Friday Fictioneers – I Don’t Know Why You Don’t Want Me

(Author’s Note: None. Fictioneers Ahoy!)

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© Roger Bultot

by Miles H. Rost

 

Serenity.

It’s what Holly Blankenship always wanted.

She understood there was a price to be paid for having that serenity, and she was willing to pay it. For a while. The old ruins of the science building on campus gave it to her, and no one around to say anything.

But she didn’t want to be alone. She wanted serenity, without the loneliness.

“Excuse me. Is this ruin taken?” she heard from behind.

She whipped her head around at the male voice behind her. His eyes widened and he started to run away.

She sighed, turning around again.

Alone again.

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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.)

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©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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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 – Desert Oasis

(Author’s note: Nothing. Let’s do this!)

© Jan Marler Morrill

Desert Oasis

by Miles H. Rost

“So this is where you ended up, eh?”
“Yeah. Who would have thought that I would be the heir to the Sultanate.”

Mark O’Connor and Rahim Zaharia walked down the desert path within the walled town.

“10 years ago, we were pulling pranks on Melinda Clouse. And now you’re the Sultan of Watoomba.”
“8 years after becoming, I’m still not used to it. There are so many different things I have to do. Sometimes, I need an oasis from this desert.”
“Ever thought about coming back to the USA?”

Rahim shook his head.

“The people need me here. I am their oasis in this unforgiving desert.”

Friday Fictioneers – Sweet Freedom

Friday Fictioneers is here! Enjoy!

© Al Forbes

Sweet Freedom

by Miles H. Rost

“Got it loaded up?” Mark asked.

“Yeah. Took about an hour to do, but she’s still in good condition,” his brother, Peter, replied.

When they first saw the old jalopy, they knew that they had to have her. But it cost almost everything they had to get it from the owner, who hated what it was and was leaving it to rot.

“Can’t believe how much it took to get her out of that prison. But just wait, with a little time, we’ll get her running again. I mean, we already got her looking clean.”

The car beamed in the sunshine, free.

Friday Fictioneers – What’d I Say?

(Author’s note: I hope to be up for new things soon. I got smacked around by a cold last weekend. I hope to do a lot more soon. Anyhow, here’s today’s work!)

 

© Jan W. Fields

What’d I Say

by Miles H. Rost

Sex.

It was all Marcus knew. It was all that oozed out of his pores. And as he sat at the piano, his back against the ivories, he looked like he was about to pop.

Sex.

It was also a big problem. He held the letter in his hand, frowning at it. 13 names, 13 women, 13 calls for more money than he could ever make in a year.

He turned around and looked at the keys. He needed to find an outlet for all the sex in his system.

He found it in C minor…

Friday Fictioneers – New Year On High

(Author’s Note: The first Fictioneers of 2016, and I’m doing something a little different: Unique name, same great music and fiction you’ve come to love and enjoy! Next week’s writing will come from Cheongju, South Korea.)

 

© Melanie Greenwood

New Year On High

by Miles H. Rost

“I never though I’d see fireworks like this!”
“You mean, from ten thousand feet up in a jet?”
“This was a great idea, Mitch. You really made my New Year’s!”
“And I would like to make many more of these with you. Though, if you told me 9 years ago that I was going to be taking my worst enemy from high school up in my own private jet to celebrate New Year’s above Sydney…”
“And who would have though that I would actually be dating my sworn enemy in the first place.”
“Well, Melinda, they say people who hate each other sometimes really have too much love.”
“Wish I knew that back then. Would–“