(Author’s Note: None. Just enjoy today’s fictioneers! And Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms.)
© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
by Miles H. Rost
The park was full of them. Each and every one of them a precious life.
It was always this way after the first warm-up of the season. Kids in their sweatshirts and jeans were playing. It was great for us adults to see.
I just turned onto 45th when the sun blazed between the two large buildings ahead. I squinted and got my visor down as quickly as possible.
That’s when I heard the thump.
Then the screams.
I stopped my car immediately, got out, and looked behind me.
She wore orange that day. I didn’t see her.
She was 12.
R.I.P. Roberto Concina (aka Robert Miles)
Took last week off because, after the September from Hell that was unleashed upon me, I needed a bit of a break. Now, I’m back to doing what I do, and hopefully will be less tired and do more other writings. Here’s the latest Fictioneers story for y’all:
copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
by Miles Rost
“I know it doesn’t look pretty, but we’ll do fine with what we have.”
Paul and Mark looked around at the studio, and smiled.
“We don’t care. We’ve got some ideas, and the studio will be fine.”
Mark looked over at the engineers, and pursed his lips.
“Just curious, why didn’t we get the normal studio?”
The engineers smiled.
“Apparently, the last folk that were in the studio,” he chuckled as he relayed what he saw, “They smoked it up in there.”
Paul shook his head.
“Those kicks just keep getting harder to find, man.”
Mark smiled, as he looked at the sheet of music in front of him…
R.I.P. Paul Revere (1938-2014)