grumbling

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Friday Fictioneers – Till The Money Runs Out

(Author’s Note: Just like last week, nothing new. Enjoy!)

© David Stewart

Till The Money Runs Out

by Miles H. Rost

“This is moronic.”

Paul Daniels wouldn’t stop grumbling, and his co-worker Jake Byers had enough.

“Look, Paul. To continue doing what we do, we need money. They are paying us $5,000 each to set up all these eggs in the lake.”

“But it’s stupid. Why does anyone need to have a gender reveal party?”

Jake stood up and scowled.

“Hey, at least they’re not firing off colored explosives in dry grassland like that family did down in Yucaipa last year.”

Paul couldn’t fight that point.

“At least we’ll get to rest after this.”
“Only till the money runs out.”
“Dammit.”

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Friday Fictioneers – You Don’t Mess Around With Gym

(No Author’s Note! Enjoy things!)

j-hardy-boxing-gym

© J. Hardy Carroll

You Don’t Mess Around With Gym

by Miles H. Rost

“Hey, James! Roster’s up!”

James Barclay slapped his gloves on the canvas and sauntered over. His bruised eye looked it over.

“Bugs Jacobs again?! I put him flat 2 weeks ago.”

“He’s persistent,” Marti replied.

“He’s a flippin’ pest.”

Marti grinned, her smile as bright as her hair was. She strutted to the canvas and gave it a slap.

“Wanna practice what you did to him last time?”

James chuckled, as he wrapped his arms around her.

“When I married you, I didn’t think you’d be so bloodthirsty.”

“Well, folks know not to mess around with James.”

“Except you.”

Marti winked.

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Friday Fictioneers – Little Lies

(Author’s note: Such great responses from everyone for last week’s piece. I will respond this evening, I’m just dealing with a lot of crunk related to winter camp here. Hope to have more coming up after the camp is done. Otherwise, here’s a good one, being written while the moon is starting to eclipse…)

stumps

© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Little Lies

by Miles H. Rost

“So, where did you get all that wood from?”

Christine looked at her husband, who just gazed down at his shiny boots.

“I went out and cut a couple at the edge of the…”

“Bull.”

Mike stared at her with that word, and started to fume.

“You didn’t cut down the trees, because there’d be sawdust on your boots.”

“I used the chainsaw.”

“It’d still be there. I told you to cut the trees down, and you went and bought wood.”

Mike sighed, as he gave her a note.

“It was given. There’s the proof that people know we’re poor.”

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