Friday Fictioneers – I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight

(Author’s note: The song doesn’t match, but I couldn’t find one for “You died of dysentery”. Otherwise, Enjoy!)

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© Danny Bowman

I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight

by Miles H. Rost

“This is not fun.”

“Oh, come on, Dave. This is the adventure of a lifetime! To really live and breathe as your ancestors did all those years ago.”

“All my ancestors died of dysentery, Rachel. Only one line was able to make it.”

“But, your family did make it to Oregon didn’t it?”

“Yeah, but most of them died of dysentery!”

“I get that…I really do. But that doesn’t matter because you’re here now. And you’re living as they did.”

“When I said I wanted to play Oregon Trail, it was the computer game.”

“Oh…Uh… Check supplies again?”

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Friday Fictioneers – Building Bridges

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© Claire Fuller

Building Bridges

by Miles H. Rost

A bell jingled flatly.

Gerald the storekeeper looked up, noticing the teenage girl spying different products on the shelves. He opened the window to let the sea air fill the tiny shop.

The girl kept looking around, and when Gerald got a good look at her, he smiled.

“Ophelia Krain! What are you doing here?”

She looked up and crinkled her eyes.

“Tryin’ to find a special lure.”

Gerald stopped for a second. Why would a pretty girl need a lure?

“Any reason?”

“Dad’s coming to visit”, she beamed.

Gerald frowned at her.

“I hope he’s not going to stay long…”, he said, grabbing the brass knuckles under his cabinet.

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Friday Fictioneers – Fellowship Hall

(Author’s note: I am currently in the beginning stages of transition from Australia to my next assignment, which will be in…I actually do not know where. We’ll see what happens. Here’s today’s Fictioneers offering, again not based on a true story.)

 

©Roger Bultot

Fellowship Hall

by Miles H. Rost

20 years.

Everyone was finally together. All 85 of Mitchell High School’s class of 1995. And the stories were flying.

“Do you remember Joan Snart? Apparently, she’s directing adult films in Hollywood.”
“Can’t be anything like my ex-boyfriend, Russell Graves. He’s the undercarriage cleaner for Greyhound in Seattle.”

The laughter was palpable, and the stories continued. That was, until the name was brought up.

“Anyone heard from Brian McLaurence?”

The entire place had become silent at that instant. The class looked at each other, and bowed their heads.

“Robbery,” someone said, “I was on duty. I found him. Died on scene.”

A sniffle started the flow of tears in the room.

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!