(Author’s note: After a month of preparing, moving, and finally getting ensconced in my location, I’ve now moved out of the big city and I’m now out in a small town. It already feels good, even if it’s unusual for how I’ve been living. Anyhow, here’s some new Fictioneers with a song that I first heard in a coffee shop in Seoul back in 2016.)
by Miles H. Rost
Pierre thumped forward as the brakes took hold.
He did not see the stop sign until just about late. Had he ran the sign, he would have run into Renault that turned from the side street.
It had been the case all week where he would see the bloom and become transfixed. He nearly wiped out an Uber driver, two semis, and a Polizei cruiser with his inattentiveness.
He pulled over and got out, sitting on the hood of the car and gazing lost at the blooms. He sighed, alternating between the blooms and a picture of his deceased child.
(Author’s note: Everytime I say I’m going to write more and get things done, life sets me up with other curve balls. Lately, it’s been my health. Not anything particular, just dealing with tiredness due to the type of work I do. It makes a person lazy. But, today, I am feeling particularly well to write. So here we go!)
by Miles H. Rost
“Babes, wake up.”
Selena sat up slowly, bleary-eyed at the soft voice of her mate.
“You haven’t been eating much lately. I figured I’d do something nice for us today, Crepes, toast, eggs, bacon for me, and vegetables for you.”
She slowly scooted back, propping herself up against the headboard. She noticed dandelions in water next to the food.
“I haven’t been eating because I couldn’t keep anything down.” “Is this how it’s going to be?”
He looked out the nearby window, sighing.
“Only for a short time. I mean, morning sickness doesn’t last that long.” “I really hope so.”
(Author’s note: Starting next week, I will be taking a social media break. It will not impact writing, but contact on Twitter, Gab, and Facebook will be curbed for one month. E-mail will be alright, if you need to. Here’s today’s Fictioneers…)
If you could see what I’ve seen, you’d swear I was not normal.
On one hand, I see like a child. Innocence, virtue, trust, all in one place. One another hand, I see death, vindictiveness, the decay of the world. And on the third hand, the one never seen, there’s pain, deception, and even love.
Every slap a betrayal, every push a declaration of love, every tear a cry for relief and comfort. And each time I am asked the same question: Is it all worth it?
For these children marked from substance abuse: You’re damn right.