Author: Miles Rost

by

Limelight

by Miles Rost

“Seems like the only thing I get recognized for around here is my screwups.”

To no one in particular, John Barrett uttered words that came from the deepest part of his heart. A bassist for the band Stickyfeet, he was the guy who kept the band going when the lead singer or the two guitarists had their fits and their temper tantrums. Sometimes things went well when they went off the rails. Other times, like this day, he was on the receiving end of blame for lousy concern ticket numbers coming out of the mouth of their manager, Buck Waignwright.

“Hey! You need to keep the other guys up and working. Our ticket sales went through the crapper for the last 4 shows!”

John just rolled his eyes as Buck railed him up and down for not doing the role of being the brother’s keeper.

“It’s not my fault Izzy and Travis get plastered before the concert and can’t keep themselves sitting up. I try to pour the coffee down their throats and keep my basslines neat, but I can’t do everything.”

“Well, maybe you should try just a little bit harder.”

“Or you could hire a roadie whose job would be to keep them from going into the sauce.”

Buck laughed, and coughed, then laughed some more.

“We have 5 dates left for the tour. Once that’s done, we’re going to do some re-evaluating. You better be ready, cause you might just have a place on the chopping block.”

John stood, flipped him off, then left.

He got in his car and drove to his “let off steam” spot, high above the city. He could see the people below, like ants they scurried about.

He sat for a long time, talking to no one in particular, but letting off steam.

“I’ve had to deal with all this crap for nearly 6 years,” he said, to the trees and the shrubs overlooking the city, “It’s easy to say what I did wrong and what I did right. I have never had a chance to truly go out and do something of my own.”

He looked up at the sky, laying on the hood of his car, watching clouds pass by quickly.

“Maybe the road is not easy, and maybe the prize is small. But after all these years of waiting, I’m gonna show them all. Somehow, someway, I will be able to show Buck, Izzy, and the rest of them that they need someone else to hold their hands.”

“That’s a pretty big pronouncement, John. How do you think you’ll do it?”

John turned over on the hood. He looked down at a pair of shiny black cowboy boots, a pair of long legs squeezed into a pair of jeans, a flannel shirt tied in the front, showing just enough to get a man interested, and finally a face that he would recognize from a long time back.

“So, how did you find me, Miss Eliza Chapman?”

“I knew this place from a long time ago, when you weren’t much of a bass player and more of an introspective poet.”

“Those days are long gone. Apparently, I’m only support staff now.”

Eliza chuckled.

“So, I guess this means you’re not interested in maybe joining a band as a lead man?”

John’s eyes perked up a bit, though he tried to hide it with indifference.

“Who’s looking?”

“Bright Star just lost their bassist and their lead singer. They need to fill both, but they are looking at changing their styles. I figured that you’re probably getting tired of being Izzy Larkin’s personal belch-boy, so I mentioned your name. They seem like they may be interested.”

John looked at her, and invited her up onto the hood of the car.

“Looking out at the city, what do you see?”

“I see a rich environment of people and potentially awesome shows.”

John smiled, as he looked out.

“I can hear the roar of a distant crowd. They are waiting for me, they’re shouting out loud. I want to entertain people, give them the ability to forget their problems for a 2-3 hour show. They can’t do that when I have to clean up after Izzy and the others.”

She looked out as well, and nodded.

“Bright Star fired the lead singer for doing too many drugs. They want a straight edge for this next one.”

John looked at her and smiled.

“You’re the manager for them, right?”

“Of course, otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”

“I have 5 dates left to play, then I can be free to do what I want.”

“Gives us time to practice, it looks like. We’re going into the studio in about a month to cut the next record. Think you’d be up for moving some of your songs over?”

“Move? No way. I’ll create some new stuff. After these 5 days, I want a clean start. It’s the finality. Get the deal in writing, and we’ll work.”

“How about a preliminary agreement?”

“In what way?”

“The old fashioned way. Sealed with a kiss.”

John chuckled, until he was rolled over onto by Eliza. And given a big kiss.

“I ain’t gonna change my mind, Eliza. But understand, I’m now in business with you. No relationship stuff.”

Eliza smiled, as she sat up on the edge of the car. John looked out at the city, and smiled.

“After all the years of waiting, I’m going to show them all.“

by

I Wish It Would Rain Down

by Miles Rost

The Rainbow Bridge glowed at this time of night, the reds, whites, and greens eminating from each of the towers like christmas lights on a tree. The beauty of the bridge shadowed the pain and hurt that was present on its platform.

Yumi sat on the sidewalk of the center span, looking out over the tossing waters of Tokyo Bay. The rain just started as she sat down, and the drops pelted her slowly. It seemed as though even the sky was giving her grief.

She was alone, again.

So this is what Saya felt all those nights ago, she thought, staring at a freighter passing below her, Again, I am alone. When my parents died, I was alone. When I was rude to my sempai, I was alone.

She sniffled, as the rain started to pour down upon her. The storm in her heart was raging, the emotions filling up her heart like a rain barrel. Her body ached, her left index finger most of all. She knew these signs, of what was to happen, and that there was no controlling it.

