Friday Fictioneers – Moon Over Georgia

(Author’s note: I’m sick. This means my brains are warped. Enjoooo~oy!)

fridays-moon-ted-strutz

© Ted Strutz

The Moon Over Georgia
by Miles H. Rost

The voice was husky, tough yet soft.

“You have a choice, Melinda.”

The werewolf turned around and stared at his daughter, a blonde-furred beauty.

“Your inheritance will be released to you early, if you marry Martin.”

He gestured to a black-furred werewolf from a tribe in Idaho.

“Or marry Gerald, whom you claim to love; and renounce everything, yet be free of the curse.”

He gestured to a plain-looking, bespectacled man of around 30.

Melinda looked, then latched onto Gerald and jumped off the yacht.

Melinda bobbed up after a moment; her fur and muzzle both gone.

She would marry Gerald, instead.


(Warning: Strong Language.) (This is the inspiration, in a way.)

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Friday Fictioneers – Human Touch

(Author’s notes: A lot of things will be happening in the next couple months, mostly outside of this blog. But, I plan to do everything in my power to make sure that some benefits reach each one of you, my readers. I am hoping to see some fruit come soon, and I pray that you all will be enjoying things.

Also, quick greetings to all comers from My Music Canvas and Oh My Gloss!. Welcome to Music and Fiction! Put your feet up and read a bit! Here’s today’s fictioneers!)

red-apple-rest-jhc

© J. Hardy Carroll

by Miles H. Rost

The machinist always worked quietly in the back of the building.

He kept to his work, only coming up to meet people to collect payment.

He was young, good looking, but painfully shy. His bravery shown through when wielding metal and acetylene torches.

He heard a clang up at the front. Grabbing a torch, he creeped up behind large metal sheets, and caught the noisemaker as they were coming around the corner.

“Who are you?” he demanded, looking into the welding mask of the culprit.

The mask went up, revealing a pretty woman’s face.

“I’ve been looking for you, Machinist.”

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Friday Fictioneers – Breaking Hearts

(Author’s note: Thank you, everyone, for your notes on last week’s fictioneers. It was a big undertaking, though people may not have known it. Anyhow, here’s this week’s fictioneers!)

old-shoes-cobwebs

© Sarah Potter

Breaking Hearts (Ain’t What It Used To Be)

by Miles H. Rost

Paul froze, chilled by what he saw.

The old pair of shoes, the ones he used to wear when stepping out, lay sprawled in the back of his closet.

The shoes reminded him of what others termed “the good old days”, the days when free blow and free sex was in high supply.

He violently flung them out the window of his brownstone, one shoe accidentally smashing into a cat perched on top of a garbage can.

Paul moved slowly to his couch, the place he spent the most time. Covered up under a blanket, he awaited his fate.

Alone.

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Friday Fictioneers – Hold On My Heart

(Author’s note: A couple things to add this time.

First, I’d like to welcome a new person to the link-world of Music And Fiction. My good friend Sarah Kim does a special music blog, called My Music Canvas, where she features lots of different music from all over. She’s an incredible musical soul, and someone who is very passionate about it. And being as this blog IS called “Music and Fiction”, there had to be a good connection. So everyone should go over to My Music Canvas, and drop a little note to Sarah about the music she looks at and discusses.

Next, this last year has been a bit of a difficult one in trying to write more than just fictioneers. However, I did write a very short story. It was something I just needed to get out, and even though the wording may seem unbelievable, it really doesn’t matter. It’s something that needed to be written and posted on here. So if you have the notion, go over to my longer-fiction work called “No Promises“, and enjoy.

Now, onto a very heart-laden Friday Fictioneers (which like most of my stories are not based on true events, unless I say so. ^_-)

hearty-bread

© Kelvin M. Knight

Hold On My Heart

by Miles H. Rost

He scraped the knife across the piece of bread.

The peanut butter rolled on like a blanket, melting slightly as it touched the hot dough.

Rolling like the tear that tumbled down his cheek.

Each spread brought one more tear.

He dipped the sticky knife into the jar of homemade cherry jam, pulling out the red preserves.

He sniffed.

He spread the thick and sweet concoction on the other slice.

Another tear teetered on his chin.

He wrapped the sandwich, and put it in his bag. He dried his face, and sighed.

He found that tears added something to sandwiches.

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No Promises

No Promises
a snapshot story by Miles H. Rost
——–
“I am interested in you.”

