Friday Fictioneers – It’s Good To Be King

(Author’s note: I have to apologize to all my readers and others who I should be reading. The last couple weeks dealing with the run-up to winter camp left me with little energy to respond, and that’s all on me. I will be doing better, now that camp has started and I have an idea of what’s going on, to actually visit and remark on other people’s stories.

In the meantime, here’s my fictioneers story, and it’s a bit of a historical thing…)

derelict-building-sandra-crook

© Sandra Crook

It’s Good To Be King

by Miles H. Rost

Steve disliked working at the school. It was not something he wanted to do.

He was waiting for news that seemed to never come. Meanwhile, he had to teach these hormonal girls how to write. It was a Sisyphean task.

When he was called to the office, he thought he was in trouble.

“It’s your wife,” the receptionist said, handing him the phone.

“Tabs, what’s going on?”

“Steve, I just got a telegram.”

“Yeah?”

“They’re going to print. They are asking if $4200 is enough.”

Steve smiled. His work about the kids he taught would be published.

Carrie would be unleashed.

(courtesy of Wikimedia)

(Courtesy of the Boston Globe)

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Friday Fictioneers – Train of Thought

Author’s Note: Welcome aboard yet again! Most of you have noticed that today’s offering is a bit late. That’s because a lot of things have happened this week regarding my potential move to Australia. Things should be stable, and because of that…here’s your story for today! 

copyright Jennifer Pendergast

Train of Thought

by Miles H. Rost

Obedience.

Lucas Milford hated hearing that word, in the modern context. His commute and his job, though, were the biggest forms of forced obedience for him.

He looked around the subway car, seeing all the gray and black suits and dresses. He wondered for just a moment whether he would be able to survive it all.

“Pulling into 92nd Street. Next stop: 112th Street – Broadway Station” the speaker droned out.

Lucas sighed as the train pulled one stop closer to his home. He started to close his eyes.

A flash of yellow streaked by him.

His eyes shot open, and he looked around. He spied the lemon yellow dress of a beautiful woman, whose green eyes bore into his, and red hair screamed out “different!” to him.

“Such…color…” he said, as the woman started moving closer to him.