Friday Fictioneers – Breaking Hearts

(Author’s note: Thank you, everyone, for your notes on last week’s fictioneers. It was a big undertaking, though people may not have known it. Anyhow, here’s this week’s fictioneers!)

old-shoes-cobwebs

© Sarah Potter

Breaking Hearts (Ain’t What It Used To Be)

by Miles H. Rost

Paul froze, chilled by what he saw.

The old pair of shoes, the ones he used to wear when stepping out, lay sprawled in the back of his closet.

The shoes reminded him of what others termed “the good old days”, the days when free blow and free sex was in high supply.

He violently flung them out the window of his brownstone, one shoe accidentally smashing into a cat perched on top of a garbage can.

Paul moved slowly to his couch, the place he spent the most time. Covered up under a blanket, he awaited his fate.

Alone.

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Friday Fictioneers – Clubbing

Author’s note – Trying my best to do more than just fictioneers stuff on here, but kinda stuck dealing with pre-grad studies “crunk”. Hope to be back in form next week.

© Sandra Crook

The Club At The End Of The Street

by Miles H. Rost

The bubble popped in Carlotta’s mouth.

“So, where are we going?”

“I found a little place. In fact, look down the street. See the man holding a cigar?”

“Yeah, I see him.”

“We’re gonna go clubbing tonight.”

She looked at her boyfriend and smiled. Finally, doing something she wanted to do. She hopped up and down as they walked down the small “street”. They finally reached the man with the cigar. He sneered.

“What’s the password?”

Club a baby seal for a better deal,” her boyfriend replied.

“Great! Have fun!”

Cigar man handed her boyfriend a hunk of wood.

“Whatcha gonna do with that?” she asked.

“I did say we’d go ‘clubbing’,” he said, as he bopped her over the head.

Friday Fictioneers – Candle on the Table

A little note saying sorry for no posts this week. Due to some rather weird health issues, as well as  lot of stress, I was in a bad place for a bit. Now that I’m better, however, I am ready to post and have fun with things. Make sure to keep a watch on this site, as you will have more stories coming soon. Now, on with the show!

copyright Renee Heath

Candle On The Table

She was entranced by the  music. Elton John was always her favorite.

Hearing him sing “Candle In The Wind” was one of the highlights of her day when she sat down to relax after work. In fact, she played the song so much that she would sing it even at work.

This night, she was so entranced by the song that she didn’t notice what was happening on top of the table on the far wall.

The candle she lit had melted down, and the burning wick slowly fell onto the table. Catching a piece of paper on fire.

She didn’t notice as the house started on fire…

I’m Still Standing

by Miles Rost

Blood trickled down the man’s face, mixing with dirt and grime. The flick of the tongue grabbed onto the liquid and brought it into his mouth.

The taste of it was satisfaction for Stan Bernal.

For 23 years, he worked for a large manufacturing firm in the big city across the river from his hometown. It was a good living, making cardboard and paper boxes for a variety of companies and firms. The job was perfect for the man with only a high school education, with one exception:

Jack Blaine.

Blaine was a co-worker, who took an instant dislike to Stan. Every single day, for 23 years, Stan had to deal with at least one insult coming out of the mechanic. For 22 years and 364.25 days, it was business as usual. Stan would walk in, he’d get hit with two insults from Blaine, and he would go to his post like nothing happened.

July 15th, 2011 was a day that would go down in history at the company.

Stan arrived at work like clockwork. Old habits died hard, as they say. He walked in and awaited the first two barrages of insults from Blaine.

They never came.

Stan, shook by the lack of insults, looked around and walked into the lunchroom. Putting away his lunchbucket in his refrigerated locker, he got his safety equipment on and started moving out to the floor for the start of his day. He asked one of the other boys if Blaine was around. Getting past their remarks about him wanting to be insulted, they indicated that they didn’t see him that morning

The first part of his shift passed with no trouble. He fed the machines the new sheets of rough paperboard, which later became cardboard. The tedium nearly got to him, until he walked over to turn his machine off. As he pressed the button to turn it off, a sudden ka-THUNK brought him back to reality. As did the searing pain in his arm.

His machine had pinched his arm in between two metal plates, and the pain was intensifying with each set of seconds. As he screamed out in pain, others came around to pull his arm out of the jam. He sat down and the medic looked at his arm, declaring that he was lucky and that it was only flesh wounds. He would be going home for the first time in 23 years.

Stan walked to the lunchroom, and was just about to walk in, when he heard a cackling sound around the side of the modular lunchroom. He walked around to investigate, and looked in shock.

Jack Blaine was cackling.

And holding two bolts that were from his machine.

Stan’s face suddenly started boiling red, his eyes went white, and with a mighty cry reminiscent of Adam Sandler’s “waterboy”, he leaped upon the laughing gentleman.

Stan’s leap made his arm go into a pain spasm, but with the amount of adrenalin going through his system, he didn’t feel any of it. He pulled Jack down onto the floor and started raining blows with his good arm.

It looked like it would be a one-way fight until Jack flipped Stan over and into a water cooler. As the machine spilled it’s contents over Stan, Jack rushed over to pick him up. Jack lined up for a punch, and connected with Stan’s face.

Yet, Jack suddenly felt a pressure upon his nether regions, and started screeching in pain.

At the same time as Jack connected with Stan’s face, Stan’s foot crunched Jack’s nuts.

Both men went down, Jack howling in pain and Stan lolling about. The fight was now about time, and how much time it would take for either man to get the initiative.

For a moment, it looked as though Jack would be able to get up and take the lead. However, Stan stumbled over to Jack and smashed his foot into Jack’s face. Repeating his blow a few times, Stan lowered himself down and grabbed Jack’s work shirt. He pulled him up and spat in his face.

He then threw two punches. One connected with Jack’s nose and made a sickening crunch. The other blow landed on the side of Jack’s head. The last punch was the last thing Jack would see for two whole days.  His body became limp, and fell out of Stan’s hands.

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON OVER HERE?!?!” a bellowing sound echoed throughout the warehouse.

Nobody moved, while Stan turned to look at the incoming foreman.

“Stan! What the hell are you doing?”

Stan looked up at the foreman, and gave him the two bolts that were in Jack’s hand.

“Jack tried to kill me. I was about to leave for home, and I heard him laughing about it. I wanted to make sure that I was the last one standing.”

The foreman looked at the unconscious form of Jack Blaine and sighed.

“It took 23 years to finally get you two to get your differences ironed out.”

“I’m still standing, boss. Better than I ever did. I feel like a true survivor, though no longer like a little kid.”

“Well, I can guarantee one of you two will not be here on Monday morning. And more than likely, it’ll be him. It all depends on you.”

Stan smiled, looking down at Jack’s still body.

“We’ll do the paperwork now. I’m still standing. I just may need the next couple of days off to recover from the near death I got today.”