memories

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Friday Fictioneers – Back On The Streets

© Rowena Curtin

Back On The Streets
by Miles Rost

8 years since he returned to the old haunts.

The smells, or lack thereof, made the area seem surreal. The scent of freshly baked bread from the factory was the prime smell missing.
The scent of booze and lichens no longer permeated the streets or the sidewalks.

The absence of smell made the area seem antiseptic. Half the buildings that enclosed the area were gone, removed to make new, giant buildings at twice the price.

He got back into his car, and drove away from the glass and concrete facades where brick used to rule. Donor money gone to waste.

Go ahead. Click the blue box. You know you want to read others.

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Friday Fictioneers – Electric Blue

(Author’s note: Fall is starting to come in early to the Pacific Northwest. It is also my second favorite season. But, as a nod to the soon to be departing summer, here’s today’s Fictioneers!)

© Dale Rogerson

Electric Blue

by Miles H. Rost

At one moment, a nice and fluffy cloud in the sky.

Five minutes later, a roaring rainstorm with blue lightning cleared the beach. (1)

Patrick wanted to enjoy the beach one last time before returning to university, and being stuck in a small shelter in a rainstorm wasn’t fun.

Until he looked to his right.

Huddled up next to him, gripping his arm for dear life, was a striking beauty in an electric blue bikini. (2)

“Scary?”
She nodded.
“I’m here. Hold on as long as you like.”

After 10 minutes it was over.

After 15 minutes, he had a date.

(1) – Thank you, Walter.
(2) – You should really hear the story behind the song, as told by John Oates. Look it up.
Oh come on, you know you wanna see more!
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Friday Fictioneers – Island Rain

(Author’s note: Hey, everyone! Getting back into the game. Hoping to start posting every week again, and maybe drop some other story ideas on here. This month is going to be further work on my first book, at least a rough draft. We’ll see how things work. I have a goal of getting it off to an editor by the end of April. We’ll see what happens. Anyhow… here’s today’s fictioneers!)

© Me!

Island Rain

by Miles H. Rost

A laundry cafe.

Not exactly a typical thing to see, but in Korea, they’ll make a cafe or bar out of anything. It seems like Korea catches waves earlier, then moves on quickly. America doesn’t usually have things like this.

While sitting and waiting for my wash to dry, I sipped on a cup of yuzu tea, the sounds of jazz fusion music in my ears. The fact I was able to find this place during my month off from teaching was helpful, as I could work through the evening on my writing.

I could stay in this place forever.

You know you want to click it.
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Friday Fictioneers – The Jester’s In A Cast (American Pie)

(Author’s note: National Novel Writing Month is in full swing. I’m at about 17,500 words out of 50,000. I am going to be spending a lot of time coming up with marathon writing sessions, but I believe I am doing well. I now need to work on finding an editor to help with starting out this new venture. Oh well, we’ll see what happens. Anyhow, here’s today’s Fictioneers!)

© Starsinclayjars

The Jester Is In A Cast

by Miles H. Rost

“I don’t know about you, but Bob Dylan absolutely has to be the Jester.”
“How do you figure?”
“Take a look at history. Elvis’s music was big, until Bob Dylan came along. And Bob’s music was the big thing until the Rolling Stones came along.”
“What does Elvis and the Stones have to do with it?”
“Elvis was the King. The Jester stole the King’s crown. Bob Dylan took over after Elvis went through the military. As far as the Stones? Their 1967 album is ‘Their Satanic Majesties Request’.”
“So, Mick Jagger is Satan?”
“Don McLean was on to something.”

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Friday Fictioneers – Auf Immer Und Ewig

(Author’s note: I was off last week as it was my birthday week. I had a lot of things to do, so I got to them. Now that things are starting to calm down, I can get back to more regular writing. Keep an eye on this website for possibly more longer-form stories. Otherwise, here’s today’s fictioneers… Note: The song is very important. Listen and enjoy.)

© Bradley Harris

Auf Immer Und Ewig (Forever and Ever)

by Miles H. Rost

A craving that could never be sated.

