The Gathering (Part A)

The Gathering, Part A: The Introduction
(Story IV-A in the Warrior Series)
by Miles H. Rost

(NOTE: If you’re interested in the previous three chapters of the Warrior Series, please go to these links: Part 1 –  Unstoppable God, Invincible; Part II – Ambushed By Myself; Part III – Dull Swords. Also, please make sure to play the music at the appropriate spots. Finally, a warning that this is going to be long and have lots of description. It may be split. Be forwarned. -Miles)

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“”Seven days you shall celebrate a feast to the LORD your God in the place which the LORD chooses, because the LORD your God will bless you in all your produce and in all the work of your hands, so that you will be altogether joyful. Three times a year all your men must appear before the Lord your God at the place he will choose: at the Feast of Unleavened Bread, the Feast of Weeks and the Feast of Tabernacles. No man should appear before the Lord empty-handed.” – Deuteronomy 16:15-16

—-

It was here. The moment that we all had been waiting for.

We had traveled many days to get to the location. A long journey, going around various obstacles to the appointed place and time. We encountered many wagon trains, ox-carts and other sort of sundry delays. The time in which we were to go to the gathering was also a big time for many of the other people of the lands to celebrate their own festivals. Many of us were tired already when going there.

I was riding in the back of an ox-cart with two people who I befriended a long time ago when I was in the Sunlight Lands, far far to the south. They traveled many weeks, after receiving my note by carrier that this gathering was happening. The simple reply of the note was “We. Are. In.”

Cassie was a woman of stout resolution, with a playful yet sometimes stubborn streak. Even a broken leg didn’t hamper her efforts to get to our camp and travel onward. Further, she brought with the joyous Clarissa, a woman whose humor was considered legendary if not disarming. And we all ended up in the back of an ox-cart,  traveling over bumps and rocks on the way.

After a couple of days in transit, we finally crested the last hill. We gazed upon the area where we would be gathering, and our mouths dropped in awe. The area were we arrived was incredibly beautiful. We spotted the main stage and areas up on top of a gently sloped but wide hill  in the middle of the valley. This hill, as the locals told us, was called “Medicine Hill” in their language. They stated that the hill is where healing and rest was given to travelers through the land a long time ago, though it was only recently that it was being used for gatherings like this.

We noticed farther back from the hill, a giant lodge was tucked into the mountain lobes at the back base of the mountains. The lodge and adjoining houses would easily fit the entire congregation that was going to arrive, a seemingly massive complex that made us wonder what it would be like. We’ve been living in tents for a while, so having actual lodging was going to be quite different.

“It’s been 10 long years since I’ve been at a gathering,” I told Cassie, who was sitting up at the back of the cart with her leg stretched out in a brace, “I have no clue what to expect, and with everything happening lately, I am hoping some good stuff comes.”

“Things will do fine. There’s no reason to just hope. You’ve gone through a lot lately, and this is a way to process everything.”

Our caravan passed through a checkpoint, where a group of very hardy warriors searched the carts. Not only was this gathering well planned, but it was going to be well guarded as well. This made a few of us relax a bit more, as we descended the ridge into the hill valley below.

When we finally arrived at the lodge, we were given our orders as to where we were to stay. As per the custom of our warrior faction, men and women were separated unless they were married. I was to lodge in a modest lodge-hut with 5 other men, including one of my troopmates, Kazoyen.

A man of solid stature, and agile on his feet, Kazoyen was in a division of our forces, a division that dealt with fancy footwork and presentation that would distract and intimidate. They were kind of like our own version of ninjas. However, he would often be with our branch during the important struggles and enjoyed serving alongside us. He also knew where to forage for the best of our foods at camp.

“Hey, Kaz! It’s been a while! How’s the training with the crew?”

Kaz smiled back, as he put his stuff down in one of the bunks. He was sweating, which means he was likely done with a practice session.

“Doing well, Knight. We’ve been practicing three different footworks, and we’ll be presenting one of them this gathering.”
“I hope you’re not thinking about dropping a surprise on us. I heard that one of our leaders will be doing something crazy, as well.”
“Which one?”
“Carlton. Leader of the Harbor Crew.”
“Isn’t he known for doing crazy stuff every gathering?”

I chuckled, more out of unsurity than actual knowledge.

“You’d probably know more than me. I haven’t been to a gathering in so long. That was way back when I was in the Western Lands.”
“Ah! I forgot about that. You’re still a bit new to our gatherings,” he replied, while scratching the front of his beard.
“That’s okay. I hope to be fully initiated by the time the gathering has finished.”

