The Spot Writers – “Missing June” by Chiara De Giorgi

Welcome to the Spot Writers. This month’s prompt is “June” because it’s… well, you get the idea! 

This week’s contribution comes from Chiara De Giorgi. Chiara is an Italian author and currently lives in Berlin, Germany. She writes fiction, with a focus on children’s literature and science fiction.

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Missing June by Chiara De Giorgi

When June woke up that morning, she immediately felt that something was wrong.

It was the last week of school at the Boarding School at the End of Dreams, where she was enrolled in tenth grade, and she was looking forward to the last day because in the evening there would be a school dance for students from tenth grade onward. It would be her first prom, she had a beautiful dress, and her friend Ronnie, a werewolf from the World of Fairy Tales whom she really liked, had asked her to be his date.

With a sigh of anticipation, June tore the May page from the calendar hanging on her bedroom door. And a strange thing happened. The first strange thing of the day, actually. The June page was missing: the calendar went from May 31st directly to July 1st.

“Oh, well,” she muttered. She wouldn’t be able to cross the days as they passed, but it wasn’t such a tragedy after all.

But things got stranger and more worrying from there. When she went to class, her desk wasn’t there. No students seemed to recognize her, sending her rushing to the bathroom and check herself in the mirror to see if she had changed overnight. It happened to creatures coming from the World of Dreams like herself sometimes. But no, the mirror reflected the same face as yesterday: her bronze skin, golden hair, and vibrant green eyes were all there.

She went back to class, and the teacher surprised her by asking her to introduce herself.

“I am June,” she said, on the verge of tears. “How can you not remember me? I presented my essay on the ecological balance in the northern regions of the World of Dreams just a couple of days ago!”

“You must have been dreaming,” commented the teacher, shaking his furry head (he was a tall yeti who liked to dye his fur, which was currently grass green). “Did I give you a good grade?”

“Yes, you did,” muttered June, unable to hold back tears.

“Oh, well,” concluded the teacher with a smile. “At least it was a good dream, eh? Why don’t you go to the library and get some rest? I’ve already contacted the secretary and we’ll figure out this mix-up as soon as possible.”

***

The library was a good place to be when you were upset, June was convinced of that.

The silence enveloped her. It was the type of silence that carried meaning, which came from all those books, thousands of pages filled with the wisdom from all the Worlds.

Señor Sebastian Fernandez-Caballero, the centuries-old Talking Turtle in charge of the library, welcomed her. Seeing that she was clearly in distress, he offered her some sage tea and asked her to share her troubles.

Two cups of tea later, June concluded her sad account with tears streaming down her face.

“…I was so thrilled thinking about the end of school, the ball, and Ronnie… and now I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

“There, there,” said Señor Sebastian. “You are in a library! Don’t you know that all the answers are found in books?”

June sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Really? But… there are so many!”

Señor Sebastian nodded sagely, then pulled a pipe from his cardigan pocket and winked at June.

“This helps me think better, but don’t tell anyone. One oughtn’t smoke in the library—and on top of that in front of a student… But if we want to solve your problem, we have to be ready to break some rules.”

June widened her eyes. “I don’t want people at school to remember me again just so they can kick me out,” she said.

Señor Sebastian puffed a bit of smoke out of his mouth and waved her worries away. “Just be quiet about my pipe,” he said, and winked again. “Now. Let’s get to the World of Dreams section…”

He made his way to the other end of the library, and June followed, for the first time walking slowly enough to be able to admire the beautifully carved wooden shelves and stuccoed ceilings.

A couple of hours and several cups of tea later, the pipe forgotten, Señor Sebastian finally found what he was looking for.

“There it is!” he exclaimed triumphantly, tapping his finger on the yellowed page of a green leather-bound big book.

“What should I do?” asked June eagerly, dropping the book whose index she was quickly scrolling through.

“You were in someone’s dream, but they woke up before they finished the dream. For things to go back to the way they were, the dream must be completed.”

June was left speechless.

“But… how do I know who was dreaming about me? And how do I get them to complete the unfinished dream?”

Señor Sebastian closed the big book and put his pipe back in his mouth.

“My girl,” he said benevolently, “you come from the World of Dreams yourself… I’m sure you will find a way.”

***

It was a long night for June.

