(Author’s note: Had to take last week off again, due to some unfortunate pain related to my exercise regimen. I’m better now. And while I’m on new business, there’s a new watcher to the board. His name is H.K., and he’s a great guy with a sense of humor. He’s someone who is interested in what Music and Fiction is all about. H.K., welcome aboard! Here’s today’s fictioneers…)
© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
by Miles H. Rost
His foot hooked on a root, and he fell flat on his face into a peat bog.
Michael ignored the pain and kept running.
He had to get away.
His girlfriend Nadine had gone nuts.
For the first 3 months, their relationship was hands off and very slow-going. Without warning, she jumped on him and tried to perform a tonsillectomy with her tongue.
Seeing the old brick garage, he ran in and barred the door. He could hide out there.
Light came on behind him. He turned around.
It was the end. He couldn’t run from her lust.
copyright Kent Bonham
Here I sit, hanging by a wire.
I am waiting for my time to come. No one noticed as I wait above for my moment.
I see the young pop star, fresh out of the factory. Ah, I remember them well. Stock Aitken Waterman-types, now they’re all coming out of the Disney machine.
I’ve been up here for nearly 45 years. Same lights, same everything.
Oh, my time is just about here! I get my chance to do something awesome!
If I can just wiggle a little more, then I’ll be front page news!
Oh yeah, I am evil.
copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
Open The Door
*bang bang bang*
“Carole, why won’t you open the door?”
“I don’t want to come out! I’m scared!”
“Scared of what?”
“I’m scared of what the world will do to me?”
“Honey, that was 15 years ago. The people who accused you of the crime have long since left the area.”
“But everyone else is still there!”
“Sweetie, if you don’t come out of there, I will have to come in and get you.”
“You don’t want to do that, James. You could be the next one.”
“Carole, I made you a werewolf. What could you do to me?”
“I could have your litter…”
As per normal again, Friday Fictioneers! Here’s my contribution, after nearly 3 long months of rest and agonizing over grad school applications:
copyright – Douglas MacIlroy
Bright lights shone across the sky.
The beam blasted from the tower into the room of one Marc Lavagneur, paparazzi extraordinaire and general pain in the butt.
“Gah! Can’t they just stop with the light already? I get the picture!” he yelled out the window.
He walked over to his phone and dialed up a number he never wanted to call.
“Hello? Creative Arts Agency? This is Marc Lavagneur. I give up. I’m done.”
The light stayed on.
“AND TELL LONI ANDERSON TO CLOSE HER MOUTH! IT’S BLINDING ME!”
The light suddenly went off.