After swapping out pleasantries, and getting our things unloaded, we both went out to the main stage at the top of Medicine Hill. Even though our caravan came in non-descriptly, I knew that other major groups would not be so understated. I also knew that this would be something I would want to see.

As both of us reached the top of the hill, we both saw Ilya. Besides him was Erika, his wife. They were standing amidst the makeshift chairs and benches, looking off towards one of the three main gates. We walked up, and I gave Ilya a slap on the back.

“How’s it going, sir?”

“Ah! Knight! Things are good. How has training gone?”

I hesitated, drawing a sharp breath through my teeth.

“Well, I have a lot of work to do. My handling is sloppy, and it doesn’t help that my sword is balanced right, but that I am not.”

“It’s okay. You’ve been out of the saddle for a while, so it’s going to take a while to get your bearings together.”

I looked over to Erika and smiled.

“Erika, how are things going with you?”
“They’ve been really well. It’s interesting when you are waiting to see what will happen. I have a feeling that this gathering is going to be very special.”
“How so?”
“I’m not sure, Knight. I just have this feeling that there will be lots of revelations, that there will be a time of change for some of us. I also heard we’re getting some special visitors coming in from a land far away.”

I gave her a raised eyebrow, and gave her a querying look.

“You mean, you didn’t hear about the small contingent that’s been forming down in Mill Stream?”
“Mill Stream? You mean, the city with all those artists and creative type folks?”
“Yep! The same ones. Apparently, there’s a very small band of warriors who are coming up to join us for the Gathering.”
“Who are they going to be doubling up with when they get up here?”
“The Harbor Division. They already met them a week ago, and they’re on the way up.”

I was about to give a response, when we heard a loud horn blow. It sounded deep and guttural, but beautiful. I ran over to the side of the hill’s plateau and looked towards the southwest. Almost immediately as I recognized the caravan that came in, I bust out laughing.

Carrying the red and blue colors of their army, the Harbor Division rode in relatively quickly. Their commander, a hardy commander named Carlton, was standing with his second commander, who also was his wife, Mari. She was blowing on what looked like a didgeridoo, as he was standing like a captain. He had one leg bent, while the other was straight. He had what looked to be a yellow-colored wig on and what I could only assume as a sports jersey of some sort. As the rest of the caravan came in, he started playing what looked to be Spanish bagpipes. I could recognize the music he was playing instantly, and it just made things all the more hilarious. It was a spectacle that was likely not to be topped by any other caravan, as the Harbor Division was known for being on the humorous and outlandish side of the warrior spectrum.

I laughed heartily, until I could barely even breathe. Erika and Ilya were getting ready for me, in case I keeled over from laughing too much. After a few moments of gathering my breath,  I stood again, ready to see more of the main caravan.

However, as the caravan finished passing through the gates, I noticed a blue standard with red and white stars following behind. I tapped Ilya on the shoulder and pointed, asking him which one that was.

“Oh, that’s the Mill Stream and Southern Harbor divisions. They’re currently under one banner while the Mill Stream folk get their training done.”

They were a small continent, all on one big wagon, but they were waving their standard with gusto. I realized that I absolutely must meet these people before the Gathering finished.

A movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention, and I turned towards the western gate.

While quieter than the Harbor Division, the Forest Division were still a force to be reckoned with. The contingent was about the same size, maybe a slight bit smaller than the Harbor Division, but the deep green and blue of their standard was unmistakable. The commander, a slim man who carried respect and authority, stood atop the main wagon. Everyone simply referred to him as “Mikhail”, even though he did not look Russian at all. He held onto the hand of his second commander, who everyone simply called “Dream”. From the stories I was told of, she was someone who knew about the power of dreams, and many of our contingent spoke of her with high regard.

The contingent came in at a moderate pace, not looking at a lot of pomp and circumstance, but looking quite humble. It was as if respect was the main characteristic for their branch. They were the understated of all the divisions, but the power they held in their ranks was formidable. It would be foolish for any enemy to underestimate their resolve; that much was evident.

As both of the caravans cleared their respective gates, I turned my attention to the northern gate, where I heard the ringing of a bell. This was the newly re-christened Antioch Division. The bright yellow on their flags contrasted the deep blue also found on them. Being the largest division, they had the longest caravan. This was the flagship Division, the one from which all the others came. They had a lot to overcome in recent months, and the taking of Fort Antioch was a turning point for them.

