Friday Fictioneers – Old Coal Town

(Author’s note: Nothing. I have stuff going on that’s taking up a lot of time. Here’s our stuff.)

© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Old Coal Town

by Miles H. Rost

Abandoned buildings.

The smells of dust, must, and nature filled my nose as I looked at the back of the old broken building. It was a great smell, and something I love coming back to.

Coming back to this place, getting away from the big city, it’s incredible.

And being able to restore something old is a great chance to help the people of the town my father destroyed.

His actions killed the coal town aspect of this town, but I am hoping the fortunes I made in tech will allow this town to become great.

Time to give back what they gave me. Love.

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Friday Fictioneers – Playing It Safe

(Author’s Note: Hey folks! Hope you’ve been paying attention and watching things. Even in the weirdness of school, I have had time to write. You all should be able to read my latest piece, Her Last Performance. The music will really make that one pop. Otherwise, here’s this week’s Fictioneers offering! Enjoy!)

© Claire Fuller

Playing It Safe

by Miles H. Rost

“Got another one for you.”

The desk clerk looked up from his newspaper, and at Riley Martin, the ambulance driver.

“Where did you find them?”

“Park Bench, Glen Martin Park, Irish Street side.”

There have been at least four that came from there, Riley thought.

“What was their condition?”

“Paralyzed, but with tears on the face and a voice saying ‘Brenda.'”

“Got a name on him?”

“Yep. Tyrone Brandon, aged 19. Student at the local U. Where should I put him?”

“Cell 6. We’ll prepare him soon.”

The paramedic wheeled Tyrone to the cell, and closed the doors, turning the wheels.

Another guest, checking into the Heartbreak Hotel.

I Watched It All On My Radio

by Miles Rost

Little Vincent was known for being an explorer. He was rambunctious, raucous, and any other “r” word you could come up with. He was the town runner, as he would run everywhere in the no-name, no-reputation town that he lived in. A small town it was, but for Little Jimmy it was home. And he would run every square inch of the town in one summer if he could.

It was on one of these journeys that he would be exposed to something glorious and wonderful that would eventually take him away from that small town. It all started on a run through a field behind his elementary school. The grounds he ran across were meticulously kept, as the man every affectionately called “Groundskeeper Willie” (many years before the crude scotsman of the Simpsons, mind you) made them his pride and joy.

He ran across the field, imagining that he was a fighter plane in World War II. War was fresh in the mind of the people of the town, and sometimes Vinnie would get scolded for his playing. However, he didn’t care. His world was big and wide, and full of endless possibilities. He kept running and firing his imaginary guns against the Luftwaffe that was in front of him.

Until his foot hit a firmly planted rock, and he went tumbling head over heels down the side of a creek bank. He stopped short of the creek itself, but was in the cool shade of trees. He looked around and smiled. This was new and exciting, and somewhere he had never been or knew. He scrambled over to a tree and sat underneath. The sound of the creek was quite different from what he was used to, but he still loved it. It was a calming sound. And he would dream of sitting lazily back like Frodo Baggins before his adventures in Lord of The Rings.

He looked over to his side, trying to get his back comfortable against the old tree, when he saw something shiny and metallic. He scooted over to it, and picked it up. It was a small box, about the size of a small cigar box. There was mesh on the front of the the box with a circle of black underneath it. The box also had a metal piece sticking up out of the top, that would turn 360 degrees when Jimmy moved it. The front of the box also had a few buttons and knobs, and what looked to be a thermometer with the numbers 53 to 161 on the front of it. One of the switches on the side said “On/Off”.

What’s the harm? he asked himself, as he turned on the switch.

He heard from the box a hiss. The thermostat-like display showed that it was positioned somewhere between 80 and 90. He saw a dial that said “tuning”, so he turned it to the right. A few muffles later and he suddenly heard the sounds of cheering.

“Coming up to the plate for Detroit, Right fielder Al Kaline. He’s had a pretty good year so far, and with Oyler as the go-ahead runner, he’s got a little pressure on him.”

Vinnie knew what this was. It was the Detroit Tigers! And he didn’t have to be there to hear it!

“Oh boy!”

He sat by that tree for an hour, listening to the back and forth of Detroit against Minnesota. At the crack of the bat, he knew how far the ball went. He knew the sluggers that hit homers, and the pitchers that threw fire and smoke.  Detroit won the game, and Vinnie then turned the station from 950 WWJ to the left. The muffles came through until he heard a strange type of sound coming from the speakers. It was something he had never heard before, since his small town was focused on country/western and hymnal music.

He heard what sounded like an organ, and cracking drums. It sounded eerie, like it was recorded in a church but with a slight bit more ethereal wonder. The lyrics of the song started coming through:

You know that it would be untrue
You know that I would be a liar
If I was to say to you
Girl, we couldn’t get much higher

Vinnie gasped in shock. This was forbidden music. It was music that didn’t mix with his family or his society. It was rock music! And he fell for it. Hard. He knew he had to have more, but he knew that as the sun was starting to move towards the horizon, he needed to get home for dinner.
He took the box and carried it home with him. Just before he got home, he put it in a cut tree trunk. It was his hiding place for contraband items. Later that night, he would bring that box into his bedroom, and quietly watch his music on the radio.