Sheila looked up from her journal and blinked. She didn’t register the words at first. They smacked her in the face, but it took many seconds for her to let the words absorb into her mind.

She looked at Martin, her good friend and former co-worker at her company. The expression on his spectacle-clad face was more serious than any time she had seen him. He was there with determination, his blue-grey eyes boring into hers with an intensity that she had never seen in the year and a half they worked with each other.

“You’re…interested in me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”

Martin put a hand through his hair, and took in a deep breath.

“I’m interested because you have made me interested. You have displayed different properties about yourself, different characteristics that appeal to me. Your faith in Christ, and your way with working with children intrigues me. The different aspects of who you are fascinates me.”

He’s trying too hard, she thought.

“I am interested in you because I know a lot, but I don’t know enough. But I also feel like there’s a chance that if we explored this, that we may find out that we’re a lot more alike in ways. And I would like to take that chance to explore this.”

Sheila looked up through her glasses, her face not betraying the fact that she was as nervous about this as Martin likely was.

“In short, you want to go out on a date so we can get to know each other more.”
“Yes. I’d like to go out on a date with you.”
“No.”

Martin sat back in his chair, and blinked. He said nothing, but blinked, as though her simple one word answer was the longest book in the world. He finally drew a breath and smiled.

“Thank you.”

It was Sheila’s turn to be shocked. Thank you? What?!

“Sheila, I’ve been nervous about asking you out for nearly a year now. I have been spending so much time in trying to find the right words to ask you out, to see if you’re interested.”
“And me saying no is something great for you?”
“Because you were willing to say something.”
“What do you mean?”
“You didn’t string me along for weeks.”

Sheila blinked, and slowly nodded.

“You also gave me a firm answer. This allows me to move on, and to keep you as a good friend. Something I have only a few of. No promises that need to be kept, too.”

“Well,” she replied, taking in a breath, “I guess I should say ‘you’re welcome’. But I still don’t understand why.”
“You gave me an answer. You didn’t string me along. That means a lot more to me than anything.”

Martin smiled, as he stood.

“Sheila, I’m happy. I like being friends with you. This helps by getting any romantic interests out of the way.”

Sheila looked up at him, as he was gathering his jacket and hat.

“Martin…”
“Yes?”
“I hate this.”
“Hate what?”
“That you put everything out there, and all I could say is ‘No.’.”
“It’s what I wanted and needed to hear, though. Don’t hate what is true. It is freeing.”

Martin smiled, as he put on his hat.

“I mean, I am going to hurt a little bit, because I was in hope about everything. But that you told me the truth, and I can accept it while still thinking of you as a real good friend.”

Sheila raised her eyebrows.

“That tells me you’re worth more as a friend.”

He gave her a smirk, bowed, and walked down the stairs of the cafe.

Sheila was alone, the sounds of “proto-jazz” bleating across the speakers. She sat, thinking about the simple words that she said, and how they impacted her life, as well as the life of her friend.

She looked down at her journal, and write in some new words on the bottom.

“One word can change the course of a human’s history.”

 

Friday Fictioneers – I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight

(Author’s note: The song doesn’t match, but I couldn’t find one for “You died of dysentery”. Otherwise, Enjoy!)

danny-boweman-1

© Danny Bowman

I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight

by Miles H. Rost

“This is not fun.”

“Oh, come on, Dave. This is the adventure of a lifetime! To really live and breathe as your ancestors did all those years ago.”

“All my ancestors died of dysentery, Rachel. Only one line was able to make it.”

“But, your family did make it to Oregon didn’t it?”

“Yeah, but most of them died of dysentery!”

“I get that…I really do. But that doesn’t matter because you’re here now. And you’re living as they did.”

“When I said I wanted to play Oregon Trail, it was the computer game.”

“Oh…Uh… Check supplies again?”

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Friday Fictioneers – I Don’t Know Why You Don’t Want Me

(Author’s Note: None. Fictioneers Ahoy!)

smallpox-hospital-roger-bultot

© Roger Bultot

by Miles H. Rost

 

Serenity.

It’s what Holly Blankenship always wanted.

She understood there was a price to be paid for having that serenity, and she was willing to pay it. For a while. The old ruins of the science building on campus gave it to her, and no one around to say anything.

But she didn’t want to be alone. She wanted serenity, without the loneliness.

“Excuse me. Is this ruin taken?” she heard from behind.

She whipped her head around at the male voice behind her. His eyes widened and he started to run away.

She sighed, turning around again.

Alone again.

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