innocence

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Friday Fictioneers – Only The Young

(Author’s note: I’ve been a year at my job now. I am quite pleased. Celebrate with me in the Fictioneers!)

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©J. Hardy Carroll

Only The Young

by Miles H. Rost

Bradley turned nine today.

The party was spectacular. His friends played in the yard, ate hot dogs and burgers, devoured cake like it was nothing.

After it was all done, he sat by my side, watching his favorite evening TV show, Tour of Duty. 

“Daddy, will I ever have to go to war?”

I looked down at him, my eyes remembering the days when I asked that question.

“Not unless you want to.”
“Are you sure?”
“They don’t force you to go anymore. Not like when I was 18.”

He curled up next to me, as we silently finished the show.

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Friday Fictioneers – Three Of Me

(Author’s note: Starting next week, I will be taking a social media break. It will not impact writing, but contact on Twitter, Gab, and Facebook will be curbed for one month. E-mail will be alright, if you need to. Here’s today’s Fictioneers…)

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© Liz Young

The Three Of Me

by Miles H. Rost

 If you could see what I’ve seen, you’d swear I was not normal.

I’m not.

On one hand, I see like a child. Innocence, virtue, trust, all in one place. One another hand, I see death, vindictiveness, the decay of the world. And on the third hand, the one never seen, there’s pain, deception, and even love.

Every slap a betrayal, every push a declaration of love, every tear a cry for relief and comfort. And each time I am asked the same question: Is it all worth it?

For these children marked from substance abuse: You’re damn right.

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Friday Fictioneers – Don’t Forget Me When I’m Gone

(Author’s Note: I keep giving excuses. There’s no real excuse for not having anything besides fictioneers this week. I just got lazy this week, and I needed it. Anyhow, here it is!)

© Kent Bonham

Don’t Forget Me When I’m Gone

by Miles H. Rost

“Cindy! Cindy, it’s time for dinner!”

Mom was calling again. I hated when that happened, because it means that fun was to end and my studies had to begin again.

I pulled my coloring book off the rock and put it under my arm. I couldn’t wait to get back to it tomorrow.

“Hey!”

I heard a noise coming from somewhere.

“HEY!”

I looked around. “Hello?

“In the book, you brat!” it said, quite muffled.

I opened up the book, and the stick man which Ihad half-colored was frowning at me.

“You nearly killed me, kid!”

It spoke. And it wasn’t going to shut up. Oh no, Mom’s not gonna be happy about this…