death

by

Friday Fictioneers – Behind The Waterfall

© Anne Higa

Behind The Waterfall

by Miles H. Rost

The hike from the campsite to the water source was long.

The reward was clear, crisp, running water.

Sally looked around and smiled. She spied a little path going behind the waterfall. A curious teenager, she had to investigate it.

Reaching the back of the waterfall, she looked out at the beautiful blue-tinted waters pouring over the lip of the cave. The sight of the western sun shining through the water gave her heart peace.

Taking out a small bag, she untwisted the tie, and poured the contents out.

“Be at rest, Dad. You always said you loved the water.”

Click here to see more stories!

by

Friday Fictioneers – Dreams (Gone)

(Author’s note: Merry Christmas!)

© Trish Nankivell

Dreams (Gone)

by Miles H. Rost

Teddy stood, brushing the sand and dust off his clothes.

He lodged the large, uncut opal into the top of the headstone.

“Ay, da. I buried ya where the paper told me.”

Teddy’s father spent most of his life in the holes next to where he now laid. His fortune was in opals, a dangerous job with a great reward. The cancer treatments, though, depleted that fortune and left it all gone. By the time Teddy showed up, it was too late. He died.

“I’ll be back soon, da. I have to close this deal on oil with the Singaporeans.”

by

Friday Fictioneers – I Miss You

(Author’s note: Not much to say. “Quarantine” continues. Enjoy today’s missive!)

restaurant

©Dale Rogerson

I Miss You

by Miles H. Rost

8:45.

Kristina scanned the half-filled restaurant, bringing her eye to the empty table with the bright pink carnation.

“Hey, Jamie.”

The blonde at the end of the diner counter peeked her head up from under, a clattering of dishes announcing her.

“Have you seen Bart? He’s usually here at 7.”
“You mean table 9. Meatloaf, taters, and corn. Coffee with cream. Key Lime pie,”
“Yeah, that’s him.”

Jamie turner her head, staring out the front door.

“He died this morning. Rolled over to go to sleep, and … there.”

Kristina hung her head. Tears started to fall, as the hole in her heart gaped.

purple-inlinkz-frog

 

by

Friday Fictioneers – I Am I Said

(Writer’s notes: Most of you have seen that my output has been low lately. I’ll make it easy and simple: My work is mentally exhausting. I generally like to write, but when I get home from tough days of figuring out problems, I sometimes don’t have the capability to write. I am working on it for 2020, however, and hope to have more. I definitely have ideas. Here’s today’s fictioneers…)

006

© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

 I Am I Said

by Miles Rost

Eschel looked down at the foyer table. Yarmulke on one side, phone on other.

He wanted to go to synagogue tonight, but the attacks on his brethren nearby in Westchester were still playing through his mind.

His wife, Lillia, pleaded with him to call an Uber, or a taxi, to take him there. She didn’t want to see him jumped like the ones in Brooklyn last week.

He bowed for a second, before putting on the yarmulke.

“I am not afraid. I’m Jewish. There’s no crime in that.”

He wrapped his long coat around him, and went out the door.

(In memory of those who lost their lives while enjoying Hanukkah celebrations with their rabbi in New York.)

purple-inlinkz-frog

by

Friday Fictioneers – On Every Street

(Author’s note: Getting there. Enjoy!)

ssi-lights-of-jerusalem

© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

On Every Street

by Miles H. Rost

I turned down what used to be a busy college street, one that was full of bars, chicken shops, all the places a student in Korea would go.

I looked at how transformed it was. Gone were the karaoke houses, the pizza shops. Now it was condos, small boutiques, and a grown-up veneer.

Each place I remembered seeing Soong-Mi, gone.

Each memory of her smiling face: fading.

She went her way, I went mine. To meet one last time.

I laid a rose at her memorial, a cross on a corner. It’s her face I look for…on every street.

purple-inlinkz-frog

by

Friday Fictioneers – As Lights Fall

(Author’s note: Job is getting more hectic, more busy. Hoping to have more time now to do things. Didn’t get it last week. Here’s this week’s work:)

on-route-66-jean-l-hays

© Jean L. Hays

Reach

by Miles H. Rost

An investment of decades.