Why am I always alone?! Why do I do this to my friends? Why do I always hurt like this? I don’t want this! I don’t want this burden!

Her mind panicked, her heart raced, as the sobs she knew were to come finally announced themselves in a groan and a cry of pain. She wrapped her arms around herself as she shifted her body, giving her more room to grieve. The war inside her heart was fierce and intense, and the emotions continued to overflow.

In her mind, a flash of memory shot out from nowhere.

“Yumi-chan, you’ve buried your emotions,” Sayaka said, as Yumi remembered the conversation from the previous day, “You show bravery on the outside, but you haven’t reconciled yourself inside. The only person who can change you is Iesu. He’s tough on the heart, but he also shows you that you’re never alone, and that change comes from trusting.”

She looked at Tokyo Bay yet again, and continued sobbing. The pain of her heart joined the pain in her head, feeding her tears. At the same time, another thought pierced her.

Turn to me and be gracious to me, for I am lonely and afflicted. The troubles of my heart are enlarged; Bring me out of my distresses. Look upon my affliction and my trouble, and forgive all my sins.

Sayaka’s voice cut through the anguish of her thoughts, with passages she had read to her earlier in the day.

“These words were from the great King David. He seemed to be like you, in a lot of ways, Yumi-chan. He was stoic, and very ardent in battle. But he had his problems too. And his petition there, that was his confession to God.”

Yumi looked at her now soaked uniform, and the drops of water off the leather tote-bag she carried. Her sobs continued, as she looked at the towers to her sides.

“Kami-sama,” she cried out through her sobs, “I have failed.”

The rain suddenly started pouring heavier, the sounds of thunder in the background calling a chant, seemingly echoing her cries.

“My life has been filled with pain, Father. My parents, my sempai, all those who left me, they gave me nothing but pain. And you, you gave Saya hope. You gave her something that I did not have before, something that I don’t have right now.”

Yumi breathed in a heavy breath, as hail started to fall on the bridge. She stood up, and bent her knee to the concrete. The pain that shot through her knee was temporary, and caused another flood of sobs to come through, even after the pain subsided.

“I don’t want this! I don’t want this burden, this load that I am carrying. Iesu, I want you to carry this with me. I want what you gave Saya those weeks ago. I ask of you to come into my heart, and take the pain, the anger, the strain, and transform them into something that can be used.”

Yumi clutched her fingers until they were white, as her prayers rang out like a tolling bell. The hail continued to fall, as the rain cascaded down like a waterfall.

“Lord…savior…You have the power to make me whole again. Take my life and make it whole, make me the warrior that I was before all these events. In your holy and saving name, Iesu, I pray this…”

A peal of thunder in the background shook the bridge as she held steady. Her cries were done, and she held her ground against the thunder’s call. Her face turned serious, as she uttered the final words.

“Amen.”

As the word rolled off her tongue, a bright bolt of lightning split the sky from north to south. After a minute, the hail stopped as the rain kept falling.

She breathed in the air, the damp rainy air, and looked around at the bridge. As she stood up, the rain slowed down from a waterfall to a steady but barely soaking shower. Yumi was soaked fully, her ponytail hanging low from the weight of the water. Her seifuku was fully drenched, and as she walked back towards Minato-ku, she felt the squish of water in her shoes. Her mind was on other things, though.

She needed to see Sayaka, and she needed to see her right away.

*************

Sayaka sat at her table, working on homework. The scrapes of her mechanical pencil as it drew across the paper filled the room with a sound that was previously filled with the sounds of the rain on her roof.

I hope Yumi-chan is okay, she thought, I don’t know why, but it seemed like the only thing that could be done was to let her go off on her own.

She put down her pencil, and reclined back a slight bit, remembering the events that unfolded earlier in the day. She remembered the pain and bewilderment on Yumi’s face, the similar pain and bewilderment she felt weeks before.

“Yu-chan, I hope you haven’t done something crazy…”

At that moment, Sayaka folded her hands and closed her eyes. She felt the need to pray, and the moment for it was then. As she sat there, a picture of peace and patience, she was silent and focused.

Suddenly, a conspicuous knocking at her door caught her attention. With a quick ‘amen’, she stood up, bowed, and walked into the main hosting room to check and see who it was. As she opened up the screen, she was greeted by a soaking wet, crying, and broken Yumi.

“Yumi-chan!”

“Sayaka,” she sniffled, “I didn’t know where to go, but you’re the first person who would understand. So here I am.”

“Come in, come in. You’re soaking wet! Did you walk all the way over from your apartment?”

“I want to tell you everything, but I need something to drink first.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll get you something to drink, and a dry kimono to slip into. Head into my bedroom and wait there.”

Sayaka quickened her steps into the kitchen area, where she started boiling water for tea. As she quickly walked towards her room, she heard sobbing and rushed to see Yumi on the floor, head in hands, letting her tears fall. Sakaya immediately rushed to her closet, grabbed the nearest kimono, and rushed to the fallen girl’s side, giving her a tight hug.

