Friday Fictioneers – The Rack

Have you ever had one of those months where life just kicks you in the nuts? I’m having one of those. So, I hope this will make people feel better.

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Copyright – Marie Gail Stratford

The Rack

I traveled far and wide to see a thing of beauty.

I looked at an old wine-rack, now dutifully repurposed as a light display at this dive of a bar. I examined in thoroughly, and saw no flaws. The liquid was resonant, the electrical construction was exquisite.

“How much for that light rack?”

“It’s not for sale. That thing is what makes us half our money.”

“How does an old wine rack do that?”

The bartender I was talking to just laughed.

“Watch.”

As the lights blinked to the music, I suddenly got the urge to buy a bottle of whiskey.

“How much for the whiskey bottle?”

“Heh. See? That’s what it does for me. Subliminal messaging.”

I only noticed that he was still speaking to me after plopping the whiskey bottle into my hand.

Friday Fictioneers – Now Where Could It Be?

Here’s the latest!

Copyright – Dawn Q. Landau

Now Where Could It Be?

“Agatha? Did you look over in 14B?”

“Yes, I did look over in 14B. I looked in 11-15 for it.”

“How about 47?”

“You think I’m going to go to 47 on a whim?”

“Hey, if it weren’t for you going on about how great this place was, I wouldn’t have had this happen!”

“It’s not my fault you can’t even follow simple directions.”

“Doing archeology in salt flats is not my idea of a good day, and I can follow directions.”

“Then why didn’t you follow them when you put your contacts in?”

“Because I…wait…I FOUND MY CONTACT!”

“Charlie, next time, put them in right…or else I’ll slap them out permanently.”

“GAAAAH! SALT IN MY EYE!!!!”

Friday Fictioneers – Portal al Puerto

Welcome, fans and friends. Don’t forget to read my last long-piece: “A View From Your Window”. It’s a beautiful piece. Anyhow, here’s this week’s fictioneers piece:

 

copyright – Janet Webb

Portal al Puerto

Sandy was up for the morning, and couldn’t go back to sleep. She knew that she had to be at the U for class by 9, and 7:30 was much too early.

She walked into the bathroom and did her hair. As she brushed the silky blonde locks, she noticed a small little “rip” on the edge of the mirror. She touched it, and pulled back on it.

She noticed, on the other “side” of this mirror, was a doorway. A sideways doorway. She pushed the doorway open, and was immediately sucked in, her skin stretching as she was devoursed by the portal.

The door immediately closed, and the mirror resealed itself. That was the last time anyone saw Sandy…for nearly 5 years.

The View From Your Window

(Author’s Note: If you’re interested in reading the previous four stories of Mayumi, please use the tag “Mayumi” to find her stories.)

Mayumi’s Story (Part V)
“The View From Your Window”
by Miles Rost

3 months at her new job, and she hated it. With a passion.

Contracted for a year, she had to ride out the entire ride while she dealt with all the pressures of whining customers, a boss who was indifferent most times, and unable to communicate properly at the monthly performance meetings. The customers were right, she knew, and she did the best she could to take care of them. However, without the communicative support of her boss, she was not going to be happy until she was out of there.

Mayumi survived the rest of the week, though panicking that she could be let go from her contract at any time. This made her stressed out more than usual, as she was counting on the 1-year longevity bonus to help her pay down debt. It was daunting, as well, as her friend at the station moved onto greener pastures. She was the only one left, and had no other friends at work to talk to.

A 4 day vacation was in the offing, and she was happy to get the time off. A substitute for the show was taking over and she was going to have a few days to relax and rest.

Until day 2. When the pains in her belly started.

Sidelined in her apartment, with not much food to eat as she couldn’t go out to get groceries, she sat in her bedroom. At her desk, she had a piece of paper in front of her and a pencil.

“What can ah write? I wanna write but ah have no clue…” she muttered, as she stared intently at the white sheet in front of her. She took a breath and decided to just take a look out her bedroom window. It was there, and it wasn’t four walls of a dark room, so why not?

