Jeanette Brunwick and her husband Gary looked around as they cruised down the middle of the river on their pleasurecraft. They returned to their city after 15 years away.
“Remember that the old cannery used to be right there,” she said, pointing to an area that now sat an arena.
“That was where I stole my first kiss from you. The first night we drank wine, and figured that we’d be sommeliers.”
“The winelight, the moonlight. And now it’s obstructed by baseball games.”
(Author’s Note: A bit later than normal due to school conference. Here’s today’s fictioneers…and for the record, I’ve been really busy. Hence why it’s only been Fictioneers for a while now.)
Marty looked at her picture. He sat on the park bench, tears slowly falling down his face.
He remembered the times they sat under that very bench. Holding, love flowing between both of them. He remembered just how much he loved her, and that he told her that it would be forever. He remembered the look on her face when she saw the ring, and when she wore the wedding dress that made her look so radiant.
He remembered those words he said, as she lay in that hospital bed.
(Author’s note: Happy new year, everyone! Here’s to your 2016, and here’s the last Fictioneers of the year. Hope to have more stuff in 2016 besides Friday Fictioneers.)
(Author’s Note: I am currently working on some new story-work to add to the blog, outside of the Fictioneers realm, but complications with real life have decided to take over and cause issues. So I am not sure when I’ll be putting up more original longer-form work. But, give it time, and I’ll be able to have more for my audience to peruse. In the meantime, here’s a work that I hope gives you some peace over this holiday season.)
“Mom! Come here!”
“What is it?” Mom asked her son, as he looked out the kitchen window.
“Look at the sky!”
“It’s beautiful, honey, but we see the sky all the time.”
“But Mom, look at the color! Don’t you remember what Brian told us?”
She thought back to when her eldest son was still at home.
“When the sky looks like brimstone, you know I’m on my way.”
She smiled, as she heard a familiar sound roll into the driveway, the exhaust of an old 1975 Harley.
“He kept his promise.”
She smiled, as she walked into the living room, awaiting her eldest son’s first hug in 8 years.
(Author’s Note: I am doing a little bit better, but won’t be on the full track for a little while. It’s the end of the term at uni! That means…so much fun. There is a possibility I may have to go dark for a week, but I am hoping that will not be the case. Here is today’s Fictioneers!)
“How many applications did you put out this week?” Miguel asked, as he chewed on an apple.
“30 as of Thursday, with 15 more coming up,” Carmen replied.
“And how many do you expect callbacks on?”
“Probably about 5, at best.”
“Why do you do it, Carm?”
Carmen sat back, leaning herself against his leg.
“I think it’s because I want to be useful.”
“But you don’t necessarily have to work to be useful.”
She gave Miguel’s knee a kiss.
“I want to be useful for you. That’s why I do it.”
Author’s note: I hope everyone is doing alright. I’ve been in a real big funk when it comes to writing new stuff, mostly due to the fact that my school writing has been taking up most of my time. However, I am planning on putting up a bunch of stuff over the next week as I have a mid-semester break coming up. Whether it gets posted or not, that’s a different story. But we shall see.
Also, there were some questions about last week’s story. The answer It was an allegorical story that was related to a slate of issues on college campuses in America, where men and even some women have been accused of rape. They get taken through tribunals on campus instead of through the legal/police process. It ruins their lives, and indirectly, all parties’ lives. So for those who were curious, now you know…the rest of the story. (RIP Paul Harvey)
The young lady was pulled back from the railing, the man holding her back against him.
“You’re going to be fine,” he whispered, clutching the crying woman as she let all her misery out.
He didn’t plan to be there. He was just driving, and there was someone where he was just a few months ago.
He just held her close when he heard a loud bang.
He turned around, and saw the bright lights of another car bearing down upon him. She looked up and screamed.
He pushed her away, seconds before the car hit him, carrying him over the side.
She screamed in horror as she heard nothing but the sound of the car hitting the water.
She sat, screaming and shaking as the ambulances approached.
Author’s note: Since classes will soon be starting up again, I will likely be updating with mostly Friday Fictioneers stuff and short writings that result from my “argle-bargle” sessions of getting frustrated with being a grad student. At the very least, enjoy today’s selection for Friday Fictioneers.
“Why did we travel an hour to this place for food?!”
Chandra Barker was not a happy person, and her fiancee, Mark, knew it. He sat her down on a bench and looked her in the eye.
“When I was 9, my teenaged sister and I came here for fun. We had these cinnamon flat disks for a snack, before we went onto the ice. It was the last thing that we ate together before the day she fell through the ice. Coming here is a reminder of what we used to do.”
She looked at him, and a tear fell.
“And you wanted to share this memory with me?”
She planted her lips firmly on his cheek, appreciating the gesture.
(Author’s note: This is a fictional account based on stories relayed to the author by a third party.)
PFC Rocky Andersen was not a happy camper.
He was laying on the ground, grumbling in pain as he waited for help to arrive. The stocky marine had problems with his legs in recent days, and having to climb telephone poles at his base was not a good thing for him to do. Camp Pendleton was the Marines’ West Coast base, and it was also known for being remote in some parts. This meant that help may not arrive for a half an hour or so.
At the medical truck approached his position, his gunny, Gunnery Sergeant Charles “Brick” Brigman, leaped out.
“Andersen! What in the blue hell happened to you?”
“I was climbing the telephone poles, Gunny Brick, and I got blindsided by a bird,” he said, crisp yet with a strip of pain.
“Well, what are you laying there for?! Get up and walk!”
“Gunny, I can’t move.”
