Friday Fictioneers – Set Me In Motion

(Author’s Note: Currently working on my summer plans, and it’s going to be quite interesting come August. Here’s today’s fictioneers, and if you know the title/song, then you know why I used it.)

charred-toys

© Karuna

Set Me In Motion

by Miles H. Rost

Sarah Jeon was in tears.

Her family home in rural Kentucky had burned down. It spread too fast for her to get the two small teddy bears that were her last connection to her birth mom in Korea.

While firemen hosed down the hollow house, one walked over from the remains of her bedroom, carrying something in a sheet.

“Little lady,” the 6-foot-5 firefighter boomed, as he kneeled down to look at the 8 year old, “This little one was looking for you.”

He opened the sheet, her bear only singed

“Kimchi!” she cried.

She hugged and cried into his shoulder.

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Friday Fictioneers – Baby Baby

(Author’s note: Currently working on longer fiction piece, hopefully for publication. It’s a good one, but I will still be making time for Fictioneers. Here’s today’s piece.)

 

© Janet Webb

Baby Baby

by Miles H. Rost

The ambulances were splashing away from the parking lot of the movie theater.

Nearly a foot of water was in this section of the parking lot. An area with over a hundred guys walking around, dazed.

It was a special movie night, where pregnant moms got in for free with the purchase of a normal ticket and a concession box. What was not expected was the pain when the first mother walked out of the theater, followed by another mother.

Pretty soon, every mother’s water had broken. Over 100 mothers were taken to the hospital that night, after one of the worst rainstorms in ages.

It is still known to this day as the “Night of the Baby Flood”.

 

Friday Fictioneers – I’m Not Home

(Author’s notes: Sorry for not being as productive lately. It’s been a really tough time here in the land down under, and because of all that’s going on, my attention has been on getting myself stable, then getting myself out of here. I want to thank each and every one of you for reading my stories the last two weeks and giving me great feedback. You all make me so proud. Here is today’s fictioneers story.) 

 

I’m Not Home

by Miles H. Rost

Heidi Markham glared at her mother.

“We’ve been coming to Dad’s grave for 14 years. I’m about to graduate. You never told me what happened to him.”
“I guess it is that time,” her mother sighed, sitting down next to the flat gravestone, “Your dad came back from the Gulf, and he wasn’t right. But he always told me he was, so I didn’t say much about it.”

Heidi slowly knelt down by her Mom.

“He never told anyone. He never told me!”

She started to sob. Heidi hugged her, tears flowing down her face.

“He was too stubborn to ask for help, and he took his life. He never truly made it home.”

Fool’s Gold

(For Kristi, in the tough time she’s going through)

Fool’s Gold
by Miles Rost


Teresa Farmer’s hand let the phone slip from her fingers.

She was in shock, she didn’t know what she could do.

“Hello? Hello? Teresa? You still there?” the voice on the other end of the phone asked, shaken with fear and peppered with worry.
Teresa picked up the phone and breathed again.
“Yeah….yeah…I’m here. I just…I…I’m not sure if I can say anything…”
“I understand. I guess, all I can say is that I am so sorry for what’s happened, and I wish I could be there to help.”
“Yeah, I know,” Teresa told her friend, who was stationed in Germany at one of the Air Force bases.
“When I get leave, I’ll come back and we can have a gripe session about this.”
“Get here when you can.”
They talked for a couple more minutes, said their pleasantries, and Teresa hung up her phone.

She walked to the living room, the place in her house that became her conversation parlor. She leaned back in her rocking chair and just pondered her situation. She lived alone in her house, her husband moving out many years ago after a rocky fight. 6 years of marriage, suddenly gone. No kids in the house to yell at, or to pick up after.

One more lonely piece of news filled the room, a room that was slowly becoming a room of memories. The news from her friend of her mother’s passing was intensely tough. While Helena Farmer was not a rough and tough rancher’s wife, she still held her own after many years of battle. Whether a battle against a railroad company to reclaim the mineral rights under her farm, or the battle against a major crop company that tried to force her to use seeds she didn’t want, Teresa’s mother was steadfast. She may not have been physically strong, but she made up for it plenty with sheer will, guts, spit, and vinegar.

Now, she was gone. It was less than a year after being diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, and she was now gone. Teresa did not know what she was going to do. As she rocked in her chair, a warm afghan wrapped around her, the tears started to fall. As the cracks in her “armor” started to grow bigger, she wept louder, until it was unstoppable.

For the rest of that day, she grieved. She remembered, she cried, she wailed, she sobbed. She would go through the five stages of grief a few times before she could finally release. For this day, however, she needed to grieve.