Author: Miles Rost

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Friday Fictioneers – Bandalero

(Author’s Note: Slowly working on getting to writing more. The problem is that when you’re rebuilding life from scratch, there’s not much you can do. So enjoy the Fictioneers until I can get myself back into a full writing spread.)

 

© C.E. Ayr

Bandalero

by Miles H. Rost

The clopping of the horse’s hooves on the ground slowed up, from a gallop to a trot. Approaching the main gate of the compound on horseback was the best way to impress The Man, in the mind of the rider.

Pressing the button beside the gate, the rider waited. And waited. And waited further. Slowly, a speck of a man started walking closer to the gate. As he arrived, the rider dismounted the steed.

“Are you Bobby?”

The rider nodded.

“Are you ready to teach my boy how to rope and ride?”

“Bobby” took their hat off, a long train of hair falling down to about the waist.

“Sure am, hoss. Bobbi Ann Jacobs is always ready to train.”

 

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Friday Fictioneers – What’d I Say?

(Author’s note: I hope to be up for new things soon. I got smacked around by a cold last weekend. I hope to do a lot more soon. Anyhow, here’s today’s work!)

© Jan W. Fields

What’d I Say

by Miles H. Rost

Sex.

It was all Marcus knew. It was all that oozed out of his pores. And as he sat at the piano, his back against the ivories, he looked like he was about to pop.

Sex.

It was also a big problem. He held the letter in his hand, frowning at it. 13 names, 13 women, 13 calls for more money than he could ever make in a year.

He turned around and looked at the keys. He needed to find an outlet for all the sex in his system.

He found it in C minor…

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Friday Fictioneers – Silly Love Songs

(Author’s Note: I’m getting settled into my new place, and will likely have original stuff up soon. Otherwise, here’s today’s fictioneers…a continuation of last week’s, in ways!)

 

© Amy Reece

Silly Love Songs

by Miles H. Rost

“Alright, we are here.”
“A set of steps? Why are we standing here?”
“It’s open and I want people to see this.”
“See what?”
“Remember the night of the Sydney fireworks?”
“How can I forget? You kissed me while I was talking.”
“But it was pretty good, wouldn’t you say?”
“I would, except I couldn’t.”
“Well, we’re on steps, you’re above me, and I am now kneeling with a box in my hand.”
“…”
“Will you marry me?”
She blinked.
He looked puzzled.
“Of course, you silly goose!”
“You have–”
All was silent, as he was given a scorcher of a smooch.

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Friday Fictioneers – New Year On High

(Author’s Note: The first Fictioneers of 2016, and I’m doing something a little different: Unique name, same great music and fiction you’ve come to love and enjoy! Next week’s writing will come from Cheongju, South Korea.)

 

© Melanie Greenwood

New Year On High

by Miles H. Rost

“I never though I’d see fireworks like this!”
“You mean, from ten thousand feet up in a jet?”
“This was a great idea, Mitch. You really made my New Year’s!”
“And I would like to make many more of these with you. Though, if you told me 9 years ago that I was going to be taking my worst enemy from high school up in my own private jet to celebrate New Year’s above Sydney…”
“And who would have though that I would actually be dating my sworn enemy in the first place.”
“Well, Melinda, they say people who hate each other sometimes really have too much love.”
“Wish I knew that back then. Would–“

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Friday Fictioneers – Bright Eyes

(Author’s note: Happy new year, everyone! Here’s to your 2016, and here’s the last Fictioneers of the year. Hope to have more stuff in 2016 besides Friday Fictioneers.)

© Jean L. Hays

Bright Eyes

by Miles H. Rost

Eyes stared out of the window of the coffee shop.

The windows of the real estate office across the street were suddenly covered with darkening window hangings.

Half of the people in the coffee shop looked in shock, while the other half kept drinking their lattes like nothing had happened.

One person knelt in the street, looking into the eyes of their loved one. The loved one looked up, the energy in their eyes slowly melting away.

She called for help. Called for someone to call an ambulance. She looked into the eyes of the people in the coffee shop.

They all turned back to their coffee.

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Friday Fictioneers – You Ain’t Seen Nothin’ Yet

Merry Christmas from Music and Fiction. More stories to come in the next couple weeks!

 

© Scott VanNatter

You Ain’t Seen Nothin’ Yet

by Miles H. Rost

“Now, Bobsie, stay out of the tree.”

My cat, the little furchild named Bobsie, looked at me with a blank state, before finally meowing. I took that to be a sign of acceptance, as I started wrapping my gifts.

