Friday Fictioneers – Inherit The Stars

(No author’s note this time, enjoy the show!)

camera-ted-strutz

© Ted Strutz

Inherit The Stars

 

by Miles H. Rost

“Brent, whatever are you doing out here?”

Brent looked up from his telescopic camera and smiled.

“They say that Jupiter is going to be closest tonight. I want to get a picture of her.”

His grandpa shuffled over to the camera, and peered through the viewfinder.

“Your uncle Stephen would be proud of you, you know.”
“Because of my interest in the planets?”
“Because you’re taking the time to explore more than just what’s around you.”

Brent looked up solemnly.

“There has to be more. I mean, how could all of this be created if there wasn’t a bigger purpose?”

Stephen Hawking (“Uncle Steve”) – Courtesy of The Telegraph 

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Friday Fictioneers – Life In A Northern Town

Author’s Note: Welcome back for another week. Since the week isn’t over, and tomorrow’s not a busy day, my next major story will hopefully be ready to go. Otherwise, enjoy this tune. For note, the picture below is courtesy of the man who got me blogging again, Mr. David Stewart at the Green Walled Tower

copyright – David Stewart

Life In A Northern Town

by Miles H. Rost

It wasn’t a normal day. The old timers in the band were finishing up their practice a bit later than they should have, and were not really interested in taking time with the stragglers outside the gazebo.

“…but we love your work! We’re your greatest fans!” two young children ran up, getting close to one of the tuba players.

“You’re my grandchildren! Of course you’re gonna be my greatest fans!” the crotchety old tubist replied, trying to get away.

“Lars! Get home this instant, your swedish meatballs are getting cold!” another older woman called, in a near scream.

“I’ll be there in a moment, Helga! Stop breaking the glass!”

Simple life, in a Northern town.

Friday Fictioneers – Homeward Bound

Apologies for no posts in the last two weeks. Vacation and depression do affect a person. Here’s the latest Fictioneers offering, albeit a couple days late due to birthday stuffs.

copyright Jean L. Hays

Homeward  Bound

by Miles H. Rost

“So this is where it all started?” Marina asked her grandpa.

“Yep. This is where the famous Route 66 got it’s start,” Grandpa responded, with pride.

“Not that, silly! This is where you started your journey, wasn’t it?” the child said, smiling like she was sharing a secret.

“Ah, child. This was the start of my journey. I lived in that brown building back there, and one day I decided to move west. I packed up a ’55 Bel-Air, picked up your grandma in Des Moines, and we made our way to Oregon.”

“Then I came along and brought you back here!”

“Actually, that was your mom…”

Old

by Miles Rost

“Happy Birthday, Grandpa!”

Gordon “Pete” Stack would normally have been happy to see his grandchildren on this birthday, but he just was not very happy. He had all that he would have needed: a wonderful wife who had been with him for nearly 45 years, three great children who were credits to his family, and now he had a few awesome grandchildren who were becoming grandteenagers.

This day, his 69th birthday, he was just not pleased with anything.

He sat on the porch of his nice estate overlooking the Pacific Ocean, and studied the world. He saw what he remembered and what the world had become, and he was quite displeased by all of it. And it seemed to all land in his mind on this very day.

Two of his grandchildren, 12-year old Sasha and 14-year old Mariska, came out to the porch and sat down on a swinging rocker next to him.

“Grandpa, you don’t seem like you’re very happy to see us today,” Mariska said, looking over at him with concern.

“Bah. It’s not you,” he grumbled, as he shifted his weight in his chair, “I was just thinking back on my life a bit, and seeing where I’ve been. There were many things I missed, but many things that I also took delight in. Those days are gone now.”

“Like what?”

He looked over at them, and it was like someone clicked the detonator on a time-travel bomb.

“Well, let’s see. You have in today’s world some singer who sings like a boy, looks like a girl, and can’t spell beaver right…”

Sasha snorted at this, finding it a little funny.

“You have people who tell you lies and market it as the truth, while the truth from your ancestors becomes lies to be disbelieved…”

Mariska just sighed at this.

“…And you have a bunch of spoiled brats who aren’t willing to take care of their own families, expecting the world to give it all to them, all while they smoke weed. Do you know what I had when I was young?”

Sasha and Mariska looked at him, and leaned forward in anticipation.

“I had great singers like Buddy Holly, and great bands like the Rolling Stones.. The first time I heard “Peggy Sue” I was 12 years old. The Russians had their rocket ships and the war was cold. It was a different age at that time, kids.”

“Really, grandpa?”

Shoot, the first time I ever smoked. Guess what? Paranoid. The  first time I heard “Satisfaction”, I was young and unemployed.”

The kids looked at him like he was from another world, but still fascinated.

“Let me tell you. Things were much different, and in my opinion, much better. We had a lot more of the desire to create and build things. Big things, great things. Now, it’s all small stuff like microchips, processors, and other such junk.”

They looked at him, still riveted to his words.

Down the decades every year, summer leaves and my birthday’s here. Watch, all my friends’ll stand up, cheer, and say ‘Man, you’re old!‘”

Mariska smiled and patted his arm.

“But, Grandpa. You’re not old. You’re just an advanced teenager. You’re still young, you’re just still young with a different time period in your mind.”

Pete finally cracked a smile at this.

“Well, let’s just say that I have some things that your parents don’t know, and I’m willing to give you some of my wisdom. It’ll be my birthday gift to you.”

His smile became a wily grin, as Sasha and Mariska moved closer to hear what he had to say. Just as he was about to say something, one of his old friends started walking up the walkway. He turned his head towards the old friend, grabbed his shotgun, and walked up to the edge of the stairs.

His old friend started to say hello, when Pete yelled at him

Get off my lawn!