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Friday Fictioneers – On Every Street

(Author’s note: Getting there. Enjoy!)

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© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

On Every Street

by Miles H. Rost

I turned down what used to be a busy college street, one that was full of bars, chicken shops, all the places a student in Korea would go.

I looked at how transformed it was. Gone were the karaoke houses, the pizza shops. Now it was condos, small boutiques, and a grown-up veneer.

Each place I remembered seeing Soong-Mi, gone.

Each memory of her smiling face: fading.

She went her way, I went mine. To meet one last time.

I laid a rose at her memorial, a cross on a corner. It’s her face I look for…on every street.

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Friday Fictioneers – Love Lies Dying

(No author’s note. Just nice! Be with you next week.)

music-room

© Rochelle “The Boss” Wisoff-Fields

Love Lies Dying

by Miles H. Rost

Charles came home from school and ran upstairs without even a hello.

For 7 months, this happened everyday. Only stopped plinking to eat and sleep.

Finally, he came out of his room one day and called a family meeting. As the family gathered, he set up his one-man equipment.

“Family, I’ve slaved 7 months for this moment. To be able to present my new music. I call it “Jingle Rock”.

He played his heart out for 4 long minutes. The family paused, and finally clapped.

“What do you think?”

“You’re 32 years too late, son. They called it AOR back then.”

Charles only facepalmed.

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Friday Fictioneers – Blue Hotel

(Author’s note: I am finally back at home after a week and a half with family, and traveling on the Empire Builder. Next set of challenges are coming, and I’m working quite hard on bringing them forward. Otherwise, onto today’s fictioneers!)

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© Yarnspinnerr

Blue Hotel

by Miles H. Rost

With an audible crack, his ankle released pressure.

A long drive behind him, and another forthcoming, Harvey knew he couldn’t continue with it.

Running from one city to another, collecting the markers and contracts from Las Vegas bookies, it was not the life he promised for his wife, Celestine.

He looked up at the ceiling in his hotel room, wondering where he went wrong. Realizing the futility, he picked up the receiver.

He dialed. And waited for the beep.

“Starlight, I’m on my way. Called in my markers. I’m done.”

He walked out, slips of paper peeking from the wastebasket.

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Friday Fictioneers – Bird On A Wire

(Author’s Note: Just when I thought things were stable…boom, changes at work. Better stories on the way. Give it time, and here’s another Fictioneers to tide you over!)

© Roger Bullot

Bird On A Wire

by Miles H. Rost

The claws gripped his ankles.

He looked down and tried to strain away. Feeling like he was about to tear free, he leaped.

Only to be pulled back in by the claws.

He trudged along, the claws never letting go. He could cut off his feet, if he so chose, but the claws would just latch onto his knees. He realized this, and finally did the only thing he could do.

He asked for help. He called out for help in the darkness.

A single pinprick of light shown through the darkness, and as that pinprick grew, so did hope…

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Friday Fictioneers – Do What You Do

(Author’s note: There’s a lot of things going on, and my production of fiction hasn’t been very productive because of other factors. I shall have more stuff up soon, but at this time, all I am able to do is Fictioneers stuff. To which, here’s today’s offering.)

 

© C.E. Ayr

Do What You Do
by Miles H. Rost

“So, I noticed that you came in with only one shoe. What happened?”

Bridget Moroney bit her lip as the question hit her with full force. It was the one question she didn’t want to answer.

“Well, I was rushing to get here, and a man pushed me out of the way. My foot stepped onto a drain grate and the heel got stuck. I couldn’t pull it out.”

“Did you think of breaking off the heel?” the interviewer asked, her voice in disbelief.

“It wouldn’t have done much good. So I just took off my other shoe and walked the rest of the way here.”

“Where did you walk from?”

“56th and Broadway.”

The interviewer’s eyes bugged out.

“You’re hired.”

 

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Friday Fictioneers – I Will Remember You

(Author’s note: Well, exams are coming to an end. I will be able to do some new fiction in the very near future, and am preparing a few stories for publication on this blog. In the meantime, I am attempting to fundraise to start my full Master’s program here at the University of Melbourne. If anyone is interested, go ahead and visit my GoFundMe page, so you can contribute. Here’s today’s offering for Friday Fictioneers.)

© Dale Rogerson

I Will Remember You

by Miles H. Rost

Pete Meyer shut down the fan boat, as he traveled through the Everglades.
“Hey, Berkeley! Look over here.”
Berkeley Bryant turned his head to the swampland and stared.
“That’s a pipe. And it’s not an irrigation one.”
They slowly moved the boat over to the pipe, and attempted to pull it up. Taking 20 minutes to do so, they finally wrenched it out of the slop.
“What type of pipe?”
Berkeley looked down, blinked, and looked out amongst the swamp.
“Fuel intake for a DC-9.”
“DC-9? Wasn’t that…”
Berkeley took off his hat, and put it on his heart.
“It was.”

Valujet Flight 592 – Crashed May 11, 1996

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Friday Fictioneers – Now Where Could It Be?

Here’s the latest!

Copyright – Dawn Q. Landau

Now Where Could It Be?

“Agatha? Did you look over in 14B?”

“Yes, I did look over in 14B. I looked in 11-15 for it.”

“How about 47?”

“You think I’m going to go to 47 on a whim?”

“Hey, if it weren’t for you going on about how great this place was, I wouldn’t have had this happen!”

“It’s not my fault you can’t even follow simple directions.”

“Doing archeology in salt flats is not my idea of a good day, and I can follow directions.”

“Then why didn’t you follow them when you put your contacts in?”

“Because I…wait…I FOUND MY CONTACT!”

“Charlie, next time, put them in right…or else I’ll slap them out permanently.”

“GAAAAH! SALT IN MY EYE!!!!”