Friday Fictioneers – Skating

(Author’s note: Doing something dangerous. Took off my splint and am writing this properly. Putting splint back on after it’s done, but so far…no problems. Anyhow, here’s today’s fictioneers…just for all y’all.)

russells-bw

© The Court Jester of Friday Fictioneers, Russell Gayer

Skating

by Miles H. Rost

Running from the frozen lake, Brian Gerlach saw the open shed and the toilet.

“Brian, come on! We’ve only got another hour before our moms call us for dinner.”
“But I really gotta go!”
“Fine, but you’re on your own!”

He didn’t need their help. He’d use the toilet and get back to skating. It was winter after all.

He sat down on the snow-colored commode and did his business. He tried to stand up, but his behind wouldn’t budge.

Worse yet, the water around his skates had since frozen up.

He cried for help, worried that it wouldn’t come.

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Friday Fictioneers – Set Me In Motion

(Author’s Note: Currently working on my summer plans, and it’s going to be quite interesting come August. Here’s today’s fictioneers, and if you know the title/song, then you know why I used it.)

charred-toys

© Karuna

Set Me In Motion

by Miles H. Rost

Sarah Jeon was in tears.

Her family home in rural Kentucky had burned down. It spread too fast for her to get the two small teddy bears that were her last connection to her birth mom in Korea.

While firemen hosed down the hollow house, one walked over from the remains of her bedroom, carrying something in a sheet.

“Little lady,” the 6-foot-5 firefighter boomed, as he kneeled down to look at the 8 year old, “This little one was looking for you.”

He opened the sheet, her bear only singed

“Kimchi!” she cried.

She hugged and cried into his shoulder.

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Friday Fictioneers – Let Me Go Home

(Author’s note: After having 2 and a half of the toughest weeks that I’ve ever had, including fighting off illness and dealing with a crapton of stress that just wouldn’t quit, I’m largely doing okay. Here’s Today’s fictioneers.)

dale-rogerson-pizza

©Dale Rogerson

by Miles H. Rost

The couch was the point of no return.

Harvey sat, his legs curled up underneath, exhaustion seeping from every pore of his body.

It was so bad, he couldn’t eat properly. The gourmet pizza, and bottle of expensive wine, sat barely touched on a counter. He could eat it later, but by that time, the wine might have turned to vinegar.

He sat, staring at the blank wall in front of him, the couch being his place of refuge.

He wanted out of his life, but had to return to the 9 to 5 the next morning.

In his exhaustion, he cried.

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