Melbourne

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Friday Fictioneers – My Hometown

(Author’s note: I took a month off of writing completely. Things have been a little bit busy with work and I was in a bit of a jam writing-wise. The jam is slowly removing itself, and I am starting to get back into the swing of it with a 3 work-day vacation this week, a “use-it-or-lose-it” thing. Today’s last item caps off a year that was, in a lot of ways, not the best year for a great number of folk. But, take it as you will. Here’s today’s last Fictioneers of 2022.)

© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

My Hometown

by Miles H. Rost

Granddad opened the Nicosean Bakery along Latrobe Street in 1927, before all the other Greeks came to Melbourne.

Visitors, tourists, and famous people would come in at various times for traditional Baklava, piping hot finikia, or even traditional raised and filled donuts.

Dad took over in 1974, and the institution served to the Greek Orthodox community every year with its specialty breads.

2021 was to be the year I took over. But that disease came, and the officials who bought our baked goods shut us down. “Safety” they said.

Dad lost his life soon after. Without work, he was nothing.

(NOTE: This story is fictional. Treat it as such.)

Go ahead. Click it. You know you wanna.
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Friday Fictioneers – Down By The Sea

(Author’s note: Not much to report. Here’s today’s great work!)

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© Roger Bultot

Down By The Sea

by Miles H. Rost

“Oi! We’re goin’ for brekkie. Wanna go?”

Laying out in the ever increasing light of the morning sun, Paul was at his glory. He gave them a shake of the head, as he continued to tan.

“That’s on you! It’s gonna be a ripper.”
“It’s going to be over 40 today. I want to get my sun before staying inside and roasting.”

The boys all just left, as Paul took in the sea air that came up from Port Phillip Bay. He loved the morning, when it was sunny but still cool.

This was rest time. He wasn’t giving it up.

purple-inlinkz-frog

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Friday Fictioneers – Upstairs in My House

(Author’s note: Things are getting little better, and I’m likely getting more time to do writing work. You may see an uptick in original work soon. My job isn’t as tiring as it used to be. Enjoy today’s view!)

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© C. E. Ayr

Upstairs In My House

by Miles H. Rost

The scenery was beautiful.

Westgate Bridge was far in the distance, but I could see it’s shadow looming on the water.

The setting sun brought forth it’s bright oranges and reds, a blanket to cover the entirety of Melbourne.

One of the hottest days of the year started moving down into a cooler and comfortable night. The lights of the CityLink, the sounds of Swanston, I could enjoy them all from my own place.

28th floor, looking down over the city. Temporarily. But it was still wonderful. It was a shame to leave it behind.

Such is the squatter’s life.

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!

Click here to enter

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Friday Fictioneers – Taking This Town (Again?!)

(Author’s note: Hidiho, neighbors! Currently training my replacement in anticipation of a new position coming up. In the meantime, doing my duty with putting a Fictioneers up. This one reuses music that I’ve used before, but I think it’s appropriate. Enjoy!)

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© C.E. Ayr

Taking This Town (Again?!?!)

by Miles H. Rost

 Melbourne.

City of culture, finance, and interest.

The 20 students snuck in overnight, flying into Tullamarine Airport, looking like smiling tourists. They walked past immigration, past the taxis, onto the nearest train platform. They smiled as they got on, and in unison, looked out the window.

As the trains eventually pulled into the Southern Cross Yards, each of the students looked towards a blonde haired girl with Chinese features.

“We have been selected for a great future. We are the future of Australia’s education.”

The train slowed to a stop.

“Time to take this town, girls!”

They rushed out the doors, onto unsuspecting businessmen and college registrars.

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5 Steps

5 Steps
a mini-fiction story by Miles H. Rost

 20150809_132610Picture ©Miles H. Rost

5 steps. Two platforms.

That’s all it is. You tell yourself that as you walk around the corner. Looking up in the midnight sky, there it sits. It calls to you, beckons you to cross underneath it’s latticed metal and rusted rails. The area underneath is totally dark. Very few lights behind you, and in front of you, if any at all.

You’ve taken a deep breath, imagined this moment for a long time. The time when you would have to cross underneath this potential death trap. The red staining on the rails, mixed with the gray metal, reminds you of a mouth with teeth full of silvery-gray fillings. Decayed teeth coming down upon the jaw of the ground awaiting the tiny morsel of sustenance that is you.

You’ve put your foot in front of you, the sound of your foot landing on the paving stones echoing down the seemingly long corridor. The sweat on your forehead is starting to rain down lightly upon the bridge of your nose. A bridge, not unlike that of the rails that are threatening to consume you, heart and soul.

Getting up your last milliliter of courage, you quicken your steps and blaze quickly down the brick-lined tunnel of buildings. You look up at the grey and red metal steps, the five steps in between two platforms, those steps that you think will be eating you momentarily. As you pass under, you look forwards to the other side and you see what looks to be freedom.

At last, you reach the corners of the building. You’re made it past the gauntlet, the metal mouth has not eaten you this day. You breathe a sigh of relief as you turn to your right. That is when you realize the horror is just beginning.

You have now stumbled upon a maze of paths, with jungle-like trees in the middle of it, the door of safety that you have to reach so far away. As you look at the next task at hand, the many possibilities of danger flood into your mind like meat into the mouth of a velociraptor, which may be in those trees there.