Hospital Corpsman Roger Baltrick had run over from the main truck and took a look at the PFC’s splayed legs. After a cursory exam, he looked up at Gunny Brick
“I can tell already that his right leg is broken in two places. We’ll have to look at his left leg back at the infirmary, but I have a feeling we may have a double break.”
Gunny Brick furrowed his brow.
“Well, this is just fan-freaking-tastic, isn’t it?! Andersen, you may have just lucked out. Your platoon is being called to Vietnam! They’re outta here in 2 weeks, and I hope to see you on that flight out.”
Rocky just grimaced, as the threat from the imposing Gunny reverberated through his head.
—
Two weeks after he arrived back at the base hospital, Rocky looked out the window of the room, his leg still elevated and bound in casts and slings. He looked down at the field, where he saw his fellow platoon mates lining up to head to the airfield at El Toro to fly out.
Over the previous two weeks, various platoon mates with the nicknames of “Grunt”, “Pickle”, “Big Zeb”, and “Sticky” all came by to say their goodbyes and swap stories of what’s been going on. Even on that last day, Gunny Brick even came in to say goodbye, though no one would call it a “goodbye”, formally.
“Andersen! You better get out of those casts and get on the next flight once you do!” he said, looking down with a slight smile on his face.
“Gunny, where are you guys heading for?”
“Our next orders are apparently going to be Khe Sanh. Seems like more of our boys are there right now.”
“Thank you, sir. Drop me a postcard once you arrive.”
Gunny Brick smiled at Andersen, shaking his head as he left.
“Don’t get thrown in the brig while I’m gone, Donut. I don’t want to have to come back to bail you out again.”
Andersen laughed, being reminded of the many times he was thrown in the brig for being UA or being stuck on “weird duty” at Treasure Island.
—-
The middle of February was unusually cool for California. It wasn’t normal for the temperatures to be any lower than the 60s, but it got into the high 40s at night during this period.
Rocky was finally out of his casts, but he was on restricted duty until his legs healed permanently. That means five more weeks of therapy and processing papers, along with such fun jobs as helping in the mess tent or assisting in other tasks. His gunny sergeant for this end, GySgt. Mike Layton, was less abrasive but more of a rules-man. He appreciated Rocky’s work, though wouldn’t always say so.
Rocky was finishing the stamping of important base requisition forms, when Gunny Layton walked in. Rocky saluted.
“Andersen, as you were.”
‘Yes, Gunny.”
“Andersen, I received some news this morning from Cam Ranh. It’s about your platoon.”
“Gunny, sir?”
“Your platoon landed at Khe Sahn. As they were deplaning, they were hit by mortar fire and snipers. Gunny Brick and about half of your platoon didn’t make it to the terminal.”
Andersen’s blood ran cold.
“What’s left of your platoon is being merged with another in Khe Sanh. You and 5 others who are still here will be assigned to a new platoon.”
“I…understand, sir.”
“Andersen, you can be real with this. You don’t have to hold it in. Ya lost some of your friends, and so have I.”
Andersen used his crutches to move himself a few feet back to his desk, and sighed.
“I was supposed to go, Gunny.”
“Yeah, I know. But, Andersen, you have to realize that things happen for a reason. Gunnery Sergeant Brigman and the others had to go over there. Apparently, someone else had plans for you.”
Rocky blinked, as he sat looking straight at his superior.
“When are they arriving?”
“Within a couple weeks. They will be brought to Oakland from Da Nang, then either families will pick them up there, or we’ll bring them back here for the families to identify and receive. I would like you, if you can, to accompany the ones who will be brought back to Pendleton.”
Rocky sat for just a moment before giving a salute and a “yes, sir.”
“You’re relieved of duty for today. Head on back to the barracks, and you can do what you usually do. Consider this time to grieve. Be back at this post tomorrow at 0800.”
After a salute, Gunny Layton turned his heels and departed.
Rocky lifted himself on his crutches, and hobbled out the door. The 15 minutes it took him to cover the length from the main base office to his barracks, he though about all of his buddies who were over there…and those who were gone.
He barely made it back to the barracks. Seeing no one around, he collapsed on his bunk. His tears, for part of that evening, were his only companions. And while he felt like he should have gone over with his boys, he yet realized that for him, he was given a gift that many in his platoon did not receive: The gift of being able to live to an older age.
This gift would be borne out in 3 children, who he was able to see grow up and become their own people. He would never forget the contributions of his platoon, as it was his children who were the result of that sacrifice.
(This is your birthday gift, Dad. Semper Fi, and I love you.)
Author’s Note: Welcome aboard yet again! Most of you have noticed that today’s offering is a bit late. That’s because a lot of things have happened this week regarding my potential move to Australia. Things should be stable, and because of that…here’s your story for today!
copyright Jennifer Pendergast
Train of Thought
by Miles H. Rost
Obedience.
Lucas Milford hated hearing that word, in the modern context. His commute and his job, though, were the biggest forms of forced obedience for him.
He looked around the subway car, seeing all the gray and black suits and dresses. He wondered for just a moment whether he would be able to survive it all.
“Pulling into 92nd Street. Next stop: 112th Street – Broadway Station” the speaker droned out.
Lucas sighed as the train pulled one stop closer to his home. He started to close his eyes.
A flash of yellow streaked by him.
His eyes shot open, and he looked around. He spied the lemon yellow dress of a beautiful woman, whose green eyes bore into his, and red hair screamed out “different!” to him.
“Such…color…” he said, as the woman started moving closer to him.
Music and Fiction 