At the front of the caravan was the commander of the division, and the major general to the entire group of divisions. No one has ever heard his real name, but everyone always just referred to him as “P.S.” To those who would look at him, they would think that he was a more rigid of a leader. But, once a person got to know him, they would see the humor come out almost quickly.

At his right hand was his wife, the brigadier general of the division that everyone just called “P.I.” Legends stated that she was given a heavenly blessing at the last Gathering, a memorable blessing, and that she had been taking time off. It wasn’t expected until the last day when in transit we found out she was going to be arriving. Needless to say, I was very excited that she was going to be around, as her words were very powerful.

The entire Antioch Division was a mix of all sorts of soldiers and warriors. There were so many different mixes, there was no way to really put in a theme or category for them. Which made them a category of their own, in certain ways. In the back of the caravan, I could hear crying out the words of someone that sounded very Latin or Spanish. She kept crying out behind her as the gate closed, and I looked to Kaz to find out what she was saying.

“Do you know?”
“I’m not sure, my romantic languages are rusty, but I think she’s saying ‘You do not come back to my house making noise with your pesky dancing shoes’. ”

My eyebrow went up, as I sat and thought about what was just said. I decided to file it away in my mind until later, hopefully to find out what it meant.

Last, but not least, I saw my crew. Coming through the western gate was our division, the Freedom Division. The caravan had our commander, Morgan, smiling and some small movements that one might have called dancing. He looked like a man who would have fun, and knowing him like I did, I knew he was a fun guy. I also knew that he took business seriously, which made the fun image a bit more unique.

I continued to look at the caravan, with Kaz, Ilya, and Erika giving waves to all those who came in. We waved at our compadres, who were looking around the gated compound with eyes full of wonder. Chesley and Siobhan were the first to see us, and they waved with bright, broad smiles on their faces. Brian and Kristi were guarding the middle. Brian kept watching around the caravan, while Kristi seemed to be jumping up and down with joy.

As all the caravans got into their places, I returned to our lodge with Kaz. He had to go and practice, but we would talk later. I decided to take a nap, in order to get things together for the night to come.

——–

Five hours later, while still tired, I awoke in time to hear the call to gather. Putting on my cleanest garments, I rushed out of the lodge to join my brothers and sisters in the Gathering.

I got up the side of the hill, and I was met by Chelsey, who was bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet.

“Knight! You made it! Tia’s been looking for you. She wants you to join her up front!”
“Up front? Well, it’s where I usually am for the monthly mini-gatherings. I may as well! Care to lead, sis?”

She beamed up at me, and walked me over to where Tia had taken a seat. Tia looked up at me, and gave me a bright smile. She jumped up to give me a hug, grinning broadly.

“Are you ready for this, Knight? Are you ready?”
“Uh…I hope so. It’s been 10 years since, and I really don’t remember how this all works. But I’ll do my best.”
“You’re gonna do fine! You’ve got the Spirit in ya, and that means everything.”
“Are you sure? I’m old hat. I’ve not done a lot of the stuff that you all have done before. I mean, I have danced…”
“Knight, don’t worry. Old and young have no worries. There are folks here approaching 50 who will go crazy in worship for our Lord. The optics are nothing, just pour it out and worship extravagantly.”

I was about to respond when we heard the call. We heard the voice of the second head of the martial corps, a lady of small stature but large heart whose name I had forgotten. She was one of the leaders of the Antioch Division’s martial corps, and they were ready to get us moving.

“People! Warriors! Let us rise to give praise to our Father! We have a lot of good things happening tonight, so let us prepare our hearts to give praise and receive His grace!”

As we started singing, I felt all of the self-consciousness start to slip away. Like dirt that was being washed away, all of the old thoughts started to drip off. The self-consciousness of many years, the worries about whether things were authentic, doubt, fear, all dripping off like water off armor. The beat poured into each and every heart in the assembly. While I could feel what all was going on around me, all of the sounds and feelings faded away until it was just myself, dancing and singing to my Lord.

In a glance, I was able to look around at so many different folks. Different warriors from the different division, all worshiping in their own ways. I saw a few fighters bouncing and jumping, and even one doing backflips. It was truly a show of freedom. I even saw Brian, my mentor and accountability brother, calling on his roots in his dancing. This was a blessed event, indeed. And this was only the first song.

We spent many minutes in worship, using movements that showed our reverence and thanks for His grace and his presence. I could easily see all of the warrior, all our divisions, their spirit becoming stronger with each bar.

