Friday Fictioneers – The Colour of Love

(Author’s Note: Great response from people last week. Sorry I haven’t responded, but I am working on it. Now that a job has been secured, boomba…more time to do things. Here’s today’s Fictioneers.)

 

mystery-chair-ted-strutz

© Ted Strutz

The Colour Of Love

By Miles H. Rost

“Alright, Monica. We have only a few hours before tide comes back in. Think you can paint the scenery?”

Monica looked up at her teacher with her eyes full of worry.

“Monica, you’re going to do just fine.”

She pointed to the hulking dam in the distance and exploded her hands outward.

“No, Monica. The dam won’t break. Remember, I’m here with you. If anything happens, I got you.”

She smiled, and warmly hugged his waist. She picked up her palette and dipped into some Prussian blue.

Her teacher watched as she silently painted. He knew his daughter was safe.

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Poor Boy Long Way From Home

Poor Boy Long Way From Home
by Miles Rost

I found myself in a strange land.

The night before, I was just putting my head down to sleep comfortably on my pillow, dreaming of when I would travel the world and be a beach bum.

I woke up to find myself in a strange land, where the smell of fermented food accented the air and the sounds of crazy drivers screeching their tires on the street as they drove like wildmen.

I got out of my bed, and found that I was already dressed in a nice shirt, a pair of jeans, my tennis shoes. You know, the usual dress for a guy like me. I decided that I was going to go for a walk, but when I opened the door, I didn’t see a hallway to an apartment, or an entry. I saw…classrooms.

I walked down the hallway with classroom doors, and I found one with my name on it. Curious, I opened the door to see what awaited me. It was a man, a few years younger than me but who looked strangely like myself.

“Ah, good! You have arrived! I was hoping that you weren’t going to be delayed by any issues. So all you need to know for this job is to keep the kids happy, teach them something educational for a bit of time, then play with them the rest.”

I looked at this young punk with a strange look and my face twisted into a mark of frustration and worry.

“Job? What job? I’m supposed to be awake and working on my applications for college.”

“Oh, aren’t you the guy who signed up to teach a whole bunch of students who may not really care about you?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Oh. Well, here you are. You get to do the job, because I have to catch my flight out,” he said, as he put the clipboards and the colored pencils in my hand. He grabbed a big rucksack, put it on his back and started out the door.

“By the way, your class starts in five minutes. Have fun with the elementary kids!”

I looked at him, incredulously, as I saw him trundle away to a waiting elevator. As the elevator door closed, my classroom door also slammed shut. I tried to open it, but there was no escape.

“Teacher! Teacher! English-ee!”

I looked behind me and saw a great number of students rushing into the classroom, all of them screaming “English-ee”.

There was nothing I could do. I am now their teacher. A teaching monkey. Lord help me.