She opened the curtains, and looked out. Immediately, she was shocked and surprised.

She looked out the window and saw a beautifully cared-for lawn, freshly cut and beautifully manicured. Close to her was a dark area of ground, with small little green shoots poking up like hairs on a forearm. Lining the fence down the side of the lawn was a series of bushes that reminded her of the lilacs that grew around her family’s home back in Hornsby Shire. She smiled as she saw all of the new beauty that was being created from a space that not even 3 months before was a ramshackle home, which she realized did not look so ramshackle anymore.

The peeling paint of the old house had since gone, and was painted with a fresh coat of brickhouse red. The house’s color fit well with the brick-walled apartments 30 feet from the back door. The trim of the house stood out like the white peppermint of a candy-cane.

Whoever owns that house really wanted to make it noticeable, she thought to herself.

Just as she was about to stand, she noticed the back door open up. She saw a young lady, almost the same age as her, though her appearance was quite shocking to Mayumi. A cherubic face framed by cotton-candy pink hair, with a black t-shirt and black shorts, the young collegian looked to be very punk-like, despite the lack of make-up. She was smiling, as she walked down to the earthen part of the lawn.

She put on a pair of gloves, and picked up a water hose that was nearby. She squeezed the green snake-like hose and a stream of water misted out over the sprouting earth. She laughed as she continued to spray the area, gleefully enjoying her time watering the garden.

As Mayumi watched the young lady, she had thoughts of her home and her dad, an ardent greenthumb. She loved watching him while he worked his hands in the garden, and picking berries from the vines that ran across one part of her family’s property.

She closed the semi-transparent curtains in her room, as she turned to write things from her own heart onto the paper.

Dear Dad,…

Friday Fictioneers – The Keeper Of The Flame

Work has been kicking my butt lately, so I haven’t been as active as I like. Hopefully, I’ll be able to do better now that summer is leaving. Here’s my offering for the fictioneers this week.

 

copyright – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

The Keeper Of The Flame

I tend to these coals like they are my children. They’re the lifeblood of my tribe.

Without fire, my tribe would have died out a long time ago. Every generation has one person, a boy or a girl, who keeps these flames going constantly. These flames help make our food, bend our metal, and even forge our lore.

My great uncle was a keeper of the flames, my father as well, and it was passed to me when I turned 21. In the shade of the big buildings, there are very few of my kind left.

I am the keeper of the flame. This is my role, this is my life.

Friday Fictioneers – You Need To Stay

Greetings fans and friends, I should be back up to full steam for stories next week. Other things have been taking me away from the attention, but I should be back with more ideas. Here’s the Fictioneers for the week:

copyright Roger Bultot

You Need To Stay

“Honey, I told you that you need to stay home.”

“But, sweetie, if we’re going to have a comfortable life, I need to go and follow those white lines.”

“I’m sorry, but you cannot go. You cannot be out there all the time. You’re not married to the road.”

“If I’m going to make money for us, I have to be.”

“Doesn’t matter now. Look out the window.”

A few seconds later…

“AGH! My TRUCK! What did you do to it?”

“Didn’t you think it was strange you found me naked in the woods, and wanted to marry me right away?”

“What?!”

“You married a plant nymph, ya ninny. Now get in here and do the dishes!”

Friday Fictioneers – The Letter

I’m back, though still at limited action for a short bit of time. I will be up fully this week when I can pull my head away from other things.

copyright- Jan Wayne Fields

The Letter

The young lady looked at the paper in front of her. She sighed, as she pushed the chair away from the old desk. Putting the quill back in the ink well, she stood and grabbed her bag that was sitting off to the side.

She expected that her husband would read the letter and get the message. She wanted to get away from the boring nature of life, and this would give some excitement.

She waited for his phone call. And waited. And waited.

She waited a year, and finally said no more. She entered the house, and walked to the study. Her husband lay on the floor, a pool of blood under his head, dried blood on the corner of the small table.

The letter was untouched.