Nick gazed out towards the horizon, passing a glance over the ocean as though it wasn’t there.

Every month, he’d come to that very spot, and look out. It was a therapy, his father would say, a way to heal from the scars of the past.

It wasn’t.

“I always go there,” he said to his best friend one day, “because I want to go back. I left her back there, and I want to be with her just once more.”

It was all he would say about his tour back in Vietnam.

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Friday Fictioneers – Treasure Chest

(Author’s note: Things are getting crazy! Here’s some Fictioneers!)

© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Treasure Chest

by Miles H. Rost

A summer day, and the sound of kids playing filled the air.

This day, it was an adventure. The youngest kid impersonating Sherlock Holmes, the middle kid pushing the swing while the oldest imagined she was a pilot.

After the “flight” was over, they all ran around the quarter acre of property, looking for the treasure that their mother hid earlier that day.

They peered in a hole in the tree. Nothing.

They searched the camper. Nothing.

Finally, the middle kid spotted the box under a rhubarb plant.

They opened the box, and found… condiments.

“KIDS! DINNERTIME! BURGERS!”

“YAY! BURGERS!”

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Friday Fictioneers – Behind The Waterfall

© Anne Higa

Behind The Waterfall

by Miles H. Rost

The hike from the campsite to the water source was long.

The reward was clear, crisp, running water.

Sally looked around and smiled. She spied a little path going behind the waterfall. A curious teenager, she had to investigate it.

Reaching the back of the waterfall, she looked out at the beautiful blue-tinted waters pouring over the lip of the cave. The sight of the western sun shining through the water gave her heart peace.

Taking out a small bag, she untwisted the tie, and poured the contents out.

“Be at rest, Dad. You always said you loved the water.”

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Friday Fictioneers – Korea Remembered (Madrigl)

(Author’s note: A lot of feels with the picture for this Fictioneers. A lot of them. Enjoy!)

© Brenda Cox

Korea Remembered (Madrigl)

by Miles H. Rost

Nambu Market in Jeonju was one of a few placed I loved to go.

The shops, the smells of the food, the atmosphere; All of it was intoxicating.

The blood sausage restaurant, serving up sundae, was lined up down the lane. I passed them all by. No twenty minute wait for me.

The kalguksu shop I went to had soft asia-jazz playing, and was a great place for someone like me.

The server put some water on my table, and asked me for my order.

“Mandu Kalguksu wa cola hanpyeong gajuseyo.” *

She smiled as she went to make my order.

*- “Knife-cut noodle soup with dumplings, and 1 glass of cola, please.”

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Friday Fictioneers – Closing Time

(Author’s note: No note, just write!)

© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Closing Time

by Miles H. Rost

“We’re locking up.”

The waitress teared up as we put on our jackets. I grabbed the last piece of biscuit on my way to the register.

“$24.50.”

I looked around at the reminiscent decor, all the things I loved that were on shelves just below the ceiling. I pulled a $100 out of my wallet, and gave it up.

“Are you sure…”
“Honey, this place gave me memories. Whatever isn’t for the bill, split it among you three.”

She finished ringing us up, smiling through it.

We walked out the door and saw her turn the sign to closed.

Forever.

Nothing more.

It’s a common thing nowadays, the last person out tips the best. With the virus, you never know when you’ll have to go home.
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Friday Fictioneers – Dance Hall Days (Short Story)

(Author’s note: Took last week off due to the fires in Oregon. Back today. Enjoy!”)

© Roger Bultot

Dance Hall Days

by Miles H. Rost

Stickball.

A staple of New York youth. A way for the kids of the neighborhood to have fun and forge long lasting friendships.

When us kids needed to hash out things, we didn’t take to our fists. We took to the sticks. Whoever ended up scoring the most, or when our moms called us in after the sun went down, they would carry the day.

Once we moved to the west coast, there was no more stickball. You moved up to the sandlots. The skills learned translated well for the batting, but the running killed us.

We were still friends.