(Author’s note: Hey, everyone! Getting back into the game. Hoping to start posting every week again, and maybe drop some other story ideas on here. This month is going to be further work on my first book, at least a rough draft. We’ll see how things work. I have a goal of getting it off to an editor by the end of April. We’ll see what happens. Anyhow… here’s today’s fictioneers!)
by Miles H. Rost
A laundry cafe.
Not exactly a typical thing to see, but in Korea, they’ll make a cafe or bar out of anything. It seems like Korea catches waves earlier, then moves on quickly. America doesn’t usually have things like this.
While sitting and waiting for my wash to dry, I sipped on a cup of yuzu tea, the sounds of jazz fusion music in my ears. The fact I was able to find this place during my month off from teaching was helpful, as I could work through the evening on my writing.
(Author’s note: Well, I did it. I got the full-time job. This means a little more security, and means a little more stability for my writing schedule. I am hoping to be back up to speed fully. Also, my health has taken a turn for the better, so I am celebrating. Enjoy today’s fictioneers.)
(Author’s note: Everytime I post, I keep apologizing for not posting more. I really don’t have an excuse this month. I celebrated my 40th birthday, had some great things happen, and may have some more soon. I just haven’t been keeping active in writing. The Wednesday writing sessions are usually where I get my writing, then I don’t do much more for the week. I am hoping to change this, but it’s going to take some monumental work to do so.
White-knuckling her boyfriend’s love handles, she tried moving with the curve of the speeding snowmachine.
Brandon just entered the snowmobile path that circled the playground, a roundabout for the machines, and roared up. He sped into each turn until reaching the beginning again, then did a quick donut, facing where he came from.
He looked behind him, staring deep into Cherry’s deep jade eyes.
Her eyes crinkled, an obvious smile on her face.
He revved up the snowmachine, and tore around the circle once more before rocketing down the snow lane.
(Author’s note: The month of November was not very kind, creativewise. A good portion of my brains had to be put to use at work. The rewards will be seen eventually, but it meant my online writing ended up sacrificed. Hopefully this will be a return to more weekly and sooner endeavours. Otherwise, enjoy today’s offering!)
(Author’s note: I am finally back at home after a week and a half with family, and traveling on the Empire Builder. Next set of challenges are coming, and I’m working quite hard on bringing them forward. Otherwise, onto today’s fictioneers!)
(Author’s note: It’s 3-1 in Korea, Revolution Day. This means a day off. The only one I’ll have for the next 2 months. So today, I give my best! Enjoy! And there will be more stories during the week as I go walking and enjoying the nice weather.)
“So this is where you ended up, eh?”
“Yeah. Who would have thought that I would be the heir to the Sultanate.”
Mark O’Connor and Rahim Zaharia walked down the desert path within the walled town.
“10 years ago, we were pulling pranks on Melinda Clouse. And now you’re the Sultan of Watoomba.”
“8 years after becoming, I’m still not used to it. There are so many different things I have to do. Sometimes, I need an oasis from this desert.”
“Ever thought about coming back to the USA?”
Rahim shook his head.
“The people need me here. I am their oasis in this unforgiving desert.”
(Author’s note: G’day, everyone! First classes have come and gone for the week [or at least they will as of tomorrow night at 6:30PM]. I hope to be writing a bit more, considering I am going to need some time away from writing autobiographical pieces, biographical pieces, short fiction, and scripts. So much writing, so little time. Anyhow, here’s today’s Fictioneers.)
A few weeks before it happened, I packed up my belongings. I was to leave my wife, my family, and everyone. The journey from the desert to the sea, to travel to the west, was beginning. It was a 2 week walk and ride to Tyre, where I would pick up a ship that would take me as far as I could go. Thus was the life of a traveling educator.
Educated by the best, a head of a prosperous temple at the time, I felt I was being moved to leave and do more with what I had learned. It wasn’t necessarily because I wanted to leave, but it was because there was nothing left for me to do there. It was going to be very hard to leave behind my wife and my children, but I made sure that my brother, Elam, took care of her in my absence. Elam’s a good man, older than me but still devoted to family.
I was making my way towards Damascus, when I met up with a block in the road. There were men who had said that the way to Damascus was blocked for travelers, and that I needed to go around the city. The caravan I joined up with were reluctant to do so, but after making an inquiry, we realized that there were big things afoot. And, so, we headed south and west. We passed from the lands of Assyria and ended up in deep Roman lands. While I had no quarrel with the Romans themselves, I heard about some of the different things that had happened in the interim.
I heard about this Jewish man, this Jesus whose name as a teacher had even spread to my community. I didn’t pay him much mind, though. The ravings of a lunatic, I once said to my temple brethren. They all laughed with me about it.
We were nearing the end of two weeks, and we stopped short of Tyre. We ended up in a small village about a day’s journey from Tyre. We were close. I had decided, for some reason, to walk outside after dinner in order to clear my head and prepare myself for the next day. The sun was low in the sky, but it had not set when I encountered this man. He was a very powerful person, someone who did command authority. Rugged and everything. He was standing next to the well, looking like he was taking a rest.
“Good eve, sir. Is this well being used?” I asked him.
“I’m just taking a rest right now. You should be able to use it,” he said, with a smile.
While I worked to operate the well, the man continued to look at me. I was starting to get unnerved when he finally spoke.
“Tell me. What have you heard about this Jesus fellow?”
I looked over at him. I didn’t pay him much mind with his scraggly beard which appeared to be unkempt in the darkening light of the evening.
“Jesus? Are you talking about that Jewish guy? The things he’s saying seem to make me think he’s a bit out of his mind.”
I saw a little glint in his eyes, and that is when I knew that I was in deep trouble. He started into a debate with me about this Jesus, whom he called “The Christ”. About how he died so that others may live, and how we were to live by faith and not by sight. I just sighed, because I felt like I was being sold a pitch.
That’s when he threw the curve ball at me.
“He’s still alive. His body was dead. I saw it die. But He’s alive! I saw that, too! By the Sea of Galilee we saw him, and many upon many saw him, too.”
I responded to him that it could not have happened, but in my educated head, I felt like the logic that was in there was failing. I couldn’t explain why, but the idea of bodily resurrection actually seemed to make sense in the way this man was speaking.
“But let me ask you this, my good man. Why would such a man decide to do this for someone like me? Why would he knowingly give up his own life, to save a person like me who doesn’t even believe in his words?” I asked the man.
“Because it’s simple: If he sacrificed himself for all, that means we’re all on His level. We’re all equal.”
I sat for a little bit, to chew on this. One thing went through my mind: “The lunatic isn’t a lunatic at all. He’s the Lord. It makes sense.”
That night, my entire life was changed. I acknowledged all of it, and with the help of the scraggly-bearded man, I later went out to other lands to tell people, to share the Gospel, and to show people how Christ died for them. The scraggly bearded man, the one who called himself Petros, was a good friend to me during that time.
As I gave him a hug before boarding the boat, I looked at the boat and him, and said something I never would have thought of saying in my time back in the small educated area from which I came.
“Kyrie Eleison down this road that I must travel.”
Petros gave me the blessing, and I went on my way. Christ’s death gave me life, and it was certain, I would share it with whoever I met on my new life to a new land.
(A joyous Easter Sunday, and Resurrection weekend to all who read. – M.)