Simon and Garfunkel

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Friday Fictioneers – Sound Of Silence

(Author’s Note: One of the primary reasons I haven’t written here in the last little bit has been because I’ve been involved in National Novel Writing Month. I have been spending a lot of energy on writing 50,000 words, in the hopes that I can not only do it, but maybe surpass it and get it into editing (the hard part). I’m inspired, funny enough, by Val McDearmid. She is a good Scottish writer who has had some of her work turned into streaming programs (Britbox’s “Karen Pirie” is the latest). So, I am working my hardest. But, I decided to take some time out today and write here. So here’s today’s work.)

Sound Of Silence

by Miles H. Rost

Marie sat in her chair, working on the same loop of crochet that she’d been working on for the last minute.

Her daughter, Margaret, sat by her with her hand on her knee.

Marie put down her crochet and looked into Margaret’s eyes.

“You don’t know what it’s like. To do something, then forget you already did it.”

“Oh, Mom…”

Marie smiled sadly, and put her hand on Margaret’s head.

“Time to get back to my crochet work.”

Margaret looked up as her mother picked up her project and started on the same loop, yet again.

Her heart shattered completely.

Go ahead. Click the frog. You know you wanna.
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Friday Fictioneers – Sounds Of Silence

(Author’s Note: None! I am back to life, back to the writer’s gallery. I have 13 more months in Korea. Let’s celebrate with a story!)

roger-bultot-flower

© Roger Bultot

Sounds of Silence

by Miles H. Rost

It was a shock to the Garbarthian space crew when they heard nothing.

For 27 earth years, they were able to study and learn about its inhabitants and the various strange things that were around them. They had gone to sleep on the eve, waiting to see what would come.

There was no sound that next morning. Nor the morning after. They heard faint horns, faint chatter, but the small cactus they used as their listening device heard nothing.

For 11 days, they heard nothing. They went back into the playback to hear the last moment.

*click* BANG! *click* BANG!

Nothing more.

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Friday Fictioneers – Flowers Never Bend With The Rainfall

(Author’s Note: Things are getting busy at work. It’s starting to go very strange, so I am going to do what I can to get ahead of things. However, I can’t say much more than that. Here we go, it’s Fictioneers day!)

 

© Ted Strutz

Flowers Never Bend With The Rainfall

by Miles H. Rost

“Charlie, what the heck are you doing?”

“I’m putting a bunch of flowers out to line my yard. I want to make sure that people know I’m a man of culture.”

“But look at what those flowers are in!”

“What’s the problem, Virgil? They’re commodes! I’m doing my part to recycle!”

“Yeah, but it looks so cheap. What will people think when they drive by?”

“They’ll think that I’m resourceful and reusing the things that people throw away!”

“No, people will think your flowers are representative of you. Full of crap.”

“You mean like the stuff that fell down the side of your hill?”

“…you shut up.”

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Friday Fictioneers – I Am A Rock

(Author’s Note: Things are stable down here in Melbourne, for the time being. Grades are starting to come in, so we’re waiting to see what happens. Due to my job search, I haven’t have had much time to actually do other writing besides Friday Fictioneers, but I plan to once things get further stabilized. In the meantime, here’s today’s Fictioneers piece.)

Photo Caption © Sandra Crook

I Am A Rock

by Miles H. Rost

(Not based on a true event or story)

The clouds boiled up in the south. The seas were calm, but they would become wild. The man stood near the edge of the craggy sandstone cliff, watching it all unfold.

The first storm of the season was about to hit his small Australian fishing village, and people were getting things ready for the haul that would come in: Felled timber from the western hills, fish from the bay.

“Fiona, you’d be proud of the people you’ve led,” the man said, as he opened the small urn. He tossed the contents into the air, nary a tear being shed.


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Friday Fictioneers – Homeward Bound

Apologies for no posts in the last two weeks. Vacation and depression do affect a person. Here’s the latest Fictioneers offering, albeit a couple days late due to birthday stuffs.

copyright Jean L. Hays

Homeward  Bound

by Miles H. Rost

“So this is where it all started?” Marina asked her grandpa.

“Yep. This is where the famous Route 66 got it’s start,” Grandpa responded, with pride.

“Not that, silly! This is where you started your journey, wasn’t it?” the child said, smiling like she was sharing a secret.

“Ah, child. This was the start of my journey. I lived in that brown building back there, and one day I decided to move west. I packed up a ’55 Bel-Air, picked up your grandma in Des Moines, and we made our way to Oregon.”

“Then I came along and brought you back here!”

“Actually, that was your mom…”