“I’m here, Yumi. I’m here. Just let yourself go, and I’ll take care of you,” she whispered, with concern and warmth. For a short while, she sat with her friend, someone who she never thought would ever look broken, and just let her sob into her shoulder. As the sobs died, Sayaka slowly moved away and looked at Yumi.

“I will be right back. But, when I get back, I need you to tell me everything. In the meantime, put on the kimono.”

Sayaka walked to the kitchen and came back a minute later with the white tea that she always brewed.

“Yumi-chan, tell me everything.”

She sat in front of the small reading table, the dry, greenish-colored kimono wrapped around her cold frame. Her hair was still wet from the rain, but seemed to be starting to dry.

“I…I…” she stammered, as she tried to recollect her thoughts, “After the confrontation, I just started running. I ran…so far away. I was alone, as I usually am. I was so wrapped up with anger and guilt, the memory of my parents and my sempai came back to me. I ended up on the Rainbow Bridge. I actually wanted to jump. I wanted to end it.”

Sayaka’s eyes opened wide, and she gasped slightly.

Yumi told her the full story about what happened on the bridge, not leaving a single crumb of detail behind. In between descriptions, she would cry for a moment, then start speaking again.

“As I left the bridge, I was in shock. My heart was flooded with emotion, but I couldn’t cry. I had nowhere I could really go, nowhere that I could have a safe haven with. So I walked from the bridge to here. The only thing I could think about was talking to you about what happened.”

Sayaka gave her a giant hug, and looked her square in the eye.

“Yu-chan, I’ve been hoping for this for a while. I thought you’d be the most resistant to His message, but now I see you here. You don’t even know how happy I am that you were able to come here and trust me with this.”

“Really?”

“Really. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve had anyone that I can trust come visit. But, it’s not just that. You came here after something that you know very few have gone through. This is going to be new for you, and I think that it might be good to have you stay here for the night.”

Yumi looked around, and sighed.

“I think I can do that,” she replied, “I don’t have to be at school early.”

Sayaka smiled, as she sipped her tea.

“At least now I have someone around who doesn’t think I’m crazy.”

Yumi looked at her, and smiled slightly. Then the sneeze hit.

“Oh no. You’re not getting sick!” Sayaka chuckled, as she walked to the bath and started some running water.

While she ran the water and got towels ready, Yumi looked at the Bible that was open above Sayaka’s homework.

by

Is This Love

by Miles Rost

Legends are made, never born.

In the realm of pool halls, there have been major names that have been mentioned and legends that go with their names. New York Fats, “Machine Gun Lou” Butera, and even Karin “China Rose” Cheung all graced the legendary status notorious with pool halls, hustling and sharking, and incredible sport.

It is this status by which a legend was born in a musty pool hall in downtown Minneapolis, Minnesota.

On a Friday night, the Uptown Pool Hall was packed with young players and some veterans. It was a place for the college set from the many colleges in the Twin Cities to visit. You’d see Gophers from the U of M, Scots from across the river at Macalester, and sometimes even some Tommies from St. Thomas’s Minneapolis campus. They would mingle, get the news, and hustle each other for money while drinking cheap beer and smoking clove cigs.

A clear winter’s night brought a lot of students in for this particular night, and the crowds were having a good time. The sound of talking filled the air, while the jukebox next to the door stood lit but silent. No one except the bartender even noticed when the front door of the pool hall opened up. The bartender of the hall looked up at the newest arrival, and immediately his face bore a look of surprise.

A man around six feet tall stood, peering his eyes around the entire hall. He wore a brown leather bomber jacket, dark blue denim jeans, and wore a black homburg hat with a black band around it. His glasses shined in the front lights of the hall, contrasting the darkness of the rest of the hall.

He reached over to the bartender and dropped a note and a $20 on the bar. The bartender read the note, and started to mix. The man looked around the hall again, and his eyes fell on a table near the middle of the hall. Table #8, surrounded by almost all of the other tables, had a group of college boys that were largely joking around while playing. He smirked, as he waited for his drink.

“One Boston Breaker. Your $20 will cover 3 more,” the bartender said, as he put down the pint glass full of what looked like a liquid boston creme pie.

“Tell me,” the man said, looking at the crowd of students, “Which one of these is the best of the lot?”

“This motley crew of fools? Hell, Table 8 is about as good as yer gonna get. Red sweatshirt, goes by the name ‘Chill’. If you’re looking for a challenge, wait for Wednesday nights. That’s when the old veterans do their sharkin’.”

The man tipped his hat to the bartender, and walked over to the jukebox. Hitting a couple of buttons, he put on two songs. The first was Dire Straits’s “So Far Away”. As the song played in the background, he walked over to the rack of pool cues and took a look. After a minute of admiring the cues, he took one down and studied it for another minute. He blinked, then walked over to Table 8 and looked over the table a few times. One of the boys at the table looked up at him.

“Admiring the view?”

“Not really much to see, unless you’re a player.”

