Friday Fictioneers – There’s No Stopping Your Heart

Author’s Note: I want to drop two things for new people who are part of the world of mine, the Music and Fiction world.

The first is a good friend of mine who runs her own blog, called “Oh My Gloss“. She deals more with cosmetics, and a lot of it is from Korean companies. However, Sarah (the blogmaster) really has a lot of good advice and products. Take a quick step over, if you can, and take a look. And tell her that Music and Fiction sent you.

The second is for a great person who has been overcoming a lot of difficulties to become a real good person in the world of cosplay (costume play, aka dressing up and having fun.) Mosey on over to Precious Pearl Cosplay and Cats, on Facebook, and see a little look at what she does. She’s pretty good on things, and is responsive. She is also living out a dream as a vet assistant, hence the cats part of her page. Check it out.

Anyhow, long enough to talk…here’s today’s Fictioneers, with an old favorite song of mine from my childhood:

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© Dale Rogerson

There’s No Stopping Your Heart

 

by Miles H. Rost

“How many has that been, Kelly?”

Kelly Mangum looked at the two bouquets on the office table.

“I believe that’s six in two weeks.”

Frieda, her co-worker, was perplexed by this. She was the redhead with the killer bod, and she got no flowers. Kelly was a simple girl, yet kept getting bouquets galore.

“So, what’s your secret?”

Kelly smiled and directed Frieda to come closer.

“I mean what I say and say what I mean. He’s crazy for me, because I’m honest.”

Frieda blinked. Is it that simple? she thought.

“It’s that simple. Be honest, and you’ll get attention.”

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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…