. “Perhaps you’d like a bit of honey for your morning tea?” She plucked the jar with his name on it from the basket and held it over the fence.

Nacle Themormo blinked. He waddled a bit closer to the fence, but his eyes narrowed at the little jar. “But…I didn’t ask for any honey. Why are you giving it to me?”

“I do love sharing a bit of my harvest with everyone time and again,” Barab held up her basket, the gold of the honey reflecting the sunlight right into Nacle’s face. “Let’s me know how my little wonders are doing.”

Nacle waved away the light with one hand and snatched the jar with the other. “Oh! Oh. Oh I see. Don’t see.” He held up the jar. “It’s just honey.”

“Yes.”

“Nothing else?”

“Nothing else.”

“No bread, maybe, or pot of tea?”

Barab blinked. “Afraid not, Ex-Banker. Well, off to catch other families at their breakfast tables. Perhaps your tea is just inside, Sir? Good morning!” And with a tip of that gargantuan hat she was off to the next house, politely knocking on their door.

Nacle Themormo stood next to his chair and watched Bee Trainer buzz from house to house with her basket, always handing over a jar to some unknown person behind the door. If only a man or boy would peek out! Surely those triplets would embrace this blasted bright summer morning soon. Nacle pulled his flashy wool sweater back down over his bulbousness, and sat. Surely, someone would come. The honey jar grew sweaty in his hand as he waited.

At last, the Strawberry Grower boys! The three tumbled out their front door higgledy-piggledy, laughing over some sort of prank with mouse poo and raisins.

Nacle: Good day, Boys! (His voice reminds one once again of a yawning dog.) Strawberry Lads, hullo!

No answer. How rude! They ran down the street and out of sight, surely going where there were other delectables they should be bringing to him.

Strawberry Grower himself stepped out with his spouse, both armed with sheers, baskets, and smiles.

Nacle: Strawberry Grower, I must speak with you!

No answer. They had the audacity to walk to their backyard without a glance!

Plum Grower brought his truck out to the road and parked. He and Fruit Sellar stood by the truck bed, pointing to various spots.

Nacle heaved himself from his seat and waved, waved like he had never waved before. Fruit Sellar, Plum Grower, hullo! I must speak with you urgently!

Attention! The glint of the sun in the honey jar had caught the men’s attention. They looked at him. Then each other. Then back to him.

Nacle smiled his best banking smile with his arms open wide.  Please, gentlemen, I require your attention over here!

Fruit Seller shook his head. He shook his head! “MARKET DAY!” He shouted loud enough for the words to echo down to the end of the lane, where Bee Trainer stood with a jar in hand.

Plum Grower nodded vigorously. “GOT TO PREPARE THE TRUCK! GOOD DAY, LATE BANKER!”

Never in all Nacle Themormo’s years had he dealt with such rejection! Well, that is, except for when the Bank’s leadership was replaced with that obnoxious horse of a woman. How dare she think she could tell him what to do! Now Nacle was dealing with that same rejection all over again, watching others carry on in their lives as if his wishes didn’t matter. He was ready to throw that stupid jar of honey from Bee Trainer at the ground in disgust. That disgusting woman with her phony grin next to Clover Gardener, that cow…Nacle pulled back, ready to throw the jar as hard as he could at Bee Trainer’s house and all her noisy, annoying bees moving about her bushes.

Paused.

The houses Bee Trainer had visited—those were the ones where men and boys no longer heard him. Something about this honey…a magical Working against him?

Well. Two can play at that game.

Eeeeee, what’s he going to do? I can’t wait to find out, and I’m writing this thing!

Read on, share on, and write on, my friends!