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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.

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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.

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Friday Fictioneers – Sunday Bloody Sunday

(May 18th. A day that links Korea and America in two different events. This short mini-fic is one event.)

© J. Hardy Carroll

Sunday Bloody Sunday

by Miles H. Rost

“General, sir!”

The General, Chun Doo-Hwan, looked down at his messenger. The current leader of South Korea furrowed his brow

“Yes. What is it?”

“The Gwangju situation is getting out of control. The students are starting to march.”

“Did we get any news from the US Ambassador?”

“President Carter’s man said that they’re okay with the plan.”

“Then it’s simple. We get order back. Send in the Special Weapons Commandos and see if the students actually can stand up to them.”

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(All photos are copyright to their respective owners. No money is being made off these images being used.)

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Friday Fictioneers – I Won’t Hold You Back

(Author’s Note: A bit later than normal due to school conference. Here’s today’s fictioneers…and for the record, I’ve been really busy. Hence why it’s only been Fictioneers for a while now.)

 

© Emmy L. Gant

I Won’t Hold You Back

by Miles H. Rost

Marty looked at her picture. He sat on the park bench, tears slowly falling down his face.

He remembered the times they sat under that very bench. Holding, love flowing between both of them. He remembered just how much he loved her, and that he told her that it would be forever. He remembered the look on her face when she saw the ring, and when she wore the wedding dress that made her look so radiant.

He remembered those words he said, as she lay in that hospital bed.

“I won’t hold you back, sweetie.”

His last words to her. Cancer took over.

He collapsed. Openly bawling in the park.

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Friday Fictioneers – I’ll Still Be Loving You

© Sandra Crook

I’ll Still Be Loving You

by Miles H. Rost

The clock stayed at 9:15 for 15 years. Never moved an inch.

We held hands under that clock. Pledged our love undying.

We held hands, said forever, and gave our first kiss under that clock.

Under that clock, you told me we were having a baby. And when you told me that you miscarried.

I waited for you under that clock, for half the day.

I received the news. You were gone. Instantaneous.

What am I to do now? I cry, I wail, I weep. What do I do?

I heard a click, and looked up.

The hands moved.

9:16.


 

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Friday Fictioneers – Bright Eyes

(Author’s note: Happy new year, everyone! Here’s to your 2016, and here’s the last Fictioneers of the year. Hope to have more stuff in 2016 besides Friday Fictioneers.)

© Jean L. Hays

Bright Eyes

by Miles H. Rost

Eyes stared out of the window of the coffee shop.

The windows of the real estate office across the street were suddenly covered with darkening window hangings.

Half of the people in the coffee shop looked in shock, while the other half kept drinking their lattes like nothing had happened.

One person knelt in the street, looking into the eyes of their loved one. The loved one looked up, the energy in their eyes slowly melting away.

She called for help. Called for someone to call an ambulance. She looked into the eyes of the people in the coffee shop.

They all turned back to their coffee.

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Friday Fictioneers – I Am A Rock

(Author’s Note: Things are stable down here in Melbourne, for the time being. Grades are starting to come in, so we’re waiting to see what happens. Due to my job search, I haven’t have had much time to actually do other writing besides Friday Fictioneers, but I plan to once things get further stabilized. In the meantime, here’s today’s Fictioneers piece.)

Photo Caption © Sandra Crook

I Am A Rock

by Miles H. Rost

(Not based on a true event or story)

The clouds boiled up in the south. The seas were calm, but they would become wild. The man stood near the edge of the craggy sandstone cliff, watching it all unfold.

The first storm of the season was about to hit his small Australian fishing village, and people were getting things ready for the haul that would come in: Felled timber from the western hills, fish from the bay.

“Fiona, you’d be proud of the people you’ve led,” the man said, as he opened the small urn. He tossed the contents into the air, nary a tear being shed.