Friday Fictioneers – Grazin’ In The Grass

(Author’s Notes: None. Write and go, as they say. Enjoy the fictioneers this week!)

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© Sarah Potter

 

Grazin’ In The Grass

 

by Miles H. Rost

Summer.

Hot and humid, but also quite a beautiful time for listening to music.

I’d spend many hours sitting in the breezeway of my house, listening to the radio and recording the disc jockeys doing their thing. It was something that really inspired me.

It went everywhere I would go, but it always returned to that breezeway, close to where Dad did his accounting work and where he’d grow hot peppers. The music of my youth, the soundtrack of my life.

Until I was sent outside to play by my mom. Then I had to take my music with me.

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Friday Fictioneers – Situation

(Author’s note: None. Enjoy the Fictioneers!)

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© Jellico’s Stationhouse

by Miles H. Rost

Ron Bellio wheeled up alongside his pals, his small wire bike with big monster wheels in the back overshadowing the others.

“Hey, Ronny! Where’d you get the mutant?”
“Oh, the bike? Yo mamma!”
“What you say?!”

The sound of teasing filled the air, along with laughter and music as they rode down the street.

“Did you hear about Ali?”
“What about her?”
“She hit number one on the dance charts!”
“Auntie Ali?! Fat Ali?!”

Ron looked at his friends, smirking that his friends were talking about his cousin.

“You shouldn’t call her fat. She’s got more muscle than all you now.”

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Alison Moyet, of the duo “Yazoo” (aka Yaz)

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Friday Fictioneers – Big Dreams In A Small Town

(Author’s note: None. It’s March, I’m a month into my work at my school, and I am hard at work on stories. However, I will say that some of my fellow fictioneers may be contacted soon for permission to use their 100 word stories in my adults class on Fridays. Be prepared!)

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© Jennifer Pendergast

Big Dreams In A Small Town

by Miles H. Rost

“Have you thought about what you’re going to do?”
“When? After we graduate next week?”
“Yeah. Have you put any mind into your plans? Or maybe…even me?”

Mariko smiled at her boyfriend.

“Well, since winning state with the pop singers, I talked with the other two in our group. We could get a drummer and start working on an album.”

Her boyfriend looked aghast at her.

“Do you think we have time for that?”
“Big dreams and big wheels. That’s what I see. We got time for it.”

They looked up to the sky, hoping to see their fortune.

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Friday Fictioneers – I’m Holding My Own

No news, just Fictioneers:

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© Jan Wayne Fields

I’m Holding My Own

by Miles H. Rost

“Mitch, how long have you been living out here for?”
“Well, Sheena threw me out about two and a half years ago, and I didn’t find this place until the fall. I’d probably say almost two years now.”

The man took a long draught of his brew, looked around at Mitch’s “home”.

“And you like it here?”
“Yeah. I go to work for 8 hours, then come home to nature.”
“What about heat?”
“Sleeping bag, and if necessary, a good woman.”

The man took another long draw from his bottle.

“I have what I need right here. I am quite content.”

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Friday Fictioneers – Whatever Happens

(Author’s note: I will be doing some updates on this Chuseok weekend. I will also post a big personal non-story update, to give people an idea of what’s to come with Music and Fiction. In the meantime, here’s today’s fiction!)

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PHOTO PROMPT © Shaktiki Sharma

Whatever Happens

by Miles H. Rost

 Devon plopped the lump of clay on the wheel.

She cut and removed pieces she didn’t need, like pieces of her life that were unusable. She slowly formed the rounded lump with her hands. Pushing and pulling the clay, smoothing it out with water, she slowly developed it into a shapely, beautiful vase.

She pulled out a brush and some glaze. She pulled out a small tin, and mixed the grey powder into the small jar of glaze. She painted the fired vase, and put it back in for more firing.

The final product stood in the entryway, a tribute to her dearly lost husband, who was now a part of the beautiful vase.

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Friday Fictioneers – What’d I Say?

(Author’s note: I hope to be up for new things soon. I got smacked around by a cold last weekend. I hope to do a lot more soon. Anyhow, here’s today’s work!)

 

© Jan W. Fields

What’d I Say

by Miles H. Rost

Sex.

It was all Marcus knew. It was all that oozed out of his pores. And as he sat at the piano, his back against the ivories, he looked like he was about to pop.

Sex.

It was also a big problem. He held the letter in his hand, frowning at it. 13 names, 13 women, 13 calls for more money than he could ever make in a year.