Even as the music transitioned into slower musics down the line, the devotion that each warrior showed was incredible. Battle hardened warriors giving their all in worship. I saw Tia, sitting on the ground, raising her hands with her eyes closed. She exuded a peaceful, yet glorious reverence for our Lord.

After a good while of praise and worship for our God, we all saw P.S. walk up onto the stage area. Many of us moved to go back to our seats, when we heard him cry out.

“Stay! Let us continue to celebrate! I call for the new recruits of our divisions to come forward.”

As I started walking towards the front of the stage area, I didn’t know what to expect. I was a new recruit, but I knew that there was so much that I had yet to learn. I did not know whether I would be reproved for my failure, or whether I would have been rewarded, or even whether I would be passed over.

All of us, a great multitude, just stood with our eyes closed. We would be listening to what P.S. had to say, but we would also be spending more time in communion with the Great General himself.

To Be Continued…

 

 

 

Dull Swords

Dull Swords
by Miles H. Rost
(Part III of the Warrior Series)

(For parts I and II, please visit Unstoppable God, Invincible and Ambushed By Myself at their respective links

I had a long recovery after being beaten up and subsequently healed. Morgan, our leader, had taken the time to look at my sword and the armor that was carried off of me after I arrived back at the camp. He relayed a message to Brian, a message that would inspire a lot of worry and challenge. This was all in the space of a few days before the big Gathering that we were going to be attending.

“Hey!” Brian said to me, as I slowly started jogging around the camp, “We just got done with your assessment of your equipment.”

“What did you find?” I asked back, not looking at anything but the path in front of me.

“I don’t know what happened, but your equipment hasn’t been maintained very well. Has it not been given the proper upkeep?”

I just shrugged as I continued to jog. Brian put a hand on my shoulder, giving me the indication to stop.

“You don’t have to worry if you say yes.”

I stopped, and turned to face him at underneath a large oak tree. He continued to speak, as I looked at him.

“We get people in our camps all the time with equipment that’s falling apart. They try to take in battle, and they get thoroughly knocked around because of this. You, my brother, are not the only one who has to deal with severely corroded gear.”

I looked up at Brian and just couldn’t take it much more. I sat down at the base of the tree and the tears started flowing from my eyes.

“I’ve had that equipment for 18 years,” I cried out, “I’ve not had to use it much except in the last few months, when I joined with your crew.”

“That’s okay, brother. We’re not here to condemn you. As I said, everyone’s got corrosion on their armor. The difference is, are you going to work to repair your equipment, or will you be working to get new equipment. If you’re needing new equipment, do not be surprised that you will be able to get it. We walk by faith, and not by sight.”

After I told him that I would talk to him a little bit later, I just sat at the bottom of that tree and cried my eyes out. All of that frustration from being knocked around, and all of the pain of knowing I could not battle because I was exposed without armor, it flowed out like a raging river.

As I had dinner at the camp, Morgan sat down next to me. He looked out over the camp, over his army of warriors, then looked at me.

“You know, what’s happened to you is going to make you a stronger man. To fight heartily, it takes strong leadership,” he said, with a stern yet comforting edge to his voice, “With leadership and the coverage of our camp, you’ll be able to do a lot more. But you gotta listen, and you need to get in with our Father.”

I started in on the training the following morning. I spent all day trying to swing my dirty and pitted long sword, to spend time developing the skill. It kept slipping out of my hand after a while. I was so rusty, I couldn’t even understand how I could have withstood all of those Legion those weeks back.

I felt frustrated with each day of practice, each day where I kept losing my sword and losing all of my focus. The week was just incredibly hard, with attack after attack on my own confidence. I could feel many parts of it falling like a crumbling brick wall.

After one of my day long practice sessions, I sat in my tent silently. How could I get myself ready for the upcoming Gathering when I was so lost about everything. I heard a scratch at my tent, and looked up to see Brian poke his head in.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Come on in. I’m really having a tough time today, to be honest. I just can’t seem to do my work, well or otherwise. I’m just concerned about a few things.”

He took a seat next to me, folded his legs, and put his hands under his bearded chin..

“So, tell me about it.”

“I feel like all this stuff with my equipment has just eroded me down. I mean, how am I to do the fighting against the enemies like I’m supposed to do if I still have all this corrosion on my work?”

“Well, soldier, you need to just remember that our assessment of your equipment just gives us an idea of what needs to be repaired. And we have a session of repair for you to experience coming soon.”

