Author: Miles Rost

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Friday Fictioneers – Just Breathe

(Author’s note: A great response to last week’s story. Glad to hear things. Slowly getting back to normal after a major week of strangeness. Hope to have actual other fiction up and running. Now, last time I did this photo, it ended up with a father changing a diaper while wearing protective gear. What will come up this time?)

© Douglas M. MacIlroy

Just Breathe

by Miles H. Rost

“You don’t have to worry about anything. Just let yourself go and breathe,” Helen Young said, as her husband approached hyperventilation.
“There’s a reason I don’t like scubadiving.”
“I know, honey. But just breathe, and it’ll be like normal.”

The Youngs plunged into the water, Helen leading the way to a group of rocks about 125 feet down. She pointed down at them, and her husband went down to look at them.

From her side, she pulled out a knife and proceeded to cut his oxygen tube. Water rushed into his lungs, he gagged as he tried to surface for air.

“Freedom…” she thought.

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Friday Fictioneers – One Day To Fly

(Author’s Note: I’d like to give a shout out to Jason E. Gillikin, a good friend of mine who I have had the pleasure of contacting and being in contact with for many years. We both grew in our writing, and he is the Editor in Chief of Caffeinated Press, an anthology publisher based out of Grand Rapids, Michigan. He has helped me, in many ways, to get back to writing the way it should be. If you get a chance, you should visit his website: http://www.jegillikin.org/ )

© Piya Singh

One Day To Fly

by Miles H. Rost

Leo shot up in his bed.

Never one to dally, he reached over to the table and grabbed a charcoal pencil and his paper, and started to sketch.

A smooth nose, sleek lines jutting back from the rounded nose. A bump on the top towards the front, and a long tubular body. Each part of the drawing called upon the memory of his dream, the horror and awe of what he imagined.

Two ellipses, flattened, bisected the main body, rounding on either side, but thin enough to look like the blade of a knife.

The vision of da Vinci was masterful.

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Friday Fictioneers – Vacation

(Author’s Note: More stories on the way, I actually have a few that I am working on. I just need to get over my day-to-day tiredness from teaching kids.)

© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Vacation

by Miles H. Rost

The waves rolled in off the Yellow Sea onto the rocks of Anma Island.

“Hey, don’t go too far out, Em. You’re sunburnt and dehydrated,” Dee said, a quick warning. Mick and Tommy were already in the sea, playing around.

“I’ll be fine, Dee. I just need relief from this darn hot weather.”

The September heat had baked them as they trudged through the overgrown brush. Happily, about late afternoon, they found a flat pasture to camp.

Em sat at the bottom of the rock bank, dipping his feet in.

“This…is bliss…” He said, just before a large wave crashed upon his clothed form.

“…or at least it was.”

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(Anma Island, September 2011, with other bloggers (including the proprietor of the Green Walled Tower))

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Friday Fictioneers – Sunday Bloody Sunday

(May 18th. A day that links Korea and America in two different events. This short mini-fic is one event.)

© J. Hardy Carroll

Sunday Bloody Sunday

by Miles H. Rost

“General, sir!”

The General, Chun Doo-Hwan, looked down at his messenger. The current leader of South Korea furrowed his brow

“Yes. What is it?”

“The Gwangju situation is getting out of control. The students are starting to march.”

“Did we get any news from the US Ambassador?”

“President Carter’s man said that they’re okay with the plan.”

“Then it’s simple. We get order back. Send in the Special Weapons Commandos and see if the students actually can stand up to them.”

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(All photos are copyright to their respective owners. No money is being made off these images being used.)

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Friday Fictioneers – Winelight

© C.E. Ayr

Winelight

by Miles H. Rost

“The old city has changed since we got married.”

Jeanette Brunwick and her husband Gary looked around as they cruised down the middle of the river on their pleasurecraft. They returned to their city after 15 years away.

“Remember that the old cannery used to be right there,” she said, pointing to an area that now sat an arena.

“That was where I stole my first kiss from you. The first night we drank wine, and figured that we’d be sommeliers.”

“The winelight, the moonlight. And now it’s obstructed by baseball games.”

“You can never return home,” Gary said, sighing.