The one known as “Chill” removed his butt from the side of the table and walked over to the man. He had a pair of 80s style sunglasses and a red Wisconsin sweatshirt on.

“I’m a player. Wanna go?”

“How much?”

“20 bones?”

“Per ball.”

Chill’s eyes widened, then sharpened into a glare, with a dripping smile appearing on his face.

“9 ball?”

The man stood stony, and stared into Chill’s eyes through his own shiny glasses.

“Agreed. Rack ’em.”

Chill nodded, and he started to bring the 9 balls back up onto the table. The man chalked up the end of his cue and looked back over at Chill, who had everything set and ready.

“Shall we start?” Chill asked the man.

“One moment,” the man replied, pulling a coin out of his jeans.

He turned around and flicked the coin hard towards the jukebox. The coin whapped into the jukebox and careened into a corner. The sound of Dire Straits suddenly was interrupted. The sound died down in the entire pool hall. It got so silent for a second that you could hear a pin drop. Suddenly, after a moment, his second desired song started to course from the speakers in the hall.

Everyone knew that something big was about to happen, and the action now focused on Table 8.

The man walked to the stage of Table 8, and positioned his cue. The smell of the felt, the mustiness of the hall, and the dusty chalk combined in the air around the man’s nostrils. He took in a breath as he drew the cue back. At the first crack of the snare on the song, his cue bolted forward. The cueball smacked hard into the 9 balls in the middle of the table, spreading them out to all different parts. A good break, with none going in the pockets.

The man nodded to Chill, and he moved out of the way.

Chill walked to one of the corners of the table.

“I’m gonna put you away with this one,” he said smugly, as he positioned his cue in a higher stage.

After a few seconds, he hit the cue towards the #1 ball in the corner. The yellow ball took the strike from the cueball like a runner and sprinted into the corner pocket. The smugness oozed from Chill’s entire being, as he moved himself around for a second strike, aiming for the blue #2 ball. He readied himself and hit the cueball. The cue missed the 2 by a hair and ended up in a corner, nearly surrounded by other balls.

“I’d like to see you get out of that one,” Chill said, chuckling to himself.

As David Coverdale started into the second verse of the song, the man whipped off his leather jacket. He walked over to the corner where the cue ball was and positioned his cue almost vertical. He took aim and fired the cue. The cueball flew straight up in the air and landed right next to the 2, sinking it into the side pocket.

Chill’s mouth dropped open. The other boys in the hall were starting to wonder.

As the song continued, the man dispatched with balls 3 through 7. As the guitar bridge of the song started to blare through the speakers, he surveyed the table. The 8 and the 9 were at opposite ends, but nowhere near holes. He studied for a moment, and positioned himself in a spot that seemed to contradict his needed goals. As he was able to fire the cueball, Chill sneered.

This guy ain’t gonna make it.

The man fired the cueball, where it zigzagged quickly across the table.

Thump, thump, crack!

The 8 ball was smacked and went into the corner pocket, like was expected. However, the ball started to swirl around like a tornado, heading back down the table.

Chill’s face went from smug to shock, seeing the ball swirling down towards the opposite end of the table. The swirling ball continued to jump it’s way down until it hit the 9. The nine slowly bounced off one rail, off another, and slowly sank into the corner pocket as the song proceeded to fade out.

“That’s $180. Pay up.”

Chill, mouth still open, forked over the cash quickly. He then bolted out of the pool hall, his friends in tow.

After that night, the man would continue to show up on Friday nights, taking the earnings of many a college student, and showing them that humility breeds the potential for greatness.

After a year or so, he left the Uptown. His legend, born on a cold January night, bore out in the renaming of his favorite drink and the legendary nickname bestowed upon him by those who got to know him.

That night, the legend of “The Whitesnake” was born.

by

On The Western Skyline

On The Western Skyline
by Miles Rost

“Hey, Duke.”

“Yeah?”

“You remember Heather Yamada?”

“You mean ‘Yadda Yadda Yamada’? She was the Seinfeld fangirl in high school.”

“Yeah, she’s on my facebook. She posted something that made me think of things.”

Douglas “Duke” Chambers and Jeremiah “Jeeves” Wetherby were the best of friends, and as they sat on the porch of Jeremiah’s newly acquired house, they talked about the old days. Both went to the same high school, went different paths in life, but met back up after their tours were done. They sat looking at the sunset going down over the California high desert.

“What did she say?”

“She put up a post talking about ladies who pray for their future husbands.”

Duke snorted at the mention of future spouses.

“That sounds incredibly silly. Why would someone want to pray for their future husband? I mean, are we supposed to sit around and pray for our future wives or something?”

“That’s the thing, Duke. I didn’t really think about it at first, but it kept hitting me in the head as I thought about it more.”

“How did it hit you?”

“Not exactly sure how, but it just made sense. If a woman is praying for her future husband, then it would be rightful in thinking that there are women who are waiting for me.”

“Women? Waiting for you?” Duke said, with a chuckle roaring across the porch.

“I wouldn’t believe it either. But for us guys, it seems to make sense, too. If there are guys like us who are praying for our future wives, then that would mean that those guys are also waiting for those women.”

