Friday Fictioneers – Love Lies Dying

(No author’s note. Just nice! Be with you next week.)

music-room

© Rochelle “The Boss” Wisoff-Fields

Love Lies Dying

by Miles H. Rost

Charles came home from school and ran upstairs without even a hello.

For 7 months, this happened everyday. Only stopped plinking to eat and sleep.

Finally, he came out of his room one day and called a family meeting. As the family gathered, he set up his one-man equipment.

“Family, I’ve slaved 7 months for this moment. To be able to present my new music. I call it “Jingle Rock”.

He played his heart out for 4 long minutes. The family paused, and finally clapped.

“What do you think?”

“You’re 32 years too late, son. They called it AOR back then.”

Charles only facepalmed.

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Friday Fictioneers – One More River

Friday Fictioneers – One More River

(Author’s note: It’s hot. It’s sweltery. It’s insanely weird outside. And there are thunderstorms on the way. All I can say is…time to write!)

One More River

by Miles H. Rost

Sweat.

It got in Giuseppi’s eyes, down his striped shirt, and soaked through his beret.

He made sure none of it got on the bottles of milk he was ferrying. One last bridge, one last load, then homeward.

He saw the dock, and started to guide his gondola over.

“LOOK OUT!”

Giuseppi looked to his right, in time to see a yacht twice his size ram him, cutting clean through the gondola.

Shock. Fear. Anger.

He glared at the yacht, grabbed a bottle of milk that hadn’t sunk, and chucked it at the yacht.

He went down with all the milk.

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Friday Fictioneers – Avalon

(Author’s note: I’m trying to get things done earlier most days, but the last couple weeks have been killer on me. Hope to have everything a few hours earlier starting next week.)

meep-by-the-window

© Jean L. Hays

Avalon

by Miles H. Rost

“The party is about to start, and you’ve done nothing!”

Maria smiled as she looked at her scolding sister.

“I’m learning a lot! When I become a dancer, I won’t have to worry about cleaning.”
“Maria, when you become a dancer, you’re going to take care of me!”

Maria looked at her beautiful, yet busy sister and grinned.

“Only when you finally marry Fernando.”

A plate dropped and clattered. Maria’s sister looked back at her, aghast.

“EH?! FERNANDO?!”

Suddenly, a head popped into the kitchen.

“Did someone call?”

Maria smiled. Her sister sputtered, as he waved and closed the door.

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Friday Fictioneers – Outbound Plane

(Author’s note: And now, life begins. Secured housing, have job, wish to travel. Writing is still going to be late, though…but not as late. Still tiring waking up at 4:45 to get to work by 5:30. Here’s FF!)

the-met-roger-b

© Roger Bultot

Outbound Plane

Lin looked across the marbled entrance of the airport. 250 steps to security.

Two suitcases, ticket agent. 150 steps to security.

“Reservation?”

She hand the ticket over. 150 steps still.

“Seattle it is. Checking luggage?”

Shake of a head. 150 steps. C’mon…

“Have a nice flight, ma’am!”

Quick moving. Get past security, everything is safe.

Lin got in line. 30 steps to security.

“LIN!”

Panic. 10 steps. Load the conveyor, get the shoes off.

“LIN! You get back here right now!”

Walk through the scanner. No beeps. 5 feet to freedom.

“LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIN!”

She grabs her things, looks back at her tormentor, and walks to her outbound plane.

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Friday Fictioneers – My Father In Me

(Author’s note: Sorry for the lateness, folks. But this is what happens when you start working at 6A-2:30P shift. You don’t get to stay up and be #1 on the list. That’s okay, though. Y’all still get me anyways. Enjoy today’s fictioneers, while I get back to finding a new place to live.)

russell-working

© Connie Gayer

 

by Miles H. Rost

“Once we get these raspberries up on wires…” I started to say.

“…we get to working on moving the lemon verbena out of the corner. It’s annoying,” Dad replied.

“I just thought that. I really don’t like that shrub. But that leaves room for the quince, right?”

“There’s no quince over there.”

“But the leaves popping up over there are clearly quince.”

“Really? Let’s go look…”

We walked over to the corner of the yard. Kneeling down, he took up the stem and leaves.

“Well, son, that is definitely a quince.”

“I know. I picked up on it from you.”

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Friday Fictioneers – Friend Like You

(Author’s note: I have started a new job. This means I have to adjust schedules. This also means that my writing may be later. But please, make sure that you stop by. I hope to eventually get onto a later shift, but that may be months down the road. Until then, you’ll have to work with me. Enjoy today’s work!)

bowl-and-leaves

© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Friend Like You

by Miles H. Rost

“Thanks for helping me move this, Helen.”

Helen gazed away and muttered “you’re welcome.”

Terrence looked from the glass bowl on the table, over at her. He remembered when he first met her, a short Korean lady sitting down front in economics.

“Helen? Are you okay?”

“I’m…troubled.”

He blinked. Then turned.

“What’s troubling you?”

Helen looked up into his eyes, then quickly turned when she made contact.

Terrence walked over to her, and lightly put his hands on her shoulders.

“How long?” he said, musing.

“Years.”

“You’re not the only one.”

She looked up, shocked.

He kissed her forehead.

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Friday Fictioneers – I’m Gonna Tear Your Playhouse Down

(Author’s note: Starting the week of May 28th, I will be posting later. I have a job that requires me to be at work at 6AM PDT, which means that Fictioneers is posted in the middle of my sleep-time. Yes, this means I got a job. It’s a good one. And I hope to be able to do a lot more with it. Here’s your fictioneers.)

dadsshoes

Prompt by Courtney Wright; Photographer – Anonymous

I’m Gonna Tear Your Playhouse Down

by Miles H. Rost

One click.

Travis Lonigan knew that with one click, one hit of the return key, he could cost someone their job. Someone would go to jail, someone well respected but with a lot of secrets. Someone who stole from his friend.

He would likely be found. He knew that people were looking for him, trying everything to prevent this from happening.

Switching from the ‘enter’ key to the delete key, Travis knew that one of two buttons would seal his fate. He could be hunted down, potentially destroyed, utterly humiliated.

He could end up dead.

Closing his eyes….

*click*

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