Friday Fictioneers – Hot Rod Hearts

(Author’s note: So, to honor the purchase of my first new vehicle (as in less than 5 years old), I am celebrating while writing something related to transportation. Here we go, enjoy today’s fictioneers…involving someone famous!)

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© C.E.Ayr

Hot Rod Hearts

by Miles H. Rost

“Holy…Jan, is that you?!”

His voice rang across the Hollywood lot, as Jan turned around.

“Robbie?”

“I didn’t know you were here!”

Jan gave him that mischevious smile she always gave.

“Yeah, you did. You see me every Monday at 8.”

“Still…I figured I wouldn’t actually run into you at all.”

She stood tall and confident, the same rebellious spirit Robbie saw in her years ago.

“You know, I still have the motorcycle.”

“That old thing? Still runs?”

“Nah. Lots of memories with it. The shot that launched your career. Remember?”

“Yeah,” she sighed, “It got me to WKRP.”

 jan2bsmithers2bcolor2b1966-1

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Friday Fictioneers – Hangin’ By A Thread

(Author’s note: I have been gone for the last two weeks, due to an unfortunate car accident which left me in outpatient recovery. Dealing with the drama, I was unable to really concentrate on writing until today. So here is today’s fictioneers, hobbled as I may be.)

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© Jean Hays

Hangin’ By A Thread

by Miles H. Rost

The last shot.

Mitch was called to the abandoned market off Highway 66. His girlfriend wanted to talk. They had been going through a rough patch, started by a casual off-word about her life choices.

He figured this was his last shot at making up with a woman who truly loved.

He downed the whiskey and sat on the trunk of his large Cadillac. He waited until he heard the familiar whine of her VW Beetle.

The Beetle stopped in front. The window rolled down.

She leveled the shotgun and fired.

The radiator exploded.

She peeled out.

Mitch stood there, stone-faced.

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Friday Fictioneers – Take Me Home

(Author’s note: Nothing. Just letting the writing and music flow. Enjoy!)

jhc-asylum

© J. Hardy Carroll

Take Me Home

by Miles H. Rost

“So, Travis. Tell me where you went.”

Travis fidgeted and looked down at his feet.

“Travis, you know you can tell me.”

He looked up, his eyes bright.

“I was in Korea. It was so beautiful, with all the tall buildings in the distance. Seoul was beautiful, and I wish I could have seen more of it than what I did.”

The soft sound of writing filled the empty space.

“Then what?”

“Green. And red. Heat. The smell of decay. No more buildings. No more people. Charred meat.”

Writing paused.

‘Alright, Travis. Let’s go get your lunch and some pills.”

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Friday Fictioneers – The Eyes Of The Girl

(Author’s note: Y’all probably wondered where I went last week, right? To be straight about it, my job gets very tiring. I have to use my mind a lot, and I don’t always get the best sleep. Last week, we had a lot of things happen at once, and once I got off work, I just slept. I hope that this week is the end of that pattern, but we’ll see. Here’s today’s fictioneers!)

bonfire-anshu

© Anshu Bhojnagarwala

The Eyes Of The Girl

by Miles H. Rost

“And that’s when Larry stood up and said, “Men Without Pants!”, and whipped his off.”

The tales told around the annual university beach bonfire were incredible, as was the amount of liquor consumed.

Thomas sat back, one of the few who didn’t drink at parties. He stared into the roaring fire, content with all that was going on.

He moved his eyes up and immediately were struck by a pair of green eyes staring back through the flames.

First, shock. Then worry. After a blink, recognition.

The eyes approached him, the person behind them giving Thomas a great big hug.

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Friday Fictioneers – My Old Yellow Car

(Author’s note: And here we are, back again for another Friday Fictioneers. I hope to have some new non-micro-fiction material up soon. Jobs that wear out your mind, however, don’t seem to work very well with keeping up a writing schedule. No longer! I have a secret weapon that will help. So, enjoy today’s missive!)

teds-car-in-the-woods

© Ted Strutz

My Old Yellow Car

by Miles H. Rost

The garage door opened and gasps went up to the heavens.

“What did you do, Dad?”
“I bought an old, rusted and busted ’68 Charger R/T. I figured you and I could work on it.”

The 10-year old looked up, crinkling his nose.

“Couldn’t we have done this with a computer?”
“Do you want to drive when you’re 16?”
“Yeah…”
“This car is yours once it’s fully built.”

His son’s eyes lit up. Then they fell.

“But we don’t have money for parts.”

Dad smiled, and looked around the garage.

“$10 a week. Save up enough, I’ll buy an extra part for free.”

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Friday Fictioneers – To Live And Die In L.A.

(Author’s note: You probably noticed that I was absent for the last couple weeks. One reason was because I turned 39, and celebrated my birthday in Los Angeles. I got to see sights, have a great time, and do a lot of different things. The other reason was because I was in the middle of a big move, and didn’t have internet at the new place until I was on vacation. So now that I’m back, let’s have some good fictioneers work.)

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© Dale Rogerson

To Live And Die In L.A. 

by Miles H. Rost

One cop car in Canyon Park was routine.

Seven meant someone wasn’t coming home to their family.

Three officers looked over and made sketches of the deceased, the massive hole that showed a liquefied heart and a half-torn stomach.

Two officers sat with a grandmother, uncontrollably sobbing, crying out “I’m sorry” in Korean. Nearby her, in another officer’s hands, a .223 rifle.

Three more officers are chatting with the medical examiner, who had taken one look at the body and motioned for the gurney.

Two officers stood by a police line, making sure reporters and their ilk didn’t get through.

Grief.

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Friday Fictioneers – …The Laboring Man

(Author’s Note: I’ve had to take some time off recently, in order to get things in order. I am moving this coming weekend, hopefully to a place where I’ll be able to save up and get my own pad. But in that time, I get to enjoy new music, which I get to add to my list. One such song is what you’re going to hear tonight. Here’s the fictioneers! [By the way, watch the video and tell me how many celebrities you see. If you get all of them, you get a custom salute from me!])

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© Randy Mazie

How Can The Laboring Man Find Time For Self Culture

by Miles H. Rost

“If you don’t find time to relax, Brian…”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll end up in my grave. You’ve said that for the last 20 years, Jeana.”

Two heart attacks confirmed Jeana’s words, and Brian knew it. He just couldn’t rest until she was comfortable.

“There’s an exhibit about the history of underwear at the museum. We should go.”

“And put me in an early grave?”

“How?”

Brian looked at her flatly, Jeana finally realizing that an exhibit like that would, actually, make his heart pressure soar.

“Maybe we can watch the Rock Hall Inductions.”

“Alright,” Jeana sighed.

At least he would relax.

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