Friday Fictioneers

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Friday Fictioneers – Desert Oasis

(Author’s note: Nothing. Let’s do this!)

© Jan Marler Morrill

Desert Oasis

by Miles H. Rost

“So this is where you ended up, eh?”
“Yeah. Who would have thought that I would be the heir to the Sultanate.”

Mark O’Connor and Rahim Zaharia walked down the desert path within the walled town.

“10 years ago, we were pulling pranks on Melinda Clouse. And now you’re the Sultan of Watoomba.”
“8 years after becoming, I’m still not used to it. There are so many different things I have to do. Sometimes, I need an oasis from this desert.”
“Ever thought about coming back to the USA?”

Rahim shook his head.

“The people need me here. I am their oasis in this unforgiving desert.”

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Friday Fictioneers – Angel In The Morning

(Author’s Note: On With The Show!)

 

© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Angel Of The Morning

by Miles H. Rost

Usagi looked outside, her long red hair a contrast to the thick snow on the window.

She wanted it. She knew what she wanted, and she finally took it. That was all, and no one could tell her otherwise.

She sat at the foot of her bed, smiling down and giving a little giggle at remembering everything that happened the night before. Magic happened last night, and she never wanted to see it go away.

She looked at her basset hound, with a small persian cat curled up within, sleeping away. They were the best of friends, and she was happy.

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Friday Fictioneers – Brave New World

(Author’s note: Helping friends out with their issues here in Korea. Seems to me like I was sent back to Korea for precisely this moment. Future writings are coming, that are non-fictioneers. Here we go with today’s, though!)

© Rich Vosa

Brave New World

by Miles H. Rost

“It’s been 7 years since I’ve been home. I’m worried about what I’m going to find.”

He looked at his friend, Cord, as he was ready to board his plane at Gate A19.

“You’ve been through hell in Vietnam. You’ve taken some time and got recharged. It’s time for you to go home and see people.”

He looked at Cord sadly.

“But what if they’re like all the others who’ve been spitting on our comrades, pouring urine over them, and all that.”

“I think you’ll find that most of those stories are in the bigger cities. You’re going to Muncie, Indiana. Not happening.”

He breathed a sigh of relief, as he handed his ticket to the gate clerk.

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Friday Fictioneers – Piano In The Dark

(Author’s Note: I promise stuff is coming. I’m getting distracted by all sorts of stuff at work. The job gets in the way sometimes…But, here’s another Fictioneers post to whet your appetite!)

 

© John Nixon

Piano In The Dark

by Miles H. Rost

Shirley plopped her bag on the table.

Coming home from a hard day of learning at school, she was going to be happy when she finally could watch “Sailor Moon”. It had been a while since she had a day to herself.

The sky grew dark all day, and it was nearly pitch black outside. She turned on the TV and not even a minute in, she heard the familiar buzz of klaxons and red screens.

She buzzed into the basement and took shelter and waited.

And waited.

The lights went out.

A steady roar sounded.

Plink. Plink.

Cacophony.

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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 – 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.