“And how are you so sure, Jeeves? How are you so sure there’s a woman out there for you?”

“I guess it’s all on faith. Some nights, as I’m staring out into twilight, I wish for her to be with me that night. Who, is the question I keep wondering though.”

“You’ve really thought this out, haven’t you?”

“It just makes sense, that’s all. I can tell you that there are lonely women saying a prayer on the western skyline right now, probably praying that they find you.”

Duke thought about it for a second.

“The question is, Jer, who would want me?”

“Trust me, there are women who want you. They just haven’t been given the Gibbs slap of realization yet.”

“You’ve been watching NCIS again, haven’t you?”

Jeeves looked back with a grin.

“Who wouldn’t?”

by

Dreamscape

by Miles Rost

 

Klaus started to stir, as the winds gently caressed his face. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. He looked around, and found himself on a beautiful windswept beach.

The sands were like salt and pepper, dark and light waves of sand coarsing across the entire beach. He saw the ocean’s waves crest and fall, the tide coming in and going out. The sky was a beautiful blue, with the sun overhead as though it was late afternoon. It was, in his mind, the perfect time and perfect place. It was where he wanted to be for his entire life, and he was there now.

He started walking down the beach, letting the waves lap at his feet as they lazily came and went. He breathed in the sea air, the scent of salt and marine life wafting like a gentle perfume into his nostrils. He walked for what seemed to be a long time, when he saw someone in the distance.

He continued walking as the figure in the distance got closer. He was happy that he wasn’t going to be the only one on this beach. He kept walking, kicking piles of sand and leaving his footprints behind on the soggy sandy shoreline. As he got closer to the figure, he noticed that it was decidedly feminine. And she had a familiar look to her. He got closer, to the point where he got to see her face.

He blanched, because what he saw could not be true. He was looking at his own mother, who had passed on many years before.

“Mom?! Is that you?” he cried out.

She walked over to him and smiled.

“It is me, Klaus,” his mother said.

“But, I thought you were dead.”

“My body is dead, but you know that my spirit lives on.”

Klaus took a nervous breath.

“But, if you’re not here, is this a dream?”

“It very well may be. However, I am here to offer some help.”

He looked at her, and gave her a look of wonder.

“You have been having trouble with your life, and where you want to go.”

“That is true, mom. I have been wanting to do something that is my passion, and the world seems to want me to go a different direction.”

His mom chuckled.

“Do you remember what I told you when you decided to go to business college?”

“I remember. You told me, ‘Don’t do what you want to do for money, do it because you love it.'”

“That’s right. Now, are you doing what you love to do?”

He looked down at his feet, and shook his head.

“I’m doing what I can to survive.”

“Then, my son, you should change it and look at doing something you love.”

He looked at his chestnut-haired mother, smiling cherub-like.

“I still wish you were around, Mom. I could use your help at times.”

She smiled back at him, and bowed.

“My darling son, I’m always around.”

She suddenly disappeared.

It was then that Klaus awoke from his slumber, in a sweat. He looked around the darkened room, at the alarm clock that signaled 4:30AM. As he turned himself over to go to sleep again, he mused at what he dreamed.

He looked at a picture of his mom, sitting on top of the nightstand.

“Happy Mother’s Day, mom. I miss you so much.”

by

I Don’t Believe Anymore

(aka Sherry’s First)

by Miles Rost

(Author’s note: Start the music before reading)

The town was stunned.

Parents, teachers, administrators, and students were mystified.

The newspapers didn’t know what to say, at first.

Many of the witnesses could not believe what they saw.

For those who witnessed Charlene Herrera keel over in 6th period Chemistry class, they were in a daze. Some even trying to block out the memory of what seemed to happen.

Sherry Makinami was a witness to what happened. What people didn’t know, and what she was unsure of, was that she may have been the one who caused it.

She read the headline in the morning paper: STROKE TAKES LIFE OF LAKE GROVE SCHOOLGIRL

She remembered everything, and what was happening that day.

A junior at Lake Grove High School, Sherry was not exactly the pick of the litter. She was mostly average. Average height, average weight, and didn’t really stand out. She did her work at school, socialized a little bit, but didn’t stand out in anything. She was not the type of person to be outspoken, as she rarely raised her hand in class. She kept to herself many times.

This made her a bit of a target for some in her grade, including Charlene. 6th period chemistry class, the last class of the day, was always the worst for Sherry. No matter where she sat, there was some form of adversity. She had to adapt to survive, but chemistry was an unadaptable situation.

For most of the day, she was being harassed by Charlene and her entourage. The real events, where it all came to a head, started with a missed question, and an experiment.

The chemistry teacher, Mr. Palachuk, was finishing his lesson before they were to do their lab work.

“Alright, class. As a quick review, who can tell me why the alkali metals are reactive as they continue down the chart?”

Sherry was about to raise her hand, when she felt a solid piece of something hit the back of her head and proceed to plop to the ground. She felt behind her head, and looked at it. She saw what was a remnant of a spitball that was in her hair. Sherry turned around, sighed, and looked back at the teacher.

