(Author’s statement: My apologies. Last week’s miss of the Friday Fictioneers was due to having back to back medical treatments and getting home VERY late. So I will try to make up for it this week. Anyhow, here’s today’s fictioneers:)
© Sandra Crook
by Miles H. Rost
High tide. Sitting on the beach.
The water comes around, bathing the lower half of my body.
Josephine is next to me.
I look down and smile. She loves the ocean, and everything that comes with it. Always did.
She grew up by the ocean, even took jobs on the fishing boats in her teens. Boys called her “Tuna”.
She set the record for largest ahi tuna caught in the province. She was a senior in high school then.
I stand, and pick Josephine up. I open the top, and pour her out.
Josephine, I send you all my love.
(Author’s Note: Merry Christmas. When I find out more info, I could have updates. To make it simple: I may be moving to public school teaching. Otherwise, here’s today’s Fictioneers! Merry Christmas, yet again!)
© Roger Bultot
Driving Home For Christmas
by Miles H. Rost
Justin Lamphere walked. Carrying a pack and a gas can, he held his thumb out. Around his thumb, a keychain with the picture of a 7 year old girl.
“I hope I can get home to you, peanut,” he said, as though she was there.
Just as he turned around, he heard a vehicle pull over onto the gravel.
“Hey!” he heard a shout from the car, “Trying to get home for Christmas, Marine?”
“Yeah!” Justin called out, running towards the car.
“Get your butt in here, maggot! We’re getting you home!”
Thank you, Lord…and thank you, Chesty Puller, he thought.
(A tribute to all writers who struggle through constant writer’s block)
© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (our Blogmother!)
by Miles H. Rost
Mug of coffee? Check.
Scratch paper and plenty of 0.5 HB lead sharps? Check.
Typewriter ribbon changed? Check.
Circuit breaker off, lamps on? Check.
He was ready. Nothing could distract him, and nothing could get him down. He was going to write and that was that. He put his fingers on the keyboard and breathed.
And he breathed again.
3 hours later, he was still breathing. Not a single word typed.
He removed his hands from the keyboard and sighed.
“There goes my day…”
by Miles Rost
Highway 101 was always one of our favorite roads. The meandering curves from Tillamook on down to Lincoln City, the high cliffs of Cape Perpetua, and the sudden rise and fall at Del Norte Redwoods were always memorable, especially if we were traveling in the harsh winter weather.
Traveling down that 101, you’d find a little small area off to the side of the road. It’s a small rest area of sorts, but for folks like us, we could have stayed there forever. The memories of those times when we stopped off at that rest area, they come flooding back everytime I look at a travel book.
The first memory was a solo trip down the coast, but it was the second memory that made the rest area south of Port Orford one that will be seared in my mind for eternity. It was upon the summer winds that I heard a certain melody. It was a mix of a sing-song call of a beautiful lady, the roar of the ocean, and the squawking of a seagull. One wouldn’t think that those in combination would do anything, but to say the very least, it was as close to a possible mating call that I could have ever dreamed. As newlyweds, we had to take every moment when we had a chance. And while it could have turned into a scene from the movie “From Here To Eternity”, it didn’t.
Each time we returned to that place, we would make more memories to build on. Days of strange desires and nights that burned like fire, they take me back to that place we both know. Even when we were caught in-flagrante by the county sheriff, we still made memories.
It’s been a few years since the last time we went to visit that little ol’ rest area. Being busy with work, and my beautiful wife doing her charity work, we always say that we want to go back and keep making more memories. Maybe this summer, we’ll go back and try it again. Though, I think we’ll be more careful not to traumatize the poor young couples that will come down to visit as well. If you want to find us, we’ll be on the beach.