(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…)
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.
Here’s this week’s offering. Other stories are on the way, just dealing with a lot more stress and recover from said stress than I wish to divulge…
copyright Claire Fuller
by Miles Rost
After 35 years at the gas works, I never thought that I would still be working.
I spent a lot of time trying to figure out what I wanted to do after I got done with my career. The first year was the hardest. I had no clue, especially after Millie died.
I was driving down the A34 and was stopped to get petrol. I saw the building, the shabbiness of it, and the garage. I inquired with the proprietor whether he was interested in having another worker. He grumbled, but agreed.
My first job with him was to retread older tires, or to cut them up.
So, in short, I guess I can truly say that even though I’m working, I’m…retired.