Friday Fictioneers – Homeward Bound

Apologies for no posts in the last two weeks. Vacation and depression do affect a person. Here’s the latest Fictioneers offering, albeit a couple days late due to birthday stuffs.

copyright Jean L. Hays

Homeward  Bound

by Miles H. Rost

“So this is where it all started?” Marina asked her grandpa.

“Yep. This is where the famous Route 66 got it’s start,” Grandpa responded, with pride.

“Not that, silly! This is where you started your journey, wasn’t it?” the child said, smiling like she was sharing a secret.

“Ah, child. This was the start of my journey. I lived in that brown building back there, and one day I decided to move west. I packed up a ’55 Bel-Air, picked up your grandma in Des Moines, and we made our way to Oregon.”

“Then I came along and brought you back here!”

“Actually, that was your mom…”

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Poor Boy Long Way From Home

Poor Boy Long Way From Home
by Miles Rost

I found myself in a strange land.

The night before, I was just putting my head down to sleep comfortably on my pillow, dreaming of when I would travel the world and be a beach bum.

I woke up to find myself in a strange land, where the smell of fermented food accented the air and the sounds of crazy drivers screeching their tires on the street as they drove like wildmen.

I got out of my bed, and found that I was already dressed in a nice shirt, a pair of jeans, my tennis shoes. You know, the usual dress for a guy like me. I decided that I was going to go for a walk, but when I opened the door, I didn’t see a hallway to an apartment, or an entry. I saw…classrooms.

I walked down the hallway with classroom doors, and I found one with my name on it. Curious, I opened the door to see what awaited me. It was a man, a few years younger than me but who looked strangely like myself.

“Ah, good! You have arrived! I was hoping that you weren’t going to be delayed by any issues. So all you need to know for this job is to keep the kids happy, teach them something educational for a bit of time, then play with them the rest.”

I looked at this young punk with a strange look and my face twisted into a mark of frustration and worry.

“Job? What job? I’m supposed to be awake and working on my applications for college.”

“Oh, aren’t you the guy who signed up to teach a whole bunch of students who may not really care about you?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Oh. Well, here you are. You get to do the job, because I have to catch my flight out,” he said, as he put the clipboards and the colored pencils in my hand. He grabbed a big rucksack, put it on his back and started out the door.

“By the way, your class starts in five minutes. Have fun with the elementary kids!”

I looked at him, incredulously, as I saw him trundle away to a waiting elevator. As the elevator door closed, my classroom door also slammed shut. I tried to open it, but there was no escape.

“Teacher! Teacher! English-ee!”

I looked behind me and saw a great number of students rushing into the classroom, all of them screaming “English-ee”.

There was nothing I could do. I am now their teacher. A teaching monkey. Lord help me.