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!)

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© 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.

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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. )

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© 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.

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Friday Fictioneers – Another Place

(Author’s note: I am hoping to do some cleanup and addressing of things in the upcoming future, but I’m unfortunately having to focus some of my off-time to completing the creation of tests and development of school related things. I plan to have an updated “State of the Blog” coming sometime around late April. Otherwise, here’s today’s fictioneers.)

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© Fatima Fakier Deria

by Miles H. Rost

Chengcheng looked up at the mast of her small junk. She knew it wouldn’t get her far.

 

“I must try. If I do not, I die.”

She looked out at the sea and smiled as a seagull took off in flight, exactly in the direction she wanted to go.

“A gull’s wings fly with the wind.”

She slowly moved the junk out into the harbor and along the coast. She figured it would take a day to get to Taiwan, to freedom.

The craft cleared and charted it’s course. It was up to the winds to get her to freedom.

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Friday Fictioneers – Three Of Me

(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…)

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© Liz Young

The Three Of Me

by Miles H. Rost

 If you could see what I’ve seen, you’d swear I was not normal.

I’m not.

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.

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Friday Fictioneers – Whatever Happens

(Author’s note: I will be doing some updates on this Chuseok weekend. I will also post a big personal non-story update, to give people an idea of what’s to come with Music and Fiction. In the meantime, here’s today’s fiction!)

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PHOTO PROMPT © Shaktiki Sharma

Whatever Happens

by Miles H. Rost

 Devon plopped the lump of clay on the wheel.

She cut and removed pieces she didn’t need, like pieces of her life that were unusable. She slowly formed the rounded lump with her hands. Pushing and pulling the clay, smoothing it out with water, she slowly developed it into a shapely, beautiful vase.

She pulled out a brush and some glaze. She pulled out a small tin, and mixed the grey powder into the small jar of glaze. She painted the fired vase, and put it back in for more firing.

The final product stood in the entryway, a tribute to her dearly lost husband, who was now a part of the beautiful vase.

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Friday Fictioneers – Cold River

(Author’s note: Nothing major. Still toiling on 10,000 words. Work’s getting in the way. Here’s today’s fictioneers.)

PHOTO PROMPT – © – Georgia Koch

Cold River

by Miles H. Rost

The winter came early for the people of Charleston-upon-Avonlea. Bitter cold came in mid-September, unannounced.

By early October, the river Avonlea had frozen over. 4 of every 10 people got supplies.

November came quickly, and the cold persisted. The river seemed to be nearly frozen solid. Attempts to do some ice fishing came up with very little except more ice.

The people were so used to doing their own thing, they didn’t ask for any sort of help from other places. They didn’t know how.

By the time the soft rains of April showed up, there was no one left alive. Even as the bustling village of Newport, 7 kilometers away, went about it’s own business.

Friday Fictioneers – Just Breathe

(Author’s note: A great response to last week’s story. Glad to hear things. Slowly getting back to normal after a major week of strangeness. Hope to have actual other fiction up and running. Now, last time I did this photo, it ended up with a father changing a diaper while wearing protective gear. What will come up this time?)

 

© Douglas M. MacIlroy

Just Breathe

by Miles H. Rost

“You don’t have to worry about anything. Just let yourself go and breathe,” Helen Young said, as her husband approached hyperventilation.
“There’s a reason I don’t like scubadiving.”
“I know, honey. But just breathe, and it’ll be like normal.”

The Youngs plunged into the water, Helen leading the way to a group of rocks about 125 feet down. She pointed down at them, and her husband went down to look at them.

From her side, she pulled out a knife and proceeded to cut his oxygen tube. Water rushed into his lungs, he gagged as he tried to surface for air.

“Freedom…” she thought.