(Author’s note: I was unfortunately detained for a month handling the issues of a new roommate for the house. But, since the lease for the new roommates has been sent (and is being signed), I can get back to weekly posts! Here’s the latest!)
Ridin’ With The King
by Miles H. Rost
Leon hoist himself out from under the chassis of a 57′ Bel Air.
He loved to work on the old cars, and having his own shop was a point of pride for the young looking man.
Hearing the familiar dings of a customer pulling up, he walked out into the hot air and shielded his face.
He was looking into a 1977 Ford Mustang with Shelby-Cobra emblems. A 289 engine. Whoever this person was, they knew what they were doing.
“Can I help ya?”
“Can you look under the hood and see if I got a leak?”
(Author’s note: Hi. You’ve probably noticed that I haven’t written for about a month now. Work got crazy, and my mind got really really tired. I needed to rest after all the work that I had to do. As such, my mind has become a bit stale. So, here’s an offering that may not necessarily be the best, but it’ll be good enough for jazz.)
by Miles H. Rost
4 weeks. Mindless data entry. Sleep…
But I need to write.
Walking walking walking. Oh, let’s see about this door…
Oh. I guess not that idea. Let’s try this one.
*clink. clink clink clink clink*
You gotta be kidding me. Can I not even find an idea to work with. Let’s try this next one.
“I AM YOUR BED. I ORDER YOU TO SLEEP IN ME! UGHLALALAL—“
(Author’s note: A lot of my delays between weeks has usually been due to either busyness or other items. I’m hoping things will get better, but until at least November, it likely will not. I’ll do the best I can, though. Here’s today’s offering!)
by Miles H. Rost
Fabrizio grimaced as he started cleaning the remains of Hurricane Belinda.
A large storm, she threw the nests of seaweed up in front of his restaurant. He knew if he didn’t get it done, it’d stink up the neighborhood.
“Fabrizio! Where have you been?” she called out, Fabrizio jumping at her voice. “I need to clean this up. I need to open so I can help people.” “But what about our promised night out?” “Do you want to help me clean this up in your Chuta Gabrola?”
Marina’s eyes grew wide, as his suggestion sunk in.
(Author’s note: And here we are, back again for another Friday Fictioneers. I hope to have some new non-micro-fiction material up soon. Jobs that wear out your mind, however, don’t seem to work very well with keeping up a writing schedule. No longer! I have a secret weapon that will help. So, enjoy today’s missive!)
(Author’s Note: I’ve had to take some time off recently, in order to get things in order. I am moving this coming weekend, hopefully to a place where I’ll be able to save up and get my own pad. But in that time, I get to enjoy new music, which I get to add to my list. One such song is what you’re going to hear tonight. Here’s the fictioneers! [By the way, watch the video and tell me how many celebrities you see. If you get all of them, you get a custom salute from me!])
(Author’s note: Such great responses from everyone for last week’s piece. I will respond this evening, I’m just dealing with a lot of crunk related to winter camp here. Hope to have more coming up after the camp is done. Otherwise, here’s a good one, being written while the moon is starting to eclipse…)