He turned around and looked at the keys. He needed to find an outlet for all the sex in his system.

He found it in C minor…

Diamond Girls

(With thanks to Jamie Cross for inspiration)

Chelsea Paragovian, known to the rest of the world as Chelly Price, looked out the window at the brilliant lights of New York City. The twinkle of the skyline would be incredibly mesmerizing for a first-time girl in the big city. For someone who was there, it was a fading light that reflected the fading spark in her spirit.

Chelly Price was the main attraction for the new millennial musical movement, up there with the Demi Lovatos, Victoria Justices, and others of their ilk. Her first album, made when she was just 17 and a newbie in New York City, had gone platinum within 6 months. She was a hot commodity, and the various backing bands loved having her up front to bring the numbers in. After the concerts, she would swing through the party circuit. Sleep through the day, party all the night, press the flesh at music signings and celebrity appearances on TV shows.  Her second album didn’t do as well, but did hit gold within 9 months.

As she looked at herself in the mirror, as the sun came up on that September morning, she finally caught the realization of everything she had been doing. The lines on her face, the premature worry-lines, the stress and the wear of the road was finally getting to her. She had success, she had the money, but she had nothing else.

She had one person left who could bring her back to earth.

She held onto the cell-phone, the flat phone that kept only the most important numbers. She clicked through the hundreds of contacts until she found the one that she was looking for, listed under the letter Z. It had the name “Zero Hour” on it, and she knew that when she called the number, things would never be the same. She clicked the entry, and waited.

One ring. Two rings. Three rings.  *Click*

“Hello?”

“It’s me.”

“Chelsea? Sweetie? Is that you?”

“Yeah, Daddy. It’s me. I’m sorry for calling you so early. I know that it’s probably the middle of the night over there…”

She heard a big yawn from the other side of the phone, and started to yawn as well.

“No, no, sweetie. It’s alright. I haven’t heard from you, it’s been so long. So, how is New York treating you?”

“It’s…it’s…it’s alright, I guess.”

“Is there something wrong, sweetie?”

Chelsea hesitated. She knew that if she said the wrong thing, it could doom her future. She believed that if she said something, that it could come to fruition in ways that were never meant to be.

“I looked in the mirror.”

“What did you see?”

“I saw lines. I saw myself as tired.”

“How long have you been doing this stuff that you’ve been doing?”

“2 years. I am due to go into the studios here in the next month to record the third record.”

“What do you think? Do you think you have enough for another one?”

“They keep supplying me with songs, but they’re not really that good. I really want to expand my horizons.”

“Do you remember what I told you when you first left on that midnight plane to New York?”

“You told me that diamond girls aren’t made to grow old.”

“Do you feel old?”

“I look old. I feel tired. But, I know that there’s a spark still in my heart. I just don’t think it’s here.”

She chuckled, thinking that it was silly she was having this discussion with her dad, who was a simple wood-mill worker, not a big entertainment man.

“Maybe what they’re asking of you is not what you want. Have you thought much about what you want to do?”

Chelsea paused. Have I really thought about it? she asked herself, in her mind.

“I am not sure. I am thinking about leaving the parties and the other stuff behind. Maybe refocusing my music, in a way?”

“Honey, whatever you plan to do, I’m behind you 100 percent. Did you hear about Bernie Griffin?”

“Big Bernie? The guy who slung the slats?”

“Yeah. He got drafted by the Dodgers. He’s heading to Florida, I think. He’s gonna be in the minors now.”

“How did he get into baseball?”

“When you saw him last, he was on the high school team. He was at a company baseball gathering, and some guy saw him. Put his name in with a scout, who saw him work, and signed him almost on the spot.”

“Wow. Who would have thought?”

“People thought the same thing about you, Chelsea. They didn’t realize that you were being picked up for a recording contract. A 3 record deal was a big thing for the people around here.”

Chelsea thought about that for a moment, seeing herself like Bernie, and chuckling to herself.

“What I’m trying to say to you, Chelsea, is that you need to do what you think is right. Diamond girls aren’t made to grow old, and you’re my diamond girl. If you think that going a different direction will be a good thing, then trust in what your heart is saying.”

“Daddy, I just need time away from this city. I want to come home for a while.”

“Your bed is ready when you need it. We love you and support you, and if you want to come back at any time, just give us a heads up so we can pick you up at the airport.”

Chelsea started crying right there, on the phone. She knew what she was going to do, and it may have to mean paying the price of her soul with her career.