“Session of repair?”

“Yeah. See, we have an attachment with what we use for offense and defense. It’s a part of us, and just because it gets tarnished or corroded, it doesn’t mean it’s unfixable. In fact, if things get done right, it could be made as good as new.”

“Will this happen before the Gathering?”

“I’m not totally sure, but I have a feeling it will be done soon. In the meantime, I think you need to get some sleep. You need to rest as much as you can.”

I looked over at him, and gave a small sigh.

“Do you think the corrosion was affecting some of my other skills, as well?”

“I think lately, no. You were pretty good at the river battle. You just need to be mindful of where it starts, and how to take care of it before it gets too bad.”

I nodded, and I prepared my face for bed.

“Brian, thank you for being a great friend.”

“Don’t sweat it. I’m also your sergeant, so I have to make sure my people are well taken care of.”

The gathering of people would happen in two days. I needed to get my heart ready.

 

Kyrie (Eleison)

Kyrie Eleison
by Miles H. Rost

A few weeks before it happened, I packed up my belongings. I was to leave my wife, my family, and everyone. The journey from the desert to the sea, to travel to the west, was beginning. It was a 2 week walk and ride to Tyre, where I would pick up a ship that would take me as far as I could go. Thus was the life of a traveling educator.

Educated by the best, a head of a prosperous temple at the time, I felt I was being moved to leave and do more with what I had learned. It wasn’t necessarily because I wanted to leave, but it was because there was nothing left for me to do there. It was going to be very hard to leave behind my wife and my children, but I made sure that my brother, Elam, took care of her in my absence. Elam’s a good man, older than me but still devoted to family.

I was making my way towards Damascus, when I met up with a block in the road. There were men who had said that the way to Damascus was blocked for travelers, and that I needed to go around the city. The caravan I joined up with were reluctant to do so, but after making an inquiry, we realized that there were big things afoot. And, so, we headed south and west. We passed from the lands of Assyria and ended up in deep Roman lands. While I had no quarrel with the Romans themselves, I heard about some of the different things that had happened in the interim.

I heard about this Jewish man, this Jesus whose name as a teacher had even spread to my community. I didn’t pay him much mind, though. The ravings of a lunatic, I once said to my temple brethren. They all laughed with me about it.

We were nearing the end of two weeks, and we stopped short of Tyre. We ended up in a small village about a day’s journey from Tyre. We were close. I had decided, for some reason, to walk outside after dinner in order to clear my head and prepare myself for the next day. The sun was low in the sky, but it had not set when I encountered this man. He was a very powerful person, someone who did command authority. Rugged and everything. He was standing next to the well, looking like he was taking a rest.

“Good eve, sir. Is this well being used?” I asked him.

“I’m just taking a rest right now. You should be able to use it,” he said, with a smile.

While I worked to operate the well, the man continued to look at me. I was starting to get unnerved when he finally spoke.

“Tell me. What have you heard about this Jesus fellow?”

I looked over at him. I didn’t pay him much mind with his scraggly beard which appeared to be unkempt in the darkening light of the evening.

“Jesus? Are you talking about that Jewish guy? The things he’s saying seem to make me think he’s a bit out of his mind.”

I saw a little glint in his eyes, and that is when I knew that I was in deep trouble. He started into a debate with me about this Jesus, whom he called “The Christ”. About how he died so that others may live, and how we were to live by faith and not by sight. I just sighed, because I felt like I was being sold a pitch.

That’s when he threw the curve ball at me.

“He’s still alive. His body was dead. I saw it die. But He’s alive! I saw that, too! By the Sea of Galilee we saw him, and many upon many saw him, too.”

I responded to him that it could not have happened, but in my educated head, I felt like the logic that was in there was failing. I couldn’t explain why, but the idea of bodily resurrection actually seemed to make sense in the way this man was speaking.

“But let me ask you this, my good man. Why would such a man decide to do this for someone like me? Why would he knowingly give up his own life, to save a person like me who doesn’t even believe in his words?” I asked the man.

“Because it’s simple: If he sacrificed himself for all, that means we’re all on His level. We’re all equal.”

I sat for a little bit, to chew on this. One thing went through my mind: “The lunatic isn’t a lunatic at all. He’s the Lord. It makes sense.”

That night, my entire life was changed. I acknowledged all of it, and with the help of the scraggly-bearded man, I later went out to other lands to tell people, to share the Gospel, and to show people how Christ died for them. The scraggly bearded man, the one who called himself Petros, was a good friend to me during that time.