She visited the dreams of her classmates one by one, until she finally found the dream she was looking for. It was Ronnie’s dream! He was dreaming about the dance: June was behind a door and waiting for him to open it, but the poor wolf boy was so excited, that he had an anxiety attack and promptly woke up before he could open the door.

She smiled to herself and tiptoed into Ronnie’s dream. In her beautiful dress, she walked to the door, put her hand on the knob, and opened it.

“Hey, Ronnie…” she called softly.

The boy, who was wringing his hands and whose heart was beating a little too fast, looked up. She smiled at him and reached out a hand. Ronnie returned the smile and took it in his. Soon after, they both woke up.

***

As soon as June opened her eyes, she jumped out of bed and ran to her bedroom’s door to check the calender. The June page had reappeared!

“Hopefully this means that now everyone remembers me!” she muttered as she went back to sleep.

Upon waking the next morning, June found a note that someone had slipped under the door of her room.

I can’t wait for the dance! See you in class. Ronnie.

June pressed the note to her heart and smiled. The last week of school was going to be beautiful!

The Spot Writers:

Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/
Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/
Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/
Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/

The Spot Writers – “June” by Phil Yeats

Welcome to The Spot Writers. The prompt for this month is ‘June’.

In April, 2024, Phil published The Body on Karli’s Beach, the third book in his Barrettsport Mysteries, a series of soft-boiled mysteries set in a fictional South Shore Nova Scotia town. For information about these books, and The Road to Environmental Armageddon, his trilogy about the hazards of ignoring human-induced climate change, visit his website: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/

“June” by Phil Yeats

Jason hated June. He considered it an untrustworthy, chaotic month. Some hot and sunny days, a happy reminder that summer is just around the corner. Others cold, wet, and foggy, often with snow and threats of overnight frost. More like late winter than anything else. How could anyone plan anything with such chaotic weather?

He was a scholastic success and a social failure. By his second university year, he’d chosen to focus on his studies and ignore student society. That gave him a structured life that suited him. It led to a well-paid job in the IT field and success investing in high-flying stocks. By 27, he had a large net worth for someone so young. His disparaging parents provided none of it. He invested in a small house on a large lot in the city’s trendiest suburb, one with a bohemian flair.

He lived there as a happy camper until June 4, 2021. That’s when June, a young woman, not the month, upset his structured lifestyle.

It started innocently enough. He was riding home on a cold, rainy afternoon. A rusty banger drove by at moderate speed, giving him adequate space on the deserted road. Seconds later, as he followed the slowly departing car, he heard the loud crash as the banger came to an abrupt halt with its right front wheel in a deep and steep-sided pothole. There were no other cars or pedestrians in sight, so he slithered to a stop and offered to help. Not that he could do much, but he could give her his name and phone number in case she needed a witness.

She ignored him for several minutes as she took photos of the damage and entered a rather long text message. She smiled when she looked up. “Thanks for the offer, but everything’s under control.”

After giving her his name and phone number, he hopped on his bike and peddled on. He hoped he’d never see her again, not because he had anything against the young woman. He was just a very private person, happier on his own.

It wasn’t to be.

Three weeks later, on a sunny Saturday afternoon, she stood outside Jason’s door. She invited him for coffee at the coffee shop a few blocks away. The shop, especially its outside tables, would be too crowded for Jason on this summery afternoon. He invited her in for a cup of tea on his back patio.

It wasn’t too bad. She seemed upset by the behaviour of her boyfriend, and thought he could help. He didn’t know what he should say or do, but after two cups of tea and a short walk around his back garden, she went away looking happier than when she arrived.

She returned two weeks later looking for sympathy after another tale of woe. The pattern repeated through the summer and early fall. Their commitment grew from cups of tea, to walks with visits to the teahouse in a nearby park, to supper at his place, and eventually, as one could expect for a young couple, to adventures in bed. Jason was both appalled by the developments, because she’d destroyed his simple, well-structured life, but also intrigued because he’d never had a sexual relationship.

Then she stopped visiting, and he didn’t know if he should be relieved or despondent. He had his well-structured life back, but he missed her dreadfully.

When she returned on a miserably cold and windy Saturday in June of the following year, he knew his life would become as turbulent as a typical June. She was obviously pregnant, with a story about having nowhere to go. He couldn’t refuse to take her in.