Someone gave the answer to the question, and he let everyone move to their workstations. The directions were clear, to experiment with alkali earth metals and see what happened.

Sherry moved to her workstation and looked at the metals in front of her. She started to do a little bit of work, when she was bumped from the side. Water spilled across her hands, and she looked over at the rotund form of Charlene’s bottom.

“Oops! I didn’t even see you there!” she said with a sickly and sweet smile, “You should have said something if you saw me coming.”

Sherry just looked at her, and shook her head. She picked up a piece of magnesium ribbon with her tongs, and put one of the ends in the bunsen burner. It glowed brightly, as the white flames slowly traveled down the strip. She was studying it intently, when she spotted someone about to crash into her side.

Charlene moved backwards again, this time pushing Sherry over. She fell with her to the floor. People started laughing and joking.

“Charlene, what are you doing?! That’s on fire!”

Charlene sneered.

“And she finally speaks, only to yell at me,” she said, looking down at Sherry. Sherry got up and put sand on the magnesium strip, while Charlene and her entourage in class laughed.

Sherry looked at her intensely. She felt the anger in her chest beat heavily, threatening to betray the calm exterior by which she stared at her.

I wish she would just go away.

The thought spread across her sub-consciousness, peeking itself into the conscious for just a moment. She turned and looked down at the magnesium, covered in sand. She kept looking down, but pointed her eyes straight in Charlene’s direction.

I want her to leave me alone, she cried out in her mind, I want her to leave everyone alone!

Suddenly, without warning, Charlene winced. A small pain started in the center of her head. She put one of her hands to her head and tried to feel where it was, as it wasn’t a normal headache. As the seconds ticked by, the pain grew.

She doesn’t know pain, she doesn’t know anything, Sherry thought, spitting the words out in her mind.

The pain in Charlene’s head grew. For her, it was like a migraine that just went supernova. She clutched her head and gritted her teeth.

“Char, what’s going on?” one of her friends asked.

“I don’t know. My head is just….owwwwwww.” she cried out, the pain ratcheting up a notch.

Sherry continued with her gaze, not moving an inch and not doing anything. She didn’t seem like she was doing anything except sulking.

Charlene started to scream, as the pain in her head grew to a point. Her brain felt like it wanted to rip her skull open and run away. The pressure grew to be incredible. Blood leaked from her nose, and started to drip onto the floor.

For a split second, the screaming stopped. For Charlene, the last feeling she had was of a pop and a pressure release in her brain.

Her body crumpled like a weighted tent, splaying her on the ground, her head hitting the floor with a sickening *crack*.

Sherry looked over at her lifeless form, and did the only thing she could do.

She screamed, then fainted.

——–

The next day, as she looked at the paper and read the headline, she looked at her family at the table. They were all silent as they ate breakfast.

Her mom put down her butter knife, and looked at her daughter.

“Sherry, I think we need to talk,” she said, plainly.

Sherry looked back at her mom, and tears started to fall down her face.

“Mom? Did I do this?”

Her mom got up from her chair, walked over to her, and put her arms around her daughter.

“That’s why we need to talk. I think I know what happened, and it’s something that you’ve inherited. It looks like we’re gonna have to have ‘The Talk’.”

Sherry breathed a heavy breath, and she started sobbing into her mom’s shoulder uncontrollably.

by

Lunatic Fringe

by Miles Rost

The bright wintry white ground of rural Idaho was not a place for any normal man to be traveling in the middle of the night. This was forbidden lands, a hunting ground for animals and man alike. If you were one of the hunted, you were likely running scared. If you were a hunter, you were patient in your tracking.

Rick Manetti was not supposed to be one of the hunted. He was trying to find his way to a house so he could call for a tow truck. Instead, he ended up at the wrong place, in the wrong part of Idaho, at the worst possible time.

He slowly sneaked through the woods, trying to keep as silent as possible while trying to put distance between himself and his pursuers. He looked at the moon in the sky, and heard a wolf cry in the distance. He knew that he could follow the moon’s path towards the freeway, but he was likely many miles from it. He would likely die before reaching it. He looked behind him, and kept sneaking. He heard a similar wolf-like call, but one that was more like a whistle. He knew that his stalkers were not too far away from him.

He stepped over a large log. As he tried to swing his leg over, he stumbled and fell forward. The noise he made wasn’t massive, but it was enough to hear the sound of rustling a distance away. He looked up, and he knew they were near. He looked to both sides, and behind him. Seeing distant lamps, he scrambled up onto his feet and took off running the way he was originally going.

With a couple of barks from a dog behind him, the chase was now on.

Rick ran as quick as he could, looking for anything that could remove his scent or help him in slowing down the pursuers. He went through the trees quickly, and before too long, he found himself looking at a wide expanse of white. A clearing, a field, or even a lake; whatever it was, Rick was going to run through it.

He ran as fast as his heart could stand, and he felt like he was putting distance between his pursuers. He kept going as far as he could, until he had to slow down. By this time, he cleared about 3/4 of the gigantic clearing. He looked behind him and didn’t see lights.