As I gave him a hug before boarding the boat, I looked at the boat and him, and said something I never would have thought of saying in my time back in the small educated area from which I came.

“Kyrie Eleison down this road that I must travel.”

Petros gave me the blessing, and I went on my way. Christ’s death gave me life, and it was certain, I would share it with whoever I met on my new life to a new land.

(A joyous Easter Sunday, and Resurrection weekend to all who read. – M.)

Friday Fictioneers – Fairy’s Love Song

Author’s Note: Back again after a week where things went really weird, and having no time to post before today, I am back with a Fictioneers special! I shall have more coming soon, so keep your eye. And if you haven’t read the story “Angel In The Snow” yet, please do so. It’s one of the few that I really plan on expanding down the line, and could use good feedback.

Copyright – Rachel Bjerke

The Fairy’s Call

by Miles H. Rost

Harry MacInnes brushed his hands on the moss-covered fountain, muttering to himself at just how much cleanup it needed.

He pulled out his brushes and de-mossing tools, carefully scraping and removing the green from the stonework. He was intent into his work, and didn’t notice a small voice creep up behind him.

“Hi!”

“GYAH!” he exclaimed, as he jumped nearly out of his skin.

“I see you’re cleaning up the area!” the voice said, coming from the mouth of a small but quite beautiful sprite.

“All places need attention,” he said, matter of factly, “This one should be restored.”

The sprite clapped and smiled.

“Because you’re doing so, I am going to grant you a wish in gratitude! What would you wish for?”

He looked at the sprite, thought for a moment, then smiled what one would consider an almost evil smile.

I’d wish for you to be my wife.”

The sprite’s jaw dropped, and her eyes went wide. This…was not in the cards…

Friday Fictioneers – Get Here

Author’s note: Busy as per usual. Lots of worries. Here’s to hoping the next week will be much better, especially with a day off on Friday for medical tests. Enjoy today’s selection:

Copyright – Sandra Crook

Get Here

by Miles H. Rost

I remember the day that Travis was called to duty. It was going to be a 6 month tour in Jordan.

He looked at me, a lowly young lady from the wrong side of the tracks, and gave me the most heartfelt kiss that a fiancee could give.

We stood by an old stump as we said our goodbyes. I told him, “I don’t care how you get back here, just get back here if you can.”

He was returning from Jordan as the frost on the fields was slowly retreating. I would never see him again, though.

His C-130 got caught in a downdraft, and crashed at the base. No survivors.

He did get back here, I just can’t hold him anymore.

– From the diary of Charlene MacGinnis

(Story behind the song: During the first Gulf War, the song “Get Here” by Oleta Adams, a remake of a similar song by Brenda Russell, was often played as a call to servicemen from their wives and kids.)

Angelia (Nothing But A Photograph)

Author’s note: A welcome to all the new followers of Music and Fiction, especially those who are on the new Facebook page (can be found at THIS link), and from Twitter. 

Angelia (aka “Nothing But A Photograph)
by Miles Rost

Colin Marchese did not know the pain his father went through.

Dominic “The Dom” Marchese was a major gangland figure in Cincinnati, Ohio. He made a name for himself, and was on the way to being a big name. Something changed in 1988, however, and 15 years later, the shell of “The Dom” had just been laid to rest. His college-aged son, the inheritor of the estate, sought to get the family fortune out of the “family business”, just like his father in the later years.

But Colin still had questions.

Why did my dad suddenly turn from his path? Why did he become so…distant?

Part of being the inheritor of the estate, he was able to see the contents of his late father’s desk. No one besides himself and one trusted confidant, who died months before, ever went into it.

He opened the main desk drawer, and immediately found a small leather-bound notebook. It was well-worn, and when it was opened, the smell of his dad’s pipe tobacco rushed into his nostrils. He turned the yellowed pages of the little book until a date caught his eye: December 14, 1987. Colin stood up from the desk and walked to his favorite chair in the corner, looking out toward the small pond on the estate.

December 14th, 1987,

Ah, bella! I met the most wonderful lady today. Flying from Genoa to London, to the Big Apple, it was a treat to see this beautiful vision. Her name is Angelia, and she was my stewardess for this flight. Belissima! She’s such a sweetie. Her family is Italian, they’re actually from a village near my own, but she’s been living in London for a long time. She makes things so sweet around here, and she’s going to be on the flight to New York! I’m hoping to get a chance to talk with her more. 