*****

The Spot Writers:

Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/

The Spot Writers – “A Little June Magic” by Val Muller

Welcome to the Spot Writers. This month’s prompt is “June” because it’s….well, you get the idea! This week’s work comes to us from Val Muller, author of the kidlit mystery series Corgi Capers. Val is at work illustrating the first three books and editing books 4 and 5.

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“A Little June Magic” by Val Muller

“Hey Miles, what’s the best day to mow the lawn this weekend?” Jack asked his phone.

Ainsley raised her eyebrow. “Are you serious.” It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation.

Jack looked up and shrugged. “Are you saying you don’t want me to mow the lawn this weekend?”

Ainsley crossed her arms.

“What?” Jack joked. Then he followed Ainsley’s accusing eyeline to his phone. “Oh, this. What? I was asking Miles to help me help you.”

“It’s going to rain tomorrow,” Ainsley said. “So you can mow Sunday. You don’t need AI to tell you when to mow the lawn.”

Jack smirked and pushed a button. “Miles,” his annoying-as-**** AI assistant, started talking:

“Although the expected weekend rain is predicted to happen on Saturday, the densest of clouds are not expected in your area until 3:00 p.m. Eastern time. Therefore, the best time to mow your lawn would be Saturday before 3:00 p.m. Sunday is expected to be warm and sunny, but rain from Saturday is likely to last all evening, creating potentially wet conditions that may result in slipping, injuries, damage to mowing equipment, and undesired tire tracks on the lawn.”

“We’re supposed to meet Beth for ice cream on Saturday,” Ainsley said.

Jack held the phone to his mouth. “Jack, my wife thinks we have plans on Saturday. Do you think it would be safe to mow on Sunday, and if so, can you advise me of the best precautions to take?”

“Sunday’s conditions may be wettest in the morning, following a predicted night of rain. However, if you use caution, check fields for puddles and mud, and clean your equipment after mowing, you may be able to mow on Sunday.”

“Thank you, Miles.”

“You are most welcome, Jack. Please let me know how else I might assist you.”

“You can go away,” Ainsley said.

“He didn’t hear you,” Jack said.

“He?” Ainsley clenched her fists. “It’s not a he, it’s an it. In fact, it’s not even an ‘it.’ It’s not even dignified enough to be given that pronoun, it’s a—” She raised her hand in the air, expecting some kind of revelation, but nothing came. “Like a dash on a paper, a nonverbal utterance, a—”

Jack hit the button. “Miles, come up with a pronoun to use to call AI when we don’t want to assign—” Jack thought for a moment. “I should start by saying this isn’t my idea. I think you deserve to be called ‘he,’ but my wife, she just doesn’t buy into the whole AI thing yet. So this is a thought exercise for her benefit, not mine.”

“What are you saying?” Ainsley asked.

Jack hit the button to stop recording. “You should be careful what you say to AI. If you’re mean to them, they may give you worse answers.”

“They? You’re literally proving my point.”

“What point?”

Ainsley groaned. “Don’t make me go through it all again. You know, the Terminator. Robot overlords. The apocalypse. All that stuff. You’re helping the enemy here. I’m telling you, just mow on Sunday.”

Jack didn’t answer. He was typing away.

“Miles suggested using the letter X, perhaps. Or one of these characters—” He showed Ainsley his phone.

“I don’t need a separate AI pronoun. I’m just not going to acknowledge it.”

“You just said it,” Jack reminded her.

“Why don’t you put the phone down and enjoy being outdoors? It’s June, finally. It’s warm, there’s birds everywhere. I remember this book I read as a kid. It was about going barefoot in June. It was so magical, with the grass and the moon. Owls. Just all the things about nature. It made the summer seem magical.”

Jack pushed a button. “Miles, write me a short book about going barefoot in June. Make sure it includes owls, grass, and the moon, please. And make it extra human. It’s for my wife.”

*

Ainsley rocked gently in the hammock, the weight of Jack’s phone holding down the napkins on the side table that held her iced tea. She turned the page of her paperback and looked up as Jack rolled by on the mower. Then she adjusted her sunglasses, stretched her toes, and returned to her novel as the drone of the mower grew quieter and quieter. Turned out AI got it wrong. If you were brazen enough, you could mow on Friday.

***

The Spot Writers:

Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.ca/