(Author’s note: Nothing again. Have a great week, and enjoy today’s fictioneers…with a song that many of you will likely never have heard, but will fall in love with.)
© Roger Bultot
Love Is A Mystery
by Miles H. Rost
He sat at the counter of the diner, waiting for the other customers to leave. He’d be the last customer in there before the sign was flipped closed.
He took his last sip of coffee, when he heard the clicking of heels got closer.
“Miranda, it’s good to hear your shoes again.”
Miranda snorted, as she helped her date from the counter chair.
“No luck finding someone new?” she asked with a sneer
“Nah. Just found myself down here. Waiting for you to come get me.”
She smiled. She didn’t know why, but she just couldn’t give up him up.
(Author’s Note: None. Just enjoy today’s fictioneers! And Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms.)
© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
The park was full of them. Each and every one of them a precious life.
It was always this way after the first warm-up of the season. Kids in their sweatshirts and jeans were playing. It was great for us adults to see.
I just turned onto 45th when the sun blazed between the two large buildings ahead. I squinted and got my visor down as quickly as possible.
That’s when I heard the thump.
Then the screams.
I stopped my car immediately, got out, and looked behind me.
She wore orange that day. I didn’t see her.
She was 12.
R.I.P. Roberto Concina (aka Robert Miles)
In Korea, today is known as Buddha’s Birthday. While I am not a follower of Buddha, I am thankful that the Koreans gives a national holiday off. Now if only they could give tomorrow off…but that’s asking too much. Here’s today’s fictioneers.
© Sandra Crook
by Miles H. Rost
Brock ran into the portico, looking around quickly.
The vacation was supposed to be a dream. Perth, Australia was to be a dream for Brock Adamson. A dual citizen of France and Canada, he was easily waved into the country on his tourist visa.
And after only a couple days, on the run due to his past. A past that had two men following him and nearly taking off one of his legs.
He ran inside the building, and looked at the receptionist.
“Mademoiselle, I need safety. I’m being chased.”
“We know. We’ve been waiting.”
(Author’s Note: My job is a tough one. It doesn’t leave me with much time to actually spend writing more things. I come home from work, and I am really tired. We’ll see what happens. In the meantime, here’s today’s fictioneers.)
© Liz Young
Grandpa was never the same after we discovered the faded tombstone out back.
“I loved her. Love was the only crime I was guilty of. They can’t take that!”
We didn’t know what happened, but the words “throat cancer” and “1965” were constantly on his breath.
For weeks, he wouldn’t do anything except sit on the bench near the makeshift grave he made all those years ago.
One morning, we walked outside to see him hugging the gravestone.
“Grandpa, breakfast is ready!”
We walked over to shake him. He was cold, and he was gone.
(Author’s Note: I have one or two things that need to be addressed this weekend, but I am planning to work on some new longer works coming up soon. Otherwise, here’s today’s fictioneers…if you dare read…)
© Magaly Guerrero
“Eric, you better come home this instant!”
“But, honey! I just got a promotion, and the boys are celebrating.”
“Not tonight you aren’t. You may have been promoted, but you’re still my husband. Get back here now!”
“If you don’t come home, I’m putting on the red shoes.”
“Yes, Eric honey?”
“You don’t have to put on the red shoes. Or the red dress tonight. I’ll be home shortly.”
Roxanne sat back, chuckled as she looked at the box with the magic butt-kicking shoes inside.
“Best five dollars I ever paid.”
(Author’s note: After having 2 and a half of the toughest weeks that I’ve ever had, including fighting off illness and dealing with a crapton of stress that just wouldn’t quit, I’m largely doing okay. Here’s Today’s fictioneers.)
by Miles H. Rost
The couch was the point of no return.
Harvey sat, his legs curled up underneath, exhaustion seeping from every pore of his body.
It was so bad, he couldn’t eat properly. The gourmet pizza, and bottle of expensive wine, sat barely touched on a counter. He could eat it later, but by that time, the wine might have turned to vinegar.
He sat, staring at the blank wall in front of him, the couch being his place of refuge.
He wanted out of his life, but had to return to the 9 to 5 the next morning.
In his exhaustion, he cried.
(Author’s note: None. Enjoy the Fictioneers!)
© Jellico’s Stationhouse
by Miles H. Rost
Ron Bellio wheeled up alongside his pals, his small wire bike with big monster wheels in the back overshadowing the others.
“Hey, Ronny! Where’d you get the mutant?”
“Oh, the bike? Yo mamma!”
“What you say?!”
The sound of teasing filled the air, along with laughter and music as they rode down the street.
“Did you hear about Ali?”
“What about her?”
“She hit number one on the dance charts!”
“Auntie Ali?! Fat Ali?!”
Ron looked at his friends, smirking that his friends were talking about his cousin.
“You shouldn’t call her fat. She’s got more muscle than all you now.”
Alison Moyet, of the duo “Yazoo” (aka Yaz)