He paged further through the journal to see more about this ‘Angelia’ that seemed to capture his heart. He soon enough found an answer in a later entry.

March 27th, 1988,

Ah, the trees are blooming their beautiful flowers today. They are very bella serra. Angelia and I spent a weekend together, going through the old haunts of New York. I showed her Lugee’s Pizza, which is now some sort of sandwich plane. Nothing like Katz’s, though. I showed her that place. She seemed impressed by the fact I could pound the pastrami down like no other. Wait until later on tonight. Heh heh.

Colin had to laugh, reading the rest of the entry. Apparently, Dad liked her a lot, and he decided to show her how much. He decided to read on through 1988 to see where things went wrong.

December 20th, 1988

Angelia called me just before I went to bed. She said that she’ll be flying back and spending Christmas with the family. I am hoping little Colin can take a liking to her. It’ll be the first time he’ll meet her, and it is important if she’s going to become the new mother of my children. I love her very much, and I cannot wait to make her the new Mrs. Marchese. She’ll be perfect for the family, perfect for the biz, and she’ll make the new empire proud. 

He smiled, though he was a little fuzzy on who she was because he didn’t remember meeting her, even though he was 4 at the time. He turned the next page, and read. The mirth that was on his face dropped as he read on.

December 22nd, 1988

I cannot believe it. Morto infinito. I am crying so much. The news just said it. Pan Am Flight 103, the flight my beautiful Angelia was on, blown up over Scotland. Why? Why, God? Why did you take her away? She was going to be my wife! I just… <scribble> I don’t <scribble> get the bastards. I don’t know what to do… 

Colin realized, much too late, that his dad’s turn to introspection and reservedness was caused by this. He looked for more information, more reaction, when he came up to the last page.

January 2nd, 1989

She left me with nothing but a photograph. All I have of my bellissima, my beautiful Angelia, is a photograph. I don’t see how I can go on. She was everything, just as much as Diana was before she passed on. I just don’t know where to go from here. My kingdom for my bellissima.

He looked at the next page, and instead of writing, he found a photograph of the woman his father had pined for. The one who was the love of his life, and the one who moved him to eventually slow down the family operation. His father was right, as she was a very beautiful woman. Beautiful brown hair down to her shoulders, dressed in the powder blue Pan Am uniform that hugged every single curve of her Italian frame, and a smile that could warm the coldest heart.

“She would have made a wonderful mother,” he said to himself, out loud, as he looked out the window. He had business to do, but he would have to remember to take a trip to Scotland to give his possible mother the honor due her from the family.

 

So Far Away – Friday Fictioneers

Welcome back for another Friday Fictioneers set. If you haven’t already read the latest (and according to some, my best) Mayumi story so far, please go check out “We All Sleep Alone

*Author’s Note: Some have been having trouble seeing the video. If you are having trouble, go to Youtube, and look up “So Far Away” by Dire Straits. You’ll get the feelin’.

copyright Jan Wayne Fields

So Far Away

by Miles Rost

Everything was ready on the table.

Danny got home from work, and expertly prepared a beautiful crown roast of lamb, with mint sauce, lightly fried potatoes, and thin-sliced green beans. All of her favorites.

He set the table with the good plates, the excellent glasses, and everything. His crowning achievement of making dinner, a big one, was complete.

He looked out the window towards the street, the patio bereft of life. He looked out the window for a long time.

It was after about 30 minutes of looking that he realized he was eating alone for the night.

His beautiful wife, his love, would not be making it home for dinner.

Ever.

 

Friday Fictioneers – The Winter Long

Hello, Fictioneer readers! I had to take a break from fictioneering last week due to the holidays, and the fact that I was not in the right state of mind to write at that time. I am back, and likely to have a few new stories out soon. But first…today’s Fictioneers story:

copyright Janet Webb

The Winter Long
by Miles Rost

The winter was the longest one that was on record. Cold temperatures kept people inside, the snow sometimes sealed them in like a tomb.

“Honey, do you think we’ll ever be able to leave?”

“Well, sweetie, look out the window.”

They walked over to their window, and looked at a tree with most of it’s leaves on, brown as they may have been.

“Those leaves have stayed on that tree all winter so far. If they can do it, we can do it.”

Honey looked back at her sweetie, smiling bashfully.

“Hold onto me, and I’ll hold on to you.”

Sweetie looked back at his honey, and enclosed his arms around her.

