Friday Fictioneers – Love Is A Mystery

(Author’s note: Nothing again. Have a great week, and enjoy today’s fictioneers…with a song that many of you will likely never have heard, but will fall in love with.)

inside-the-diner

© Roger Bultot

Love Is A Mystery

by Miles H. Rost

He sat at the counter of the diner, waiting for the other customers to leave. He’d be the last customer in there before the sign was flipped closed.

He took his last sip of coffee, when he heard the clicking of heels got closer.

“Miranda, it’s good to hear your shoes again.”

Miranda snorted, as she helped her date from the counter chair.

“No luck finding someone new?” she asked with a sneer

“Nah. Just found myself down here. Waiting for you to come get me.”

She smiled. She didn’t know why, but she just couldn’t give up him up.

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Friday Fictioneers – Second Chances

(Author’s Note: Nothing major to report. Just working like I normally do. Enjoy today’s fictioneers, because I think it’s a good one.)

PHOTO PROMPT -© Vijaya Sundaram

Second Chances

by Miles H. Rost

“It’s been nearly 15 years, Rachel.”

“Since?”

“Since I’ve been on a date like this.”

“The last time you were on a rooftop, watching fireworks and drinking mojitos?”

Charles looked at Rachel with a wan smile.

Rachel’s eyes crinkled, looking deep into his face.

They both scooted closer to each other, her head resting on his shoulder.

“The difference this time is that I’m not in the middle of a war zone.”

“Which zone?”

“Kandahar.”

Rachel sighed, her displeasure obvious.

“Does it bother you?”

“Nah. I just miss Kandahar. But, I know I’m safe with my big Marine.”

He smiled, watching the fireworks go off.

Friday Fictioneers – Just Breathe

(Author’s note: A great response to last week’s story. Glad to hear things. Slowly getting back to normal after a major week of strangeness. Hope to have actual other fiction up and running. Now, last time I did this photo, it ended up with a father changing a diaper while wearing protective gear. What will come up this time?)

 

© Douglas M. MacIlroy

Just Breathe

by Miles H. Rost

“You don’t have to worry about anything. Just let yourself go and breathe,” Helen Young said, as her husband approached hyperventilation.
“There’s a reason I don’t like scubadiving.”
“I know, honey. But just breathe, and it’ll be like normal.”

The Youngs plunged into the water, Helen leading the way to a group of rocks about 125 feet down. She pointed down at them, and her husband went down to look at them.

From her side, she pulled out a knife and proceeded to cut his oxygen tube. Water rushed into his lungs, he gagged as he tried to surface for air.

“Freedom…” she thought.

Friday Fictioneers – Bandalero

(Author’s Note: Slowly working on getting to writing more. The problem is that when you’re rebuilding life from scratch, there’s not much you can do. So enjoy the Fictioneers until I can get myself back into a full writing spread.)

 

© C.E. Ayr

Bandalero

by Miles H. Rost

The clopping of the horse’s hooves on the ground slowed up, from a gallop to a trot. Approaching the main gate of the compound on horseback was the best way to impress The Man, in the mind of the rider.

Pressing the button beside the gate, the rider waited. And waited. And waited further. Slowly, a speck of a man started walking closer to the gate. As he arrived, the rider dismounted the steed.

“Are you Bobby?”

The rider nodded.

“Are you ready to teach my boy how to rope and ride?”

“Bobby” took their hat off, a long train of hair falling down to about the waist.

“Sure am, hoss. Bobbi Ann Jacobs is always ready to train.”

 

Friday Fictioneers – Train of Thought

Author’s Note: Welcome aboard yet again! Most of you have noticed that today’s offering is a bit late. That’s because a lot of things have happened this week regarding my potential move to Australia. Things should be stable, and because of that…here’s your story for today! 

copyright Jennifer Pendergast

Train of Thought

by Miles H. Rost

Obedience.

Lucas Milford hated hearing that word, in the modern context. His commute and his job, though, were the biggest forms of forced obedience for him.

He looked around the subway car, seeing all the gray and black suits and dresses. He wondered for just a moment whether he would be able to survive it all.

“Pulling into 92nd Street. Next stop: 112th Street – Broadway Station” the speaker droned out.

Lucas sighed as the train pulled one stop closer to his home. He started to close his eyes.

A flash of yellow streaked by him.

His eyes shot open, and he looked around. He spied the lemon yellow dress of a beautiful woman, whose green eyes bore into his, and red hair screamed out “different!” to him.

“Such…color…” he said, as the woman started moving closer to him.