Friday Fictioneers – The Red Plains

(Author’s note: I am writing this in a hunt and peck form due to my left wrist being cracked. I will likely be in a splint for4 weeks, then in a wrist brace for 4 more…depending. Anyhow, here’s today’s fictioneers.)

jhc-2

©J. Hardy Carroll

The Red Plains

by Miles H. Rost

Rubble.

That is what was left of the old brownstone building in downtown Lincoln, Nebraska.

Andy Patridge looked at the charred papers strewn about the grounds. His 40 years of law and life, gone in 20 minutes.

“Any idea of who caused this?”

The fire chief looked at Andy and furrowed his caterpillar brows.

“You keep thinking someone did this. We have no clue how this was done.”

“Actually,” the arson examiner popped up behind them, “I can conclude that it was likely his ex-wife that did it.”

“How’d you know that?” The chief balked.

“Spraypainted message. Says, “Die, you arseluch.”

“Great…”

wpimg

 

 

Advertisements

Friday Fictioneers – Puttin’ On The Ritz

(Author’s Note: Well, things are about to get busy with me regarding my eventual move back to the United States. Currently whittling down the cities that I may move to, and hoping that I’ll be able to find something upon my return. Otherwise, here’s today’s fictioneers…with a little extra spice.)

chicagomg

© Marie Gail Stratford

Puttin’ On The Ritz

by Miles H. Rost

“Excuse me, can you tell me how to get to the Ritz?”

“Down two blocks, left one block, on your left.”

The brown-skinned man in the top hat gave him a bow and smiled in thanks.

“Say…haven’t I seen you somewhere before?”

He smiled at the question, thinking.

“Oh, maybe.”

“What’s your name?”

“I am Taco,” he replied, a slight bit of Dutch coming out of his throat.

“I asked your name, not what you ate.”

He laughed, and gave him a salute.

“Look on MTV tonight. You’ll see.”

He turned, smiled, and whistled an Irving Berlin tune.

wpimg

Friday Fictioneers – Mama Can’t Buy You Love

(Author’s notes: Learning new stuff coming up. We’ll see what happens! Here’s today’s fictioneers!)

saltaire-sarah-ann-hall

© Sarah Ann Hall

Mama Can’t Buy You Love

by Miles H. Rost

“Why are we in a bowl shop?” Harley asked.

“Mom told me to pick something, and she’ll buy it,” Clarissa replied.

“But, sweetheart, whenever she buys you something, you’re depressed for weeks.”

“It makes me happy.”

“Clarissa, it doesn’t. Your mom doesn’t want you happy. She wants you obedient.”

“Then what do you propose, Harley?”

“Why not let me make you happy?”

“How would you make me happy? Can you buy me things?”

“No, but instead you’ll have a home to call your own. And a husband who loves you.”

“A what…?”

“Would you marry me?”

Clarissa dropped the bowl.

wpimg

Friday Fictioneers – Ride Across The River

(Author’s note: End of February, I go home to America. Until then, I post! Here is this week’s fictioneers.)

rogers-sunset

© Roger Bultot

Ride Across The River 

 

by Miles H. Rost

Klaus tripped over a broken tree branch.

He hated his commander for staying at this place. It wasn’t safe, and wasn’t protected.

It was Christmas, and he was not wanting to be in this foreign land. He wanted to be home. Any home. He even spoke enough English to get by.

He had made it about two miles when he ran into a vast line of men. One commanding man looked down at him from his horse.

Klaus raised his hands.

“I know English. I surrender. They are not on guard.”

The horseman looked back, and smiled.

“Victory or Death!”

washingtoncrossing

Courtesy of ushistory.com; 1851 picture credit to Emanuel Gottlieb Leutze

wpimg

Friday Fictioneers – Glad It Was You

(Author’s note: So, if you’re on Facebook, you probably found out this past week. But for those who are not, I’ve made the decision (with some help from the Lord, and a bunch of preschool children) to go back home to the USA for a time. I am not sure how long it’ll be, but it should be enough. And I’m in a good place to go and do things. I’ll keep everyone abreast, but it is likely I will be landing on American soil around March 1st.

Time for some fictioneers!)

tree-sandra-crook

© Sandra Crook

Glad It Was You

by Miles H. Rost

The tree bled from the hole the fireworks made.

That’s what Marty remembered, as it happened 5 years past. And here he was, again, looking up. He turned as he heard footsteps.

“So after all this time, you’re back here again,” Katrina said. A redhead, she didn’t look any older than before.

“Not much further from where I began, eh?”

She looked up at the tree.

“Remember?”

“We set off fireworks. One of them landed there, on that hole.”

“That hole hadn’t closed up until last week, when you arrived.”

“Guess it needed both of us.”

“I’m glad,” she said, warmly.

wpimg

 

Friday Fictioneers – Bird Is The Word

(Author’s note: Big things to announce soon, not necessarily blog related, but we’ll see how things work. Otherwise, enjoy!)

© Douglas McIlnoy

Bird Is The Word

by Miles H. Rost

“You. You are a birdbrain!”

Ornithological expert Phil Kilanowski looked up from his desk.

“Come again?”

“You are a birdbrain. That’s all you have on your mind!” his wife, Melanie, cried out. She had a crow on each shoulder.

“Oh! You made friends with Phobos and Deimos! Excellent! This is great for my study on the social habits of crows!”

Melanie blinked.

“And the osprey in the living room?”

“Oh, he’ll be back at the university next week.”

“No, he’ll be back at the university tonight. Along with all others. Or your dinner will taste like chicken.”

Phil’s face went white.

wpimg

Friday Fictioneers – Moon Over Georgia

(Author’s note: I’m sick. This means my brains are warped. Enjoooo~oy!)

fridays-moon-ted-strutz

© Ted Strutz

The Moon Over Georgia
by Miles H. Rost

The voice was husky, tough yet soft.

“You have a choice, Melinda.”

The werewolf turned around and stared at his daughter, a blonde-furred beauty.

“Your inheritance will be released to you early, if you marry Martin.”

He gestured to a black-furred werewolf from a tribe in Idaho.

“Or marry Gerald, whom you claim to love; and renounce everything, yet be free of the curse.”

He gestured to a plain-looking, bespectacled man of around 30.

Melinda looked, then latched onto Gerald and jumped off the yacht.

Melinda bobbed up after a moment; her fur and muzzle both gone.

She would marry Gerald, instead.


(Warning: Strong Language.) (This is the inspiration, in a way.)

wpimg