 

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Friday Fictioneers – Bird On A Wire

(Author’s Note: Just when I thought things were stable…boom, changes at work. Better stories on the way. Give it time, and here’s another Fictioneers to tide you over!)

© Roger Bullot

Bird On A Wire

by Miles H. Rost

The claws gripped his ankles.

He looked down and tried to strain away. Feeling like he was about to tear free, he leaped.

Only to be pulled back in by the claws.

He trudged along, the claws never letting go. He could cut off his feet, if he so chose, but the claws would just latch onto his knees. He realized this, and finally did the only thing he could do.

He asked for help. He called out for help in the darkness.

A single pinprick of light shown through the darkness, and as that pinprick grew, so did hope…

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Friday Fictioneers – Mandolin Rain

(Author’s note: Currently dealing with work issues that crop up like rocks in a plowed field. Gotta pick them and toss them, and keep chugging away. I’ll have more stuff soon. In the meantime, enjoy this Fictioneers post. BTW, if you’re in Australia, Germany, Mexico, Japan, or New Zealand, you won’t be able to watch the video. Look for Bruce Hornsby and The Range – Mandolin Rain)

 

© Mary Shipman

Mandolin Rain

by Miles H. Rost

We walked into the house, clothes soaking wet after a downpour that we didn’t expect.

“Honey, take your clothes off before going into the living room. I don’t want the carpet to get water on it.”
“So where are you going to put them, since we don’t have our dryer yet?”
“We’ll go Korean-style.”
“Where ya going to hang them from?”
“The rafters? The chandelier?

I took a breath, and looked around.

“Well, at least it’s not going to be occupied.”
“By whom?”
“Well, I was thinking…”

My face turned beet red. She started sputtering.

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Friday Fictioneers – Dancing On A High Wire

(Author’s note: Dealing with health issues. Should be back up to snuff soon.)

 

© Madison Woods

Dancing On A High Wire

by Miles H. Rost

“This is the craziest idea you ever had,” Martin whispered.

“Well, you wanna get out of this place or what?”

Thor Torgerson didn’t wait for an answer, as he quietly opened the tower door. Deftly, he subdued the two guards and looked down at his pathway.

A long, thin, razor wire fence.

“You want me to walk on that?!” Martin blanched.

“You want your freedom? Wanna get back at the university folk who put you in prison?”

Martin looked at Thor, his desire for revenge getting the better.

“Hell yes.”

“Then let’s get walking.”

Martin grabbed the railing, lowered himself onto the concertina wire…

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Friday Fictioneers – Don’t Forget Me When I’m Gone

(Author’s Note: I keep giving excuses. There’s no real excuse for not having anything besides fictioneers this week. I just got lazy this week, and I needed it. Anyhow, here it is!)

© Kent Bonham

Don’t Forget Me When I’m Gone

by Miles H. Rost

“Cindy! Cindy, it’s time for dinner!”

Mom was calling again. I hated when that happened, because it means that fun was to end and my studies had to begin again.

I pulled my coloring book off the rock and put it under my arm. I couldn’t wait to get back to it tomorrow.

“Hey!”

I heard a noise coming from somewhere.

“HEY!”

I looked around. “Hello?

“In the book, you brat!” it said, quite muffled.

I opened up the book, and the stick man which Ihad half-colored was frowning at me.

“You nearly killed me, kid!”

It spoke. And it wasn’t going to shut up. Oh no, Mom’s not gonna be happy about this…

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Friday Fictioneers – I’m Free

(Author’s Note: Major things happen in life. Gives me more of a chance to do what I love. I will be back at this soon, full steam. Until then, here’s a new Fictioneers posting!)

© J. Hardy Carroll

I’m Free

by Miles H. Rost

He gripped onto the pipe that held his chains.

He didn’t have much strength left, being chained in an abandoned building for two long days. He was getting very weak, and he didn’t have long before the goons would return.

With a mighty grunt, he pushed. He jostled. He thrashed.

With a large groan and a snap, the pipe broke, his chained hands now free from his hanging death sentence.

As he started to move towards the large warehouse door, he heard them coming. Seeing a 2×4 nearby, he snatched it up and hid.

He freed himself. Now, time to free the goons from themselves.