“I pray that I lost them,” he said to himself, aloud.

Just then he heard the unmistakable click-clack of a bullet being loaded into a shotgun. Off to his left the sound came, and as he looked, he saw two men and a woman with weapons in hand.

“Who the hell are you?” the larger of the two men demanded, focusing keen eyes on his target.

“I’m a motorist, I’ve been chased by these crazy guys for going on 3 hours now. Are you one of them?”

“We’re not. Again, who the hell are you?”

“Rick Manetti.”

“Social?”

Rick gave him his social security number

“Follow us. We’ll get you away from the crazy weed barons.”

“Wait…why should I follow you?”

“We’re the Lunatic Fringe. We’re the resistance. And they are trying to kill each one of us too. You’re not the only potential victim of these joyriding murder fetishists.”

Rick was relieved. His thoughts turned from escape to punishment. And he was going to make sure they got it.

by

Old

by Miles Rost

“Happy Birthday, Grandpa!”

Gordon “Pete” Stack would normally have been happy to see his grandchildren on this birthday, but he just was not very happy. He had all that he would have needed: a wonderful wife who had been with him for nearly 45 years, three great children who were credits to his family, and now he had a few awesome grandchildren who were becoming grandteenagers.

This day, his 69th birthday, he was just not pleased with anything.

He sat on the porch of his nice estate overlooking the Pacific Ocean, and studied the world. He saw what he remembered and what the world had become, and he was quite displeased by all of it. And it seemed to all land in his mind on this very day.

Two of his grandchildren, 12-year old Sasha and 14-year old Mariska, came out to the porch and sat down on a swinging rocker next to him.

“Grandpa, you don’t seem like you’re very happy to see us today,” Mariska said, looking over at him with concern.

“Bah. It’s not you,” he grumbled, as he shifted his weight in his chair, “I was just thinking back on my life a bit, and seeing where I’ve been. There were many things I missed, but many things that I also took delight in. Those days are gone now.”

“Like what?”

He looked over at them, and it was like someone clicked the detonator on a time-travel bomb.

“Well, let’s see. You have in today’s world some singer who sings like a boy, looks like a girl, and can’t spell beaver right…”

Sasha snorted at this, finding it a little funny.

“You have people who tell you lies and market it as the truth, while the truth from your ancestors becomes lies to be disbelieved…”

Mariska just sighed at this.

“…And you have a bunch of spoiled brats who aren’t willing to take care of their own families, expecting the world to give it all to them, all while they smoke weed. Do you know what I had when I was young?”

Sasha and Mariska looked at him, and leaned forward in anticipation.

“I had great singers like Buddy Holly, and great bands like the Rolling Stones.. The first time I heard “Peggy Sue” I was 12 years old. The Russians had their rocket ships and the war was cold. It was a different age at that time, kids.”

“Really, grandpa?”

“Shoot, the first time I ever smoked. Guess what? Paranoid. The  first time I heard “Satisfaction”, I was young and unemployed.”

The kids looked at him like he was from another world, but still fascinated.

“Let me tell you. Things were much different, and in my opinion, much better. We had a lot more of the desire to create and build things. Big things, great things. Now, it’s all small stuff like microchips, processors, and other such junk.”

They looked at him, still riveted to his words.

“Down the decades every year, summer leaves and my birthday’s here. Watch, all my friends’ll stand up, cheer, and say ‘Man, you’re old!‘”

Mariska smiled and patted his arm.

“But, Grandpa. You’re not old. You’re just an advanced teenager. You’re still young, you’re just still young with a different time period in your mind.”

Pete finally cracked a smile at this.

“Well, let’s just say that I have some things that your parents don’t know, and I’m willing to give you some of my wisdom. It’ll be my birthday gift to you.”

His smile became a wily grin, as Sasha and Mariska moved closer to hear what he had to say. Just as he was about to say something, one of his old friends started walking up the walkway. He turned his head towards the old friend, grabbed his shotgun, and walked up to the edge of the stairs.

His old friend started to say hello, when Pete yelled at him

“Get off my lawn!”

by

Long Tall Glasses (I Can Dance)

by Miles Rost

The day of reckoning had come.

In a gigantic building just off the main drag in downtown Portland, Oregon, nearly 700 people milled around the ground floor. On the 4th floor of the building, it was announced that there would be a major banquet occurring. The announcement of the 15 new dancers of the Portland Ballet would happen at the same time as the banquet.

For half of the dancers, this was a happy occasion for them. For the other half, it meant certain doom as they couldn’t even gain a pound. And for one man, it was an opportunity to not only get a chance at a possible paying gig, but a chance to eat. It would sure beat eating ramen and cream of mushroom soup every night.

Larry Burnell’s admission to the audition was a complete accident. A street person, he was not someone people would think as having any sort of talent. In fact, most people thought of him as a complete bum.

