(Author’s note – Oh come on now. This is low hanging fruit! Enjoy!)
© Brenda Cox
Season of the Witch by Miles H. Rost
A spinster on a bike.
The classic trope of old-style writing was personified by Miss Jane Banfield. Miserly, grumpy, past her prime. Jane was not someone to cross, and this day, a young girl’s cat crossed her with its claws. She held the basket lid down, blazing as fast as she could on her bike, trying to look prim and proper while making sure the feline didn’t escape. She didn’t realize that she was going too fast until she hit the small hill before the intersection. Bike and person flew, as cat leaped out. They said the cleanup was gruesome.
(Author’s note: Hey, folks! Hoping to be in the clear on things after next week. Spending time focused on my driver’s test. Praying I can pass it correctly. Here’s today’s fictioneers!)
© Douglas M. MacIlroy
by Miles H. Rost
She let go with all her skill.
Janie Palmieri watched as the disc flew off into the distance. The last hole of the regional disc golf competition, and she could only watch.
The disc continued to sail on the winds. Like a feather, it floated gently upon the light breeze.
As Janie ran down the hill towards the “hole”, the disc fluttered slightly.
The wind changed direction.
Janie could not look. Her eyes huddled into the crook of her elbow, not wanting to see the faltering.
Cheers erupted. Janie looked up.
The disk lay vertical in the “hole”.
(Author’s note: So, for the first time in a long time, I missed Fictioneers last week. I was on an Amtrak crossing the Northwest quadrant of the US, to visit family in Minnesota. I am on the way back later this week, so I got time to write this week. I will have more about things coming up, but I figured today would be a good day for writing a fictioneers. Enjoy!)
© Dale Rogerson
by Miles H. Rost
“Those are the biggest speakers I have ever seen.”
Janelle craned her neck to see the top of the massive sound blasters. Marty just chuckled as he turned knobs.
“These babies should be able to project our band’s sound everywhere.”
Marty smiled as he plugged his guitar into the amp.
“Are you sure you’re not going to go deaf?”
“What? Me? Go deaf? This isn’t “Back To The Future”!”
He lifted his pick, Janelle knowingly jumping behind the couch. He brought it down.
Janelle looked up after the colossal *boom*, seeing Marty fly over her into a table of strawberries.