I didn’t want a repeat of last year’s tree debacle, so I kept one eye on elusive Bobsie and one of my tape dispenser.

Things went swimmingly after that, until I finished with the last present, and threw the empty wrapping paper tube to the side.

I watched Bobsie leap from the table, catch the tube in mid-air, then cannonball straight into the tree. Half of the ornaments dropped, one or two cracking.

He found his way into the tree, and I am the one getting in trouble for it with my girlfriend, who just arrived home.

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Friday Fictioneers – Brimstone

(Author’s Note: I am currently working on some new story-work to add to the blog, outside of the Fictioneers realm, but complications with real life have decided to take over and cause issues. So I am not sure when I’ll be putting up more original longer-form work. But, give it time, and I’ll be able to have more for my audience to peruse. In the meantime, here’s a work that I hope gives you some peace over this holiday season.)

 

© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Brimstone

by Miles H. Rost

“Mom! Come here!”
“What is it?” Mom asked her son, as he looked out the kitchen window.
“Look at the sky!”
“It’s beautiful, honey, but we see the sky all the time.”
“But Mom, look at the color! Don’t you remember what Brian told us?”
She thought back to when her eldest son was still at home.
“When the sky looks like brimstone, you know I’m on my way.”
She smiled, as she heard a familiar sound roll into the driveway, the exhaust of an old 1975 Harley.
“He kept his promise.”
She smiled, as she walked into the living room, awaiting her eldest son’s first hug in 8 years.

 

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Friday Fictioneers – Sour Girl

(Author’s Note: Things can change in a week. Currently, I am waiting for my visa number to be issued. Upon that, I apply for a visa and head back to teach students in Korea yet again. I will likely be gone by the end of December and starting to teach at the beginning of January. So, I will be back to writing lots of newer stories, along with writing other things that won’t be published here. Today, we have another fictioneers event that seems like it’ll be quite fun.)

© Luther Siler

Sour Girl

by Miles H. Rost

The crunch awoke Paul from a dead slumber. Grumbling, he walked down stairs. He nearly reached the bottom when he froze.

“Dad!”

Paul looked into his 16 year old daughter’s face, surprised that she found his old college mascot costume.

“Charity! How did you get that?”
“I found it. Now tell me about this!”
“Well, I went to a local college here. You know it as the big university now. Our mascot was a yellow chicken. I did this to help pay for my tuition.”

Charity flipped her hand, knowing there was more.

“It was also the costume I wore when I first met your mom.”
“And there we have it.”
“She didn’t like it. She was a sour girl the day that she met me…”
“And how many years now?”
“19 wonderful years…”


(R.I.P. Scott Weiland)

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Friday Fictioneers – Fellowship Hall

(Author’s note: I am currently in the beginning stages of transition from Australia to my next assignment, which will be in…I actually do not know where. We’ll see what happens. Here’s today’s Fictioneers offering, again not based on a true story.)

 

©Roger Bultot

Fellowship Hall

by Miles H. Rost

20 years.

Everyone was finally together. All 85 of Mitchell High School’s class of 1995. And the stories were flying.

“Do you remember Joan Snart? Apparently, she’s directing adult films in Hollywood.”
“Can’t be anything like my ex-boyfriend, Russell Graves. He’s the undercarriage cleaner for Greyhound in Seattle.”

The laughter was palpable, and the stories continued. That was, until the name was brought up.

“Anyone heard from Brian McLaurence?”

The entire place had become silent at that instant. The class looked at each other, and bowed their heads.

“Robbery,” someone said, “I was on duty. I found him. Died on scene.”

A sniffle started the flow of tears in the room.

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Friday Fictioneers – I Am A Rock

(Author’s Note: Things are stable down here in Melbourne, for the time being. Grades are starting to come in, so we’re waiting to see what happens. Due to my job search, I haven’t have had much time to actually do other writing besides Friday Fictioneers, but I plan to once things get further stabilized. In the meantime, here’s today’s Fictioneers piece.)

Photo Caption © Sandra Crook

I Am A Rock

by Miles H. Rost

(Not based on a true event or story)

The clouds boiled up in the south. The seas were calm, but they would become wild. The man stood near the edge of the craggy sandstone cliff, watching it all unfold.

The first storm of the season was about to hit his small Australian fishing village, and people were getting things ready for the haul that would come in: Felled timber from the western hills, fish from the bay.

“Fiona, you’d be proud of the people you’ve led,” the man said, as he opened the small urn. He tossed the contents into the air, nary a tear being shed.