The day before the audition, he was walking from his claimed piece of a sidewalk down 1st Street close to the Morrison Bridge, walking towards the Union Gospel Mission to get a blanket. He saw a red envelope on the ground and looked at it carefully. The name on the envelope was close to his: Lawrence Burnett, and it was addressed to someone at Portland State University. He looked inside and saw his ticket.

He went back to his small camp and rummaged through his stuff, picking up a small harmonica case. He pulled the harmonica out and picked out two $100 bills. It was all he had left, and he was going to use it to try and take advantage of this situation. He went to the local YMCA and took a shower, cleaning himself really well. He even was able to use some floral shampoo that someone left in the showers. After changing into some semi-nice clothes that he used for interviews, he went to a barber to get a shave and a haircut.

He went into the shop looking like a bedraggled 45 year old, and came out looking like a university student. The most important part was complete. He took a dollar and made a call to his mother, who lived in North Portland. While they were estranged, he still  had some stuff there at her place. He asked her if he could come up and pick up a couple items from his boxes. She agreed, and that evening, he had his dancing clothes in his hands and ready to go. He went back down to his pad, and had one of his neighbors watch his stuff for the night. He would return the next night.

He slept at a cheap motel that night, so he could have a great night’s rest. He knew that would be important.

He went to the information desk at the gigantic building that day, refreshed and looking nothing like his bedraggled self the night before.

“Can I help you?” the lady at the counter asked.

“Yes, I am here for the audition.”

“Name?”

“The envelope says Lawrence Burnett. I’m afraid that they got my name wrong.”

“What’s your actual name?”

“Lawrence Burnell.”

After a little shifting, she gave him his numbers, and told him to go to the third floor to wait. He did as they said, and waited. He waited for nearly 3 hours, and his number was finally called.

“Number 699!”

“Right here!”

“Come with me, please.”

He was led to a large ballroom and a long set of tables with 7 judges behind it.

“You are,” the head judge started to say, flipping his chart up, “Lawrence Burnell?”

“That is my name, yes.”

“What do you do for a living.”

“I am a man of the road, most times. I’m a student at this time, though.”

“A man of the road?”

“A hobo, by name.”

“You….are a….hobo?”

“I hope that I don’t have to repeat myself…”

The head judge just sighed, and put on his best air.

“Are you here for the food, by perchance?”

“Actually, I have been trained in the arts in prior years and I believe that I can do a great job with the Portland Ballet.”

“Well, before you can eat, you gotta dance like Fred Astaire.”

“Wouldn’t Mikhail Baryshnikov be more like what I’m going for?”

The other judges bust out laughing at the head judge for such a mixup.

“Can you dance?”

“Of course I can dance. You bet I can dance.”

The judges gave him the piece of music. It was one that Larry recognized very well, as he danced it in the 1980s with the Sydney Ballet in Australia. Dancing to the song “No Promises” by Icehouse, he did his moves. All of the members of the judging team were shocked that a man of the road would be so good at this.

He ended the performance, and the judges looked stunned. The head judge then cleared his throat.

“Alright, we’ll tally up the score and at the banquet, you’ll find out the results. Please go to the door on your left and proceed to the banquet hall.”

He did, and when he got to the banquet hall, he looked around at the food that was set up. Being one of the last dancers, he got there just as they opened things up. A young lady approached him and smiled.

“Admiring the food aren’t ya?”

“Is there water coming from my eyes?”

She laughed, and put out her hand.

“Jenny Carazzo.”

“Larry Burnell.”

He was so astonished by what he saw in the food, he didn’t pay much attention to Jenny.

“Oh my, they got ham. They have turkey. And…is that caviar?!?!”

Jenny seemed to be willing to finish his sentence for him.

“They also have long tall glasses of wine up to…YAR!”

She made a big motion with her hands.

He smiled, and asked her if he could join her for the evening’s proceedings. She agreed, and they both filled up on food and drink. They had a great time, while some others were worried about their figures. After a couple hours, the head judge from Larry’s tryout came up to the podium and cleared his throat again.

“We are going to announce the lucky people who will have a position with the Portland Ballet this year. When your name is called, please assemble in a line at the front of the podium.”

5 names were announced, and the winners went up to the front and waved.

“The 6th member of this year’s troupe is Jenny Carazzo.”

Jenny jumped up and gave a hoot. She gave Larry a hug and bolted up to the front. To say that she was happy would have been a great understatement.

8 more members were called, and Larry just kept eating and drinking.

‘The last name on our list is a surprise, as it was someone that we didn’t know had prior experience. We have a former member of the Sydney Ballet in our midst, and I’d like to welcome the last person who will dance for the Portland Ballet this year. Mr. Larry Burnell.”

Larry’s eyes popped out of his head at this, and after swallowing the food that he was eating, he wiped off his mouth and went to the front. He stood next to Jenny as he heard the applause.

Jenny looked at him in shock.

“You actually had to audition, when you were a member of a troupe before?”

“Jenny, that was almost 25 years ago. Another place, another time. I’ve been homeless since ’99. I’m just happy to be able to do this now, and rebuild my life.”

“Me too, Larry. Me too.”