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Friday Fictioneers – Shinto

(Author’s note: After a wonderful birthday weekend, I am recharged and ready to go for 2023. Hopefully able to get back to doing these once a week. Enjoy today’s fictioneers!)

© Fleur Lind

Shinto

by Miles H. Rost

Evening hauls were not the best for Sadao.

He was more of a day person, and loved his music. But with the salaryman lifestyle not to his liking, he needed a way to make ends meet without living at home.

He passed through the urban Takasaki area, carrying Canadian beef on his way from Ota to Nagano. As the sun went down, he flipped on the radio.

“A trip from the past in America. This is the band Hiroshima, with Shinto…”

Sadao smiled, settling in for the last leg of his first run.

It would be a good night.

From the “Odori” album, 1980.
To join the party, click the frog
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Friday Fictioneers – Ridin’ With The King

(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!)

© Claire Fuller

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?”

Leon grinned.

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Friday Fictioneers – These Dreams

(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.)

© Roger Bultot

These Dreams

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…

*slam*

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.

*open*

“I AM YOUR BED. I ORDER YOU TO SLEEP IN ME! UGHLALALAL—“

*slam*

Aw hell naw. Okay, last one. Let’s see…

*click*

“Ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding…”

I don’t know what this is…but I think I have my next story!

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Friday Fictioneers – Inside A Dream

(Author’s note: I turn 41 tomorrow. There’s a lot going on. Let’s just get to it.)

© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (The BlogMom!)

Inside A Dream

by Miles H. Rost

Delia’s eyes grew wide at the organizer on her daddy’s desk.

“Daddy, can I have paper clip?”

Her father looked down and smiled. His beautiful 6 year old came to work with him, due to inservice days at school. He sat down and lifted her onto his lap, and plucked a silver paper clip out.

Delia worked her fingers, bending, unbending; like lightning she moved. Daddy just closed his eyes, taking the quick break that he was hoping for.

“I’m done!”

He opened his eyes, and looked down at Delia, who had made a house out of one clip.

“How Beautiful!”

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Friday Fictioneers – I’ll Wait

(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!)

© Sandra Crook

I’ll Wait

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.

“I’ll wait.”
“Thought so.”

RIP Eddie Van Halen (1955-2020)

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Friday Fictioneers – Train of Thought (Redux)

Author’s Note: It’s a redux of the post from April 10, 2015. Why? Because I can, and I’m having to work on stuff outside of posts today. Enjoy!

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.

purple-inlinkz-frog

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Friday Fictioneers – My Old Yellow Car

(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!)

teds-car-in-the-woods

© Ted Strutz

My Old Yellow Car

by Miles H. Rost

The garage door opened and gasps went up to the heavens.

“What did you do, Dad?”
“I bought an old, rusted and busted ’68 Charger R/T. I figured you and I could work on it.”

The 10-year old looked up, crinkling his nose.

“Couldn’t we have done this with a computer?”
“Do you want to drive when you’re 16?”
“Yeah…”
“This car is yours once it’s fully built.”

His son’s eyes lit up. Then they fell.

“But we don’t have money for parts.”

Dad smiled, and looked around the garage.

“$10 a week. Save up enough, I’ll buy an extra part for free.”

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Friday Fictioneers – …The Laboring Man

(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!])

goats_and_graves_3_randy_mazie

© Randy Mazie

How Can The Laboring Man Find Time For Self Culture

by Miles H. Rost

“If you don’t find time to relax, Brian…”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll end up in my grave. You’ve said that for the last 20 years, Jeana.”

Two heart attacks confirmed Jeana’s words, and Brian knew it. He just couldn’t rest until she was comfortable.

“There’s an exhibit about the history of underwear at the museum. We should go.”

“And put me in an early grave?”

“How?”

Brian looked at her flatly, Jeana finally realizing that an exhibit like that would, actually, make his heart pressure soar.

“Maybe we can watch the Rock Hall Inductions.”

“Alright,” Jeana sighed.

At least he would relax.

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Friday Fictioneers – Love Lies Dying

(No author’s note. Just nice! Be with you next week.)

music-room

© Rochelle “The Boss” Wisoff-Fields

Love Lies Dying

by Miles H. Rost

Charles came home from school and ran upstairs without even a hello.

For 7 months, this happened everyday. Only stopped plinking to eat and sleep.

Finally, he came out of his room one day and called a family meeting. As the family gathered, he set up his one-man equipment.

“Family, I’ve slaved 7 months for this moment. To be able to present my new music. I call it “Jingle Rock”.

He played his heart out for 4 long minutes. The family paused, and finally clapped.

“What do you think?”

“You’re 32 years too late, son. They called it AOR back then.”

Charles only facepalmed.

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Friday Fictioneers – Little Lies

(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…)

stumps

© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Little Lies

by Miles H. Rost

“So, where did you get all that wood from?”

Christine looked at her husband, who just gazed down at his shiny boots.

“I went out and cut a couple at the edge of the…”

“Bull.”

Mike stared at her with that word, and started to fume.

“You didn’t cut down the trees, because there’d be sawdust on your boots.”

“I used the chainsaw.”

“It’d still be there. I told you to cut the trees down, and you went and bought wood.”

Mike sighed, as he gave her a note.

“It was given. There’s the proof that people know we’re poor.”

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