Friday Fictioneers – Running Up That Hill

(Author’s note: Life is doing pretty well. Interviews happening, help to others being given, and with the exception of being clipped by a hit and run driver (no personal damage to body, a little to the back of my van), things are doing well. Here’s this week’s fictioneers!)

k-rawson

© K. Rawson

Running Up That Hill

by Miles H. Rost

Mandy stared into Josh’s eyes.

“You don’t understand me.”
“What do you mean?”
“This. We are standing just below our target’s hideout, and we’re arguing.”

Josh’s face wore blank.

“I just want to know, before we go in, that we’re on the same page.”
“Of course we’re on the same page. We’re going to axe this guy, then get out of the country.”
“Are you sure?”

Mandy just sighed.

“If you’re going to be addle-brained, I’ll do it myself and Leave you behind.”
“You wouldn’t do-”

*BOOM*

Shards of building rained upon them.

Mandy dropped the detonator and walked away.

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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 – 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…