Friday Fictioneers – Hot Rod Hearts

(Author’s note: So, to honor the purchase of my first new vehicle (as in less than 5 years old), I am celebrating while writing something related to transportation. Here we go, enjoy today’s fictioneers…involving someone famous!)

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© C.E.Ayr

Hot Rod Hearts

by Miles H. Rost

“Holy…Jan, is that you?!”

His voice rang across the Hollywood lot, as Jan turned around.

“Robbie?”

“I didn’t know you were here!”

Jan gave him that mischevious smile she always gave.

“Yeah, you did. You see me every Monday at 8.”

“Still…I figured I wouldn’t actually run into you at all.”

She stood tall and confident, the same rebellious spirit Robbie saw in her years ago.

“You know, I still have the motorcycle.”

“That old thing? Still runs?”

“Nah. Lots of memories with it. The shot that launched your career. Remember?”

“Yeah,” she sighed, “It got me to WKRP.”

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Friday Fictioneers – Inherit The Stars

(No author’s note this time, enjoy the show!)

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© Ted Strutz

Inherit The Stars

 

by Miles H. Rost

“Brent, whatever are you doing out here?”

Brent looked up from his telescopic camera and smiled.

“They say that Jupiter is going to be closest tonight. I want to get a picture of her.”

His grandpa shuffled over to the camera, and peered through the viewfinder.

“Your uncle Stephen would be proud of you, you know.”
“Because of my interest in the planets?”
“Because you’re taking the time to explore more than just what’s around you.”

Brent looked up solemnly.

“There has to be more. I mean, how could all of this be created if there wasn’t a bigger purpose?”

Stephen Hawking (“Uncle Steve”) – Courtesy of The Telegraph 

Friday Fictioneers – Whatever Happens

(Author’s note: I will be doing some updates on this Chuseok weekend. I will also post a big personal non-story update, to give people an idea of what’s to come with Music and Fiction. In the meantime, here’s today’s fiction!)

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PHOTO PROMPT © Shaktiki Sharma

Whatever Happens

by Miles H. Rost

 Devon plopped the lump of clay on the wheel.

She cut and removed pieces she didn’t need, like pieces of her life that were unusable. She slowly formed the rounded lump with her hands. Pushing and pulling the clay, smoothing it out with water, she slowly developed it into a shapely, beautiful vase.

She pulled out a brush and some glaze. She pulled out a small tin, and mixed the grey powder into the small jar of glaze. She painted the fired vase, and put it back in for more firing.

The final product stood in the entryway, a tribute to her dearly lost husband, who was now a part of the beautiful vase.

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