Friday Fictioneers – Yard Sale

(Author’s note: I took last week off, as I’m in the middle of some complex situations and needed time to breathe. Things are still complex, but I’m doing alright. I’ll be better still in mid-September. Otherwise, here’s today’s fictioneers…)

nathan-sowers-dawn-millers-friend

© Nathan Sowers

Yard Sale

by Miles H. Rost

“Nope. That’s the right price on it. It’s gotta go.”

Ron looked at the farmstead, then at the old round mirror his wife used to look into every morning before going to work.

“I’ll take it.”

Taking the cash from someone he never met, Ron saw all the small pieces of his life going for small prices.

The tiffany lamp that used to be her reading light.

The old architect’s table where he drewcartoons.

At 80, he knew he needed to pare down. He just didn’t think it would be this soon after his Clarinda left Earth.

He had no clue.

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Friday Fictioneers – Heavy Fuel

(Author’s note: I am hoping, very soon, to be able to do longer stories like did a couple years ago. Biggest problem: Exhaustion after work. The job I do is mind-numbing. I come home, and I fall asleep. Doubly so on days when I exercise. So, here’s to hoping things work soon. In the meantime, here’s today’s fictioneers.)

coffee-table-prior

© Yvette Prior

Heavy Fuel

by Miles H. Rost

“Dad, you’re only 51. You’re gonna die if you keep doing that.”

My cousin was berating her dad. He just finished scarfing down a triple monster cheeseburger, 2 hand pies, and a thick chocolate shake, all while lighting up an unfiltered cigarette.

He paused, and looked her straight in the eye.

“Lindsey, what do I do for a living?”
“You work at the mine.”
“And what do I mine for?”
“Vermiculite.”
“What’s another name for vermiculite?”
“Asbestos”
“And what does asbestos do?”
“Gives you lung cancer.”
“Exactly.”

He sat back, and gave her a smile.

“Enjoy every minute of this life, Sherry.”

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Friday Fictioneers – Classical Gas

(Author’s note: Been having some trouble getting to this earlier than I should. A lot of it is due to the fact that I have a trainer that I go to after work, so I don’t get home until about 5. So you’ll just have to read me last…if you can find me under all the other good folk out there. At least you have today’s fictioneers…)

 

ronda-del-boccio

© Ronda Del Boccio

Classical Gas

by Miles H. Rost

Rotten cheese, mixed with overcooked fish, and spoiled raw meat.

That was the description of the smell coming from the Racine residence, “Frankenstein’s house” to the rest of the neighborhood.

“Frankenstein” took great care of the plants in the boxes around the windows. A hybrid of wheat and onion, he called it.

The plants started to smell terrible, getting worse as the plant grew or as the humidity got worse.

A great sound, like a balloon letting go of it’s air occurred in the middle of the night.

The next morning, the plants were gone.

The neighborhood never woke up.

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Friday Fictioneers – Hold Your Head Up

(No message today, but may have some things in the cooker for the weekend. 20 year class reunion this weekend. Enjoy the fictioneers today!)

sandra-crook-stacks

© Sandra Crook

Hold Your Head Up

by Miles H. Rost

Chuck beamed with pride.

He finally finished. It took months, but he did it with his own hands. He ran inside, and smiled at his dad.

“Dad! Come take a look!”
“What is it, Chuck?”
“Come with me!”

His dad walked out to the greenhouse and looked. Seeing Chuck’s creation, he smiled.

“See Chuck, I knew you could do it.”
“I know, Dad. But it’s real now! And you can put things in it.”

His 17 year old son created something useful. Down Syndrome didn’t stop him. His dad smiled, knowing his son was going to create beautiful, workable things.

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