“This winter long, I will always be with you.”

Cold outside, but very warm inside.

Friday Fictioneers – Forever Young

Took a break last week with some other stuff going on at work, so I am back (though a little late):

Forever Young
by Miles Rost

“Dad, was this place always filled with water?”

“No, son. This area used to be a major quarry for the local marble company.”

“Why didn’t they continue with marble here?”

“The company went out of business, son.”

“I never knew about this place, what it was.”

“That’s because it changes all the time. Everything changes after time, even you.”

“But Dad, do you think I’ll change so much to be unrecognizable?”

“You won’t be unrecognizable. People will still remember what you were, and what you are. In people’s minds, you’ll be forever young.”

Lady In White Pt. 2 (aka Close Enough)

The Lady In White (Part 2)
(aka Close Enough)
by Miles Rost

She invaded my mind again. The sight of the  Lady in White upon my mind has been a relief, and a worry yet still. It’s been months  since the last time she visited me.

In my mind, we were on a boardwalk, a cement waterfront “street” if you will, in Melbourne. I was walking toward her, and she walked toward me. As we drew closer, it was like a camera got closer to us both. After a few close-ups, our hands finally met. She immediately moved over to my shoulder and laid her head down. She felt so warm and looked so lovely, even if I couldn’t see her face.

For a time, we just stood there, my lady in white trying to get in as close to me as possible, and myself wanting to hold her tighter than ever. She leaned up towards me, her skin slightly glowing in the muted sunlight, and gave me a kiss. A gentle, but long kiss. I remember the sensation, like two lightning bolts jolting through my body and a warmth on my lips that permeated all throughout the upper part of my being. It felt like we were floating on air, traveling through the air like a hot air balloon. As we released, we looked back out at the bay…and found ourselves on the steps of the Opera House in Sydney.

I looked down at her and saw the incredible amount of love that permeated from her. It was a beautiful sight of sparkles, flowing pure light from her entire being. It flowed from every pore, every fiber of hair, and washed over me. It wasn’t lust, the red wave of passion that many men and women envision when they think of their chosen other. It was a love that was pure, that forgives everything and heals. The type of love that God has for all of us. She had that, and it poured like transparent sparkly white ribbons over my being. She looked into my face, my eyes, and she gave me a smile that said “I don’t care what you’ve been through, you’re with me. Let it go.”

She turned around and held onto my shoulders as I put my head down on hers, able to relax and feel so much love flow between us. We just looked out at Sydney Harbour, seeing the calmness of the bay. The sun was fully open, and the white dress she wore glowed like snow on a mountain. It was nearly blinding for most people, but for me, it added a glow that was almost angelic. The wind was light, and it flapped the cloth of her dress like a flag. It felt like this was where I needed to be, where I wanted to be forever, and to never go away again.

A gust of wind picked us up and, unlike before in Melbourne, it whisked us off quickly. Like a kite, we flew through the air in a quick way. It felt still, however, as we traveled to wherever this wind was taking us. As quickly as it happened, we landed on a flat Australian beach somewhere, an overcast sky making things a little colder.

She looked back up at me, and put her soft, gentle hands to my face. The soft skin lightly brushed the growing scrub of hair on my chin, and the warmth of them felt like a glowing incandescent light bulb. I felt a tear start to fall from my eye, and I suddenly collapsed to me knees. She fell with me, as I felt the warm tears flow from my eyes onto her shoulder. All the tears of pain, anguish, hurt, released from my eyes, from my being onto her skin. I knew she was strong enough, but this was remarkable that she was able to take all of this pain and anguish, and simply wick it away like oil into a towel. I felt the blackness, the greys of my emotional heart, slowly being pulled from my self.

She pushed me back slightly, and looked into my eyes. Her eyes, of which color I could not remember, communicated unconditional love. Believe in Christ’s love in me, my beloved, they seemed to say, as she comforted me. All that went through my mind at that moment was who this woman was, and how God could make her to be so strong and so forgiving. So loving, that she would be willing to take that pain and shame I had and totally remove it, and still gaze into my eyes and say things without words.

She moved to me again, and pressed her soft lips onto mine. As I realized I was slowly starting to wake, I remember feeling that softness of her lips still pressed upon mine.

I don’t know who she is. I can’t see her face, I only know that she’s the lady in white. What I do know, though, is that she is a woman of unimaginable grace and beauty, of true godliness and forgiveness. I pray that I can meet her. Soon.