Bart slowly scanned the large stretch of land in Eastern Oregon that he called home. The sun was approaching the horizon, bathing him in an eerie orange.

He bought the land with a major investment he made just after World War II. He did well with the cattle, until he sold them a month before. The sale put into a safe trust for his grandchildren, provided they took up a marketable trade.

He put his back to the rock, and watched the sun go down.

As his final breath left him, it was his last call.

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!

Click here to enter

by

Friday Fictioneers – Ice

(Author’s note: Was gone last week, due to issues related to work. I hope to be a bit more consistent when I finally get myself into my own place again, instead of having to drive 45 minutes from work to get home. Anyhow, here’s special music to go along with today’s Fictioneers…)

 

dinner-table-prior

© Prior House

Ice

by Miles H. Rost

Another morning, another bucket of ice.

It didn’t matter what happened, Juanita always had to bring a bucket of ice upstairs to her employer’s chambers.

She knocked twice. That usually woke him up.

After a minute, she opened the door to his cavernous bedroom, overlooking the Pacific Ocean. She brought the ice over to the bed, and pulled the comforter off him.

A sea of black, purple, and blue caused her to gasp.

She reached down, trying to wake him up. The moment her fingers hit his skin, she recoiled.

He was as cold as the ice she brought in.

wpimg

by

Friday Fictioneers – King Of Wishful Thinking

(Author’s note: Late on the story tonight. In the middle of cleaning the apartment for the next tenant, and getting all my stuff ready to move out. I hope to have a bit more time coming up to get things done, and to do more with the blog. 

My time in Korea is ending. I will have a celebration post coming up, along with a State of the Blog very soon…likely while waiting for my flight in 2 weeks. Anyhow, enjoy today’s fictioneers.)

js-brand

© J.S. Brand

King Of Wishful Thinking

by Miles H. Rost

“What would you do with $10,000,000?”

The longtime fisherman dusted off his hands, and smiled.

“I’d fix this boat up properly, and then take it on a world tour.”

Laughs bubbled from the kids that sat on the dock, watching the old man.

“Your boat won’t go. Hasn’t for two years,” one of the snotty ones remarked.

Henry looked down.

“Sometimes gotta look at reality before experiencing it.”

The kids were silent, as Henry scraped more paint off the keel.

“Can’t work on a boat when your wife is sick, right? King of wishful thinking, y’know.”

They got up and left.

wpimg

by

Friday Fictioneers – Bambou

(Author’s note: I am hoping to be posting more in the upcoming summer season. Especially since I won’t have TV to watch, and hopefully I won’t be tested and tired more than I am already. Enjoy tonight’s music and fiction!)

dale-rogerson4

© Dale Rogerson

Bambou

by Miles H. Rost

He took in everything from his corner of the bar.

He noticed a man of his size walking into the bar, and beelining towards him.

“So, ‘Hank’, why am I here?” the man asked ‘Hank’.

“It’s my place for meetings.”

“In the middle of the Caribbean? I had to plunk down a chip to get here.”

“You’re wanted for a job.”

The man sat down, his eyes never moving.

“They want you to take a singer out.”

“Out to dinner, a movie?”

“Out.”

“Who’s the singer?”

“Me.”

The man blinked. ‘Hank’ gave him an envelope.

“Do it quickly, please.”

Silence.

wpimg

by

Friday Fictioneers – A White Sport Coat…

(Author’s note: Hoping to publish some actual stories in the near future. It’s more that right now I just need to survive the next three months at work. Once I get that done with, it’s all better sailing from there. Enjoy my throw back to the past. )

j-hardy-rubble

© J. Hardy Carroll

A White Sport Coat (and a Pink Carnation)

by Miles H. Rost

40 years ago, I met a beautiful young lady named Michelle. We were in an art class at a local community center.

We grew close. We dressed up fashionably, to go out dancing and impress our friends on campus.

After each night of dancing, we’d doff our clothing and work on our art, painting each other in all that God gave us.

I told her that I would love her forever.

40 years later, I have bought the building, the old art hall where we met. The art hall that was destroyed by grenades fired by national guardmen.

The hall where she died.

wpimg