Friday Fictioneers – Postcards from Paris

(Author’s note: The subject of today’s writing seemed a bit obvious, so I figured I’d go with an obvious choice for music and theme. Enjoy!)

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© C.E. Ayr

Postcards from Paris

by Miles H. Rost

Percy, the great lawyer, expert toastmaster, had no words.

He peered across the city from his temporary office. He had very little time to see the “City of Love”, with a merger that was looming over him. Once it completed, he sat back and took a breath.

He opened his briefcase and pulled out another folder. Looking through the paperwork, he sighed. He glanced at the Eiffel Tower, then at the Arc du Triomphe, and finally pushed the paperwork into the auto shredder.

He pulled out his phone and hit 1.

“Honey, Merger’s done. Set up the counseling appointment. I’m there. ”

purple-inlinkz-frog

Friday Fictioneers – It’s Good To Be King

(Author’s note: I have to apologize to all my readers and others who I should be reading. The last couple weeks dealing with the run-up to winter camp left me with little energy to respond, and that’s all on me. I will be doing better, now that camp has started and I have an idea of what’s going on, to actually visit and remark on other people’s stories.

In the meantime, here’s my fictioneers story, and it’s a bit of a historical thing…)

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© Sandra Crook

It’s Good To Be King

by Miles H. Rost

Steve disliked working at the school. It was not something he wanted to do.

He was waiting for news that seemed to never come. Meanwhile, he had to teach these hormonal girls how to write. It was a Sisyphean task.

When he was called to the office, he thought he was in trouble.

“It’s your wife,” the receptionist said, handing him the phone.

“Tabs, what’s going on?”

“Steve, I just got a telegram.”

“Yeah?”

“They’re going to print. They are asking if $4200 is enough.”

Steve smiled. His work about the kids he taught would be published.

Carrie would be unleashed.

(courtesy of Wikimedia)

(Courtesy of the Boston Globe)

Friday Fictioneers – What’d I Say?

(Author’s note: I hope to be up for new things soon. I got smacked around by a cold last weekend. I hope to do a lot more soon. Anyhow, here’s today’s work!)

 

© Jan W. Fields

What’d I Say

by Miles H. Rost

Sex.

It was all Marcus knew. It was all that oozed out of his pores. And as he sat at the piano, his back against the ivories, he looked like he was about to pop.

Sex.

It was also a big problem. He held the letter in his hand, frowning at it. 13 names, 13 women, 13 calls for more money than he could ever make in a year.

He turned around and looked at the keys. He needed to find an outlet for all the sex in his system.

He found it in C minor…