Author: Miles Rost

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Living A Boy’s Adventure Tale

Living A Boy’s Adventure Tale
by Miles Rost

“It’s coming! It’s coming in! Mama, look! It’s huuuuuge!”

Peter Brislin couldn’t contain his excitement at seeing the beautiful new plane that was pulling off to the side of the terminal. The young 8-year old was so excited to see the brand new DC-10.

“Ain’t that a sight, Petey? Big ol’ plane for my big ol’ boy,” his mother said, grinning all the while.

“Is that what I will be flying on today, Mama?”

“Yes, you’ll be flying on that type of plane. You’ll be going to places that you would have never dreamed of while here.”

Peter looked on with excitement, holding his suitcase with his clothes and toys.

“Will you be going with me, Mama?”

“You’re going ahead of me. I will be on a later flight, as I have to finish things here.”

Peter looked up at his mom and smiled.

“I can’t believe I get to go on that plane!”

After waiting for another hour for their plane to pull up close to the terminal gate, the big DC-10 with the large Northwest Orient Airlines banner across the top.

Peter’s mom walked with her son out to the stairs and slowly helped him up the stairs. After they reached the top, she waited next to one of the stewardesses. Peter waved at his mom as he was led to his seat by another stewardess. He buckled in, and his mom smiled a sad smile as the other people filed through the plane.

“Your son is traveling alone today?” the stewardess asked her.

“Yeah, I’m sending him to his uncle and aunt in Portland.”

“You’re not going with him.”

“He’s going to a…a better home. I can’t provide for him here.”

The stewardess looked at her, and noticed the small bruises on her face, covered by a large floppy hat on her head.

“I understand. I wish you could go with him.”

“I wish I could too. I just can’t, not when I have another little girl to protect from the man I married.”

The mother gave a brown paper envelope to the stewardess.

“There’s a note on the front. That’s for the head stewardess. It tells her what needs to happen, and how he needs to get led to where his aunt and uncle will pick him up at the terminal. It also has important papers that they need to have. Guardianship papers.”

The stewardess took the envelope and put it under her arm.

“I’ll do my best to make sure he gets to his destination safely. I’ll even check with the pilot to see if we can do something special for him.”

The women bantered for a few minutes, solemnly. Once all the passengers were on board, the time came to seal up the plane and get ready for takeoff. His mother walked down the stairs and stood far off to the side, looking for her son in the plane. She saw a small hand waving on the plane, and she waved back, tears now flowing down her face.

It would be the last time she would see him.

On the plane, Peter smiled as the plane started taxiing to the end of the runway. The stewardess that talked to his mother came up to him and smiled.

“You must be Peter.”

“Yes. Mom told me I’m not supposed to talk to strangers. But you’re helping me, and you’re nice, so you’re not a stranger.”

She chuckled at Peter’s insistant declaration.

“Well, Peter, my name is Tanya. I will be helping you and the other people in this plane, and if you need anything at all, let me know by pressing this button over here.”

“Could I have a soda?”

“After we take off, I’ll get you what you want. We’ll get you to Portland safely, too.”

“Okay! Thanks Miss Tanya!”

The stewardess smiled, but as she left Peter’s seat, her face betrayed a sadness that no one else could see. The brown package that she had under her arm was now placed in a secure spot on her seat. She would help get Peter where he needed to go.

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Don’t Answer Me

Don’t Answer Me
by Miles Rost

The screech of a car horn right outside the window barely made Daisy flinch.

In the small ground level apartment, she sat on a bed. With her arms around her legs, she sighed with hesitation. She didn’t look up from her pajama-covered legs, focusing only on all the feelings she held inside of her.

All of the feelings she had bubbled up from the reserves that were stuck in her system over the last week. Combine that with a combination of heat, losing people she loved, and a new job that was incredibly laborious, the cocktail of stress caused her to break.

She pulled her legs closer, feeling the weight of her loneliness and isolation. She wanted to go and meet people, but she was in an isolated area of the city, far from the other people like her. The feeling made her turn inward, thinking of what she lost when she left her old location.

As her long, apple-colored hair touched her knees, she saw her cell phone light up on the counter. The telltale sound of her ringtone chimed through the largely empty apartment.

Don’t answer me
Don’t break the silence, Don’t let me win
Don’t answer me
Stay on your island, Don’t let me in
Run away and hide from everyone
Can you change the things we’ve said and done…

It repeated, one of her favorite songs suddenly turning into her biggest tormentor. She felt a tear fall down her face as the words hit her hard. One right after another, like the start of a waterfall as winter becomes spring. She let it ring, as she felt those emotions build up even more with each tear that fell.

The phone rang again, the same lyrics resounding around her head.

Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP!, she cried in her head, trying to block out the sound. Finally, after the third time the phone rang, she picked it up.

“Hello?” she said, stifling a sniffle.

“Hey! Daisy! It’s Barb. You okay, child?” her friend Barb replied. A southern belle through and through, and her genteel nature was one of the reasons her and Daisy were able to be good friends.

“I’m living.”

