(Author’s note: I was off last week as it was my birthday week. I had a lot of things to do, so I got to them. Now that things are starting to calm down, I can get back to more regular writing. Keep an eye on this website for possibly more longer-form stories. Otherwise, here’s today’s fictioneers… Note: The song is very important. Listen and enjoy.)
Auf Immer Und Ewig (Forever and Ever)
by Miles H. Rost
A craving that could never be sated.
Nick gazed out towards the horizon, passing a glance over the ocean as though it wasn’t there.
Every month, he’d come to that very spot, and look out. It was a therapy, his father would say, a way to heal from the scars of the past.
“I always go there,” he said to his best friend one day, “because I want to go back. I left her back there, and I want to be with her just once more.”
It was all he would say about his tour back in Vietnam.
(Author’s Note: Do you know how sore a person can get if they have not actually gone to a gym and exercised properly? Well, I’m that guy. Arms are about as sore as can be. But, you know what? It’s worth it. In 6 months, in 1 year, I will be further in shape. This is good for a writer. And, further, Happy Independence Day. To all veterans who fought for our freedom: We cannot owe you enough. There is not enough in this world to give that makes up for the years you sacrificed. Take honor in what you have done. Here’s the fictioneers!)
(Author’s Note: I have this strange feeling that I’m about to get blindsided with something at work, and things are in a lot of flux right now. I’ll be continuing at this level until, likely, February. To which I’ll be packing up and on the way back to the States. So I’ll try to keep up. Just beware. Here’s today’s fictioneers!)
(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?)
“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.
(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.)
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.”
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
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.