(Author’s note: Hi. You’ve probably noticed that I haven’t written for about a month now. Work got crazy, and my mind got really really tired. I needed to rest after all the work that I had to do. As such, my mind has become a bit stale. So, here’s an offering that may not necessarily be the best, but it’ll be good enough for jazz.)
by Miles H. Rost
4 weeks. Mindless data entry. Sleep…
But I need to write.
Walking walking walking. Oh, let’s see about this door…
Oh. I guess not that idea. Let’s try this one.
*clink. clink clink clink clink*
You gotta be kidding me. Can I not even find an idea to work with. Let’s try this next one.
“I AM YOUR BED. I ORDER YOU TO SLEEP IN ME! UGHLALALAL—“
(Author’s note: I have been gone the last couple weeks, due to many different issues coming up and rearing their head, such as a digestive issue. I intend on doing more. It’s just taking a little longer to get things moving. Here’s today’s Fictioneers!)
(Author’s note: Starting the week of May 28th, I will be posting later. I have a job that requires me to be at work at 6AM PDT, which means that Fictioneers is posted in the middle of my sleep-time. Yes, this means I got a job. It’s a good one. And I hope to be able to do a lot more with it. Here’s your fictioneers.)
Prompt by Courtney Wright; Photographer – Anonymous
I’m Gonna Tear Your Playhouse Down
by Miles H. Rost
Travis Lonigan knew that with one click, one hit of the return key, he could cost someone their job. Someone would go to jail, someone well respected but with a lot of secrets. Someone who stole from his friend.
He would likely be found. He knew that people were looking for him, trying everything to prevent this from happening.
Switching from the ‘enter’ key to the delete key, Travis knew that one of two buttons would seal his fate. He could be hunted down, potentially destroyed, utterly humiliated.
(Author’s note: I am writing this in a hunt and peck form due to my left wrist being cracked. I will likely be in a splint for 4 weeks, then in a wrist brace for 4 more…depending. Anyhow, here’s today’s fictioneers.)
(Author’s Note: Thought things were going to be late due to the election and the results…but I was able to get them looked at, and was able to spend time. I think I should have time for more long-fiction coming up. We’ll see. Anyhow, here’s today’s Fictioneers.)
(Author’s note: A great response to last week’s story. Glad to hear things. Slowly getting back to normal after a major week of strangeness. Hope to have actual other fiction up and running. Now, last time I did this photo, it ended up with a father changing a diaper while wearing protective gear. What will come up this time?)
“You don’t have to worry about anything. Just let yourself go and breathe,” Helen Young said, as her husband approached hyperventilation.
“There’s a reason I don’t like scubadiving.”
“I know, honey. But just breathe, and it’ll be like normal.”
The Youngs plunged into the water, Helen leading the way to a group of rocks about 125 feet down. She pointed down at them, and her husband went down to look at them.
From her side, she pulled out a knife and proceeded to cut his oxygen tube. Water rushed into his lungs, he gagged as he tried to surface for air.