“And I can tell that you’re not doing very well. Your sadness is showing. Care to have a friend to talk to here?”

It was no use. Daisy couldn’t hold it in any longer. Through wracked sobs and screams, she relayed everything she felt at that time. She laid out all the fear, the feelings of isolation, the disappointment, and all of the other feelings. For 30 long minutes, she talked to her, putting it out there for one of her long-time friends.

After a few moments of silence and breathing, Daisy gave a long sigh.

“Felt good to get that out, didn’t it, child?”

“Yeah, it felt good. I just don’t have people down here to deal with, that would share experiences with me.”

“Aw, sugah, do you remember when you met me? Remember how you thought I was a bit weird cause I was from the south?”

Daisy put her palm to her forehead, as she remembered the first thing she said to Barb.

“Anyhow, child, remember something. No matter how far we may be from each other, you can always talk to me. And don’t forget your other friends back here, too. The pastor, Jimmy, and even Pele the gardener are always here to talk with ya.”

Daisy smiled, the first smile she had shown to people in a week. As she kept talking, the tears of pain and sadness, hurt and all other feelings, turned to happiness, relief, and joy. She was very thankful for her friend, and she was incredibly grateful that she was there…even if she was going to be going home soon.

(for David Stewart, one of my great friends who has helped me on one of the biggest transitions I’ve had to deal with. Ever.)

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Lights In The Dark – Friday Fictioneers

Before we begin, please make sure to read the latest non-fictioneers story: Poor Boy Long Way From Home. I can guarantee that if you are a foreigner, who also happens to be an English teacher, that’ll be for you. Now, on with the show…

copyright Douglas M. MacIlroy

Lights In The Dark

“Alright, who’s idea was it to put candles near my feet?” Steve asked, annoyed.

“Put them?! No way! They were already there. YOU put your feet there!” Berta replied.

“Then can you explain to me how, when I haven’t moved from this chair, my feet started on fire?”

“You were paying too much attention to your little program on Japanese hand carvings.”

“But I haven’t moved from…”

“Those candles were lit this afternoon. AFTER you killed the power by cutting the outside cords.”

“And I got them turned back on.”

“It’s your fault your feet got burned. Want some peppermint lotion?”

“…yeah.”

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Poor Boy Long Way From Home

Poor Boy Long Way From Home
by Miles Rost

I found myself in a strange land.

The night before, I was just putting my head down to sleep comfortably on my pillow, dreaming of when I would travel the world and be a beach bum.

I woke up to find myself in a strange land, where the smell of fermented food accented the air and the sounds of crazy drivers screeching their tires on the street as they drove like wildmen.

I got out of my bed, and found that I was already dressed in a nice shirt, a pair of jeans, my tennis shoes. You know, the usual dress for a guy like me. I decided that I was going to go for a walk, but when I opened the door, I didn’t see a hallway to an apartment, or an entry. I saw…classrooms.

I walked down the hallway with classroom doors, and I found one with my name on it. Curious, I opened the door to see what awaited me. It was a man, a few years younger than me but who looked strangely like myself.

“Ah, good! You have arrived! I was hoping that you weren’t going to be delayed by any issues. So all you need to know for this job is to keep the kids happy, teach them something educational for a bit of time, then play with them the rest.”

I looked at this young punk with a strange look and my face twisted into a mark of frustration and worry.

“Job? What job? I’m supposed to be awake and working on my applications for college.”

“Oh, aren’t you the guy who signed up to teach a whole bunch of students who may not really care about you?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Oh. Well, here you are. You get to do the job, because I have to catch my flight out,” he said, as he put the clipboards and the colored pencils in my hand. He grabbed a big rucksack, put it on his back and started out the door.

“By the way, your class starts in five minutes. Have fun with the elementary kids!”

I looked at him, incredulously, as I saw him trundle away to a waiting elevator. As the elevator door closed, my classroom door also slammed shut. I tried to open it, but there was no escape.

“Teacher! Teacher! English-ee!”

I looked behind me and saw a great number of students rushing into the classroom, all of them screaming “English-ee”.

There was nothing I could do. I am now their teacher. A teaching monkey. Lord help me.

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Friday Fictioneers – Beyond This Point

A little note before we start: I am in the stages of moving from my current residence to a new residence, and may not have internet access for a few days. Also, with moving comes lots of packing, planning, and getting things in order. Therefore, I may not be able to write anything in the next week. However, if I get the time and the patience, things will continue as normal.

That all being said, let’s get onto today’s story:

copyright Jennifer Pendergast

Beyond This Point

The young man beamed at his family with pride.

“This, by far, is one of the best days of my life. I finally have something I can call mine!”

His parents shined their approval as they looked at his garb.

As he picked up his cap from the ground, he looked around at the walls of the place where, for four years, he allowed himself to flourish.

“Mom? Dad? What do I do now?”

His dad smiled, and pointed behind him.

“Everything that happens from here on out, happens beyond that point. That gate is where life begins.”

His son smiled at him.

“I think I’m ready.”

