(Author’s note – Oh come on now. This is low hanging fruit! Enjoy!)
© Brenda Cox
Season of the Witch by Miles H. Rost
A spinster on a bike.
The classic trope of old-style writing was personified by Miss Jane Banfield. Miserly, grumpy, past her prime. Jane was not someone to cross, and this day, a young girl’s cat crossed her with its claws. She held the basket lid down, blazing as fast as she could on her bike, trying to look prim and proper while making sure the feline didn’t escape. She didn’t realize that she was going too fast until she hit the small hill before the intersection. Bike and person flew, as cat leaped out. They said the cleanup was gruesome.
(Author’s Note: Wahoo! Another week! For those who wrote related to my photo last week, I will be dropping comments this week. Thank you for all the creativity, and I cannot wait to actually respond properly. As for me…here’s this week’s work!)
© Liz Young
I’ll Let You Drive by Miles H. Rost
“Alright, Hye-Jin, put the car in reverse and slowly back out.”
Cho Hye-Jin moved her shaking hand to the gearshift, and put it in reverse. Slowly, she pressed on the accelerator, yet the car still lurched. “It’s okay, Hye-Jin. It’s your first day. We’re not expecting perfection.” She took a quick breath, and slowly maneuvered the car backwards. She put on brakes and shifted into drive.
“Okay, now turn right out of–“
A blaze of tabby orange.
The squealed meow across the hood of the car. The push of a gas pedal. *CRASH* “Wangjiangnim…” “Yes?” “I let you drive”
(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!)
© 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.
(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.
Merry Christmas from Music and Fiction. More stories to come in the next couple weeks!
© Scott VanNatter
You Ain’t Seen Nothin’ Yet
by Miles H. Rost
“Now, Bobsie, stay out of the tree.”
My cat, the little furchild named Bobsie, looked at me with a blank state, before finally meowing. I took that to be a sign of acceptance, as I started wrapping my gifts.
I didn’t want a repeat of last year’s tree debacle, so I kept one eye on elusive Bobsie and one of my tape dispenser.
Things went swimmingly after that, until I finished with the last present, and threw the empty wrapping paper tube to the side.
I watched Bobsie leap from the table, catch the tube in mid-air, then cannonball straight into the tree. Half of the ornaments dropped, one or two cracking.
He found his way into the tree, and I am the one getting in trouble for it with my girlfriend, who just arrived home.