Wang Chung

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Friday Fictioneers – Dance Hall Days (Short Story)

(Author’s note: Took last week off due to the fires in Oregon. Back today. Enjoy!”)

© Roger Bultot

Dance Hall Days

by Miles H. Rost

Stickball.

A staple of New York youth. A way for the kids of the neighborhood to have fun and forge long lasting friendships.

When us kids needed to hash out things, we didn’t take to our fists. We took to the sticks. Whoever ended up scoring the most, or when our moms called us in after the sun went down, they would carry the day.

Once we moved to the west coast, there was no more stickball. You moved up to the sandlots. The skills learned translated well for the batting, but the running killed us.

We were still friends.

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Friday Fictioneers – The Eyes Of The Girl

(Author’s note: Y’all probably wondered where I went last week, right? To be straight about it, my job gets very tiring. I have to use my mind a lot, and I don’t always get the best sleep. Last week, we had a lot of things happen at once, and once I got off work, I just slept. I hope that this week is the end of that pattern, but we’ll see. Here’s today’s fictioneers!)

bonfire-anshu

© Anshu Bhojnagarwala

The Eyes Of The Girl

by Miles H. Rost

“And that’s when Larry stood up and said, “Men Without Pants!”, and whipped his off.”

The tales told around the annual university beach bonfire were incredible, as was the amount of liquor consumed.

Thomas sat back, one of the few who didn’t drink at parties. He stared into the roaring fire, content with all that was going on.

He moved his eyes up and immediately were struck by a pair of green eyes staring back through the flames.

First, shock. Then worry. After a blink, recognition.

The eyes approached him, the person behind them giving Thomas a great big hug.

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Friday Fictioneers – To Live And Die In L.A.

(Author’s note: You probably noticed that I was absent for the last couple weeks. One reason was because I turned 39, and celebrated my birthday in Los Angeles. I got to see sights, have a great time, and do a lot of different things. The other reason was because I was in the middle of a big move, and didn’t have internet at the new place until I was on vacation. So now that I’m back, let’s have some good fictioneers work.)

dales-broken-door

© Dale Rogerson

To Live And Die In L.A. 

by Miles H. Rost

One cop car in Canyon Park was routine.

Seven meant someone wasn’t coming home to their family.

Three officers looked over and made sketches of the deceased, the massive hole that showed a liquefied heart and a half-torn stomach.

Two officers sat with a grandmother, uncontrollably sobbing, crying out “I’m sorry” in Korean. Nearby her, in another officer’s hands, a .223 rifle.

Three more officers are chatting with the medical examiner, who had taken one look at the body and motioned for the gurney.

Two officers stood by a police line, making sure reporters and their ilk didn’t get through.

Grief.

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