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Friday Fictioneers – Smoky Mountain Rain

Make sure to read Fool’s Gold, if at all possible. It’s a good story! Anyhow, on with the show!

copyright Erin Leary

Smoky Mountain Rain

“Chelsea, I don’t think I’m coming back.”

Chelsea Jacobs looked out over the gully in the early morning, as she talked to her brother in Taiwan

“But, what about Dad? He’s dying!”

“I return to the states, I lose what I’ve gained over here. I know Dad would say that I should continue to live my life, even after he’s gone.”

“I can’t live without you here.”

“Then come with me, we can do great things together.”

“I don’t have the money!”

“Leave that rain behind, I’ll take care of it.”

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Fool’s Gold

(For Kristi, in the tough time she’s going through)

Fool’s Gold
by Miles Rost


Teresa Farmer’s hand let the phone slip from her fingers.

She was in shock, she didn’t know what she could do.

“Hello? Hello? Teresa? You still there?” the voice on the other end of the phone asked, shaken with fear and peppered with worry.
Teresa picked up the phone and breathed again.
“Yeah….yeah…I’m here. I just…I…I’m not sure if I can say anything…”
“I understand. I guess, all I can say is that I am so sorry for what’s happened, and I wish I could be there to help.”
“Yeah, I know,” Teresa told her friend, who was stationed in Germany at one of the Air Force bases.
“When I get leave, I’ll come back and we can have a gripe session about this.”
“Get here when you can.”
They talked for a couple more minutes, said their pleasantries, and Teresa hung up her phone.

She walked to the living room, the place in her house that became her conversation parlor. She leaned back in her rocking chair and just pondered her situation. She lived alone in her house, her husband moving out many years ago after a rocky fight. 6 years of marriage, suddenly gone. No kids in the house to yell at, or to pick up after.

One more lonely piece of news filled the room, a room that was slowly becoming a room of memories. The news from her friend of her mother’s passing was intensely tough. While Helena Farmer was not a rough and tough rancher’s wife, she still held her own after many years of battle. Whether a battle against a railroad company to reclaim the mineral rights under her farm, or the battle against a major crop company that tried to force her to use seeds she didn’t want, Teresa’s mother was steadfast. She may not have been physically strong, but she made up for it plenty with sheer will, guts, spit, and vinegar.

Now, she was gone. It was less than a year after being diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, and she was now gone. Teresa did not know what she was going to do. As she rocked in her chair, a warm afghan wrapped around her, the tears started to fall. As the cracks in her “armor” started to grow bigger, she wept louder, until it was unstoppable.

For the rest of that day, she grieved. She remembered, she cried, she wailed, she sobbed. She would go through the five stages of grief a few times before she could finally release. For this day, however, she needed to grieve.

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Friday Fictioneers – Settlers of…

I promise, I’ll get back to story writing very very soon. Moving and trying to get everything related to a new job done is a bit of a pain in the butt, along with trying to reduce stress.

copyright Sandra Crook

Settlers of…
by Miles Rost

The players, the warlords of the nation, met together for their turn.

“Alright, I’m needing some brick. Anyone got brick?” Mr. North asked

Mr. East snickered.

“I got tons of brick. Trade me some sheep?”

“Nah, I don’t have sheep now. The week wasn’t plentiful.”

“How about wheat?”

“I’ll trade you a wheat for a brick.”

“Deal,” he said, as he turned his head back towards his aide-de-camp, “Achmed! Bring the pallette of brick!”

Mr. North did the same with a large grain truck full of wheat.

Mr. South was unhappy, and huffed around.

“What about my sheep?!?!”

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Friday Fictioneers – That Sinking Feeling

Recovery takes a lot longer than a person thinks. It took me a week to get back to where I actually WANTED to post something. So, here’s the current FF post…and you’ll see another story up within the next day or so. Keep watching!

copyright B.W. Beacham

That Sinking Feeling

One of the things I forgot when I went to Alaska, and specifically Anchorage, was something my uncle told me.

“Dean, no matter what happens, do not EVER drive across a bay at low tide. No matter how dry it is.”

Well, to say the least, it was not my day. I was in a rush and said, “Hell with it, I’m crossing the Arm.”

And here I am, 12 hours later, my car is now out to sea and the tide flats are back to being tranquil.

Screw it, I’m walking.

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Friday Fictioneers – Candle on the Table

A little note saying sorry for no posts this week. Due to some rather weird health issues, as well as  lot of stress, I was in a bad place for a bit. Now that I’m better, however, I am ready to post and have fun with things. Make sure to keep a watch on this site, as you will have more stories coming soon. Now, on with the show!

copyright Renee Heath

Candle On The Table

She was entranced by the  music. Elton John was always her favorite.

Hearing him sing “Candle In The Wind” was one of the highlights of her day when she sat down to relax after work. In fact, she played the song so much that she would sing it even at work.

This night, she was so entranced by the song that she didn’t notice what was happening on top of the table on the far wall.

The candle she lit had melted down, and the burning wick slowly fell onto the table. Catching a piece of paper on fire.

She didn’t notice as the house started on fire…