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Friday Fictioneers – Me and Julio

(Author’s note: I had to take some time away to rejuve my spirit and come back with new ideas. That, and the graduation of my niece and soon-to-be enlistment into the US Navy, took a lot of my time and patience. I am now back to do more work! Here we go!)

© Dale Rogerson

Me and Julio

by Miles H. Rost

“Hey, Ma! I’m headin’ next door!”
I shut the door behind me and ran my 12-year old body down the stairs and 30 feet to my friend Julio’s doorstep. I could see Ma leaning out of the upstairs window.

“Be home when the lights come on. It’s Nona’s spaghetti tonight!”
“Got it!”

Julio ran out the door before I could knock.
“Who we playing tonight, Julio?”
“57th Street Brazos. Haven’t lost a stick game since last July.”
“Looks like we gotta up our game.”

We ran down the street towards St. Andrews School. Tonight, we’ll defeat the Brazos real good.

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Friday Fictioneers – Our Lips Are Sealed

(Author’s note: One of the perils of my work from home job is that I get slammed with work. With that, the election stuff going on (which I have been largely happy to avoid), and 3 cases at work that are massive and had big benchmarks that needed to be met, I became very exhausted.

Anyhow, I am back and raring to go with a new Fictioneers. Please enjoy, like, subscribe, and tell your friends!)

© Sarah (not Harry) Potter

Our Lips Are Sealed

by Miles H. Rost

“Quick, Janey! Make sure no one sees you.”

Jane zipped from tree to tree, attempting to hide the best she could in broad daylight. Approaching Terry’s house, she made a mad dash from the last tree toward a waiting bush.

“If you wanted to see my son, Jane,” the voice of Mr. Hall bellowed down from the room, “you could just come up the front steps.”

“Sorry, Mr. Hall,” she seemed to mutter.

“He’s waiting inside for you. No hanky panky, though.”

Jane’s face turned cherry, as she quickly ran to the door.

“My lips are sealed” he called out.

(Jane’s the Rhythm Guitarist with the short dark hair. ^_-)
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Friday Fictioneers – Dance Hall Days (Short Story)

(Author’s note: Took last week off due to the fires in Oregon. Back today. Enjoy!”)

© Roger Bultot

Dance Hall Days

by Miles H. Rost

Stickball.

A staple of New York youth. A way for the kids of the neighborhood to have fun and forge long lasting friendships.

When us kids needed to hash out things, we didn’t take to our fists. We took to the sticks. Whoever ended up scoring the most, or when our moms called us in after the sun went down, they would carry the day.

Once we moved to the west coast, there was no more stickball. You moved up to the sandlots. The skills learned translated well for the batting, but the running killed us.

We were still friends.

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Friday Fictioneers – Who (Are You)?

(Author’s note: Hey! You’ve probably wondered where I went over the last month. Well, honestly, with all the stuff going on in the world, I have been weary and tired. Haven’t been inspired. So, hopefully after today, I’ll be more inspired by the world around me. Here we go!)

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© C. E. Ayr

Who (Are You)? 

by Miles H. Rost

Pete rushed into the house, happy that Sunday service was finally over.

He ran as quick as his legs could to his room, pulled out a magazine and his notebook from the closet, and quickly returned to the living room.

“Why are you so quick today?” his mum inquired.

“I’m not gonna miss this episode for the world!” young Pete replied, looking at his pens and readying himself.

“You know it doesn’t start for 3 hours, right?”

Pete blinked, then sighed.

“I have to get this letter right, if I want to be the president of the Doctor Who Fan Club.”

Capaldi Who

It’s true. Peter Capaldi DID try to become the head of the Doctor Who Fan Club. The BBC disliked his persistence, and put someone else in his place. But who got the last laugh? 

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Friday Fictioneers – Only The Young

(Author’s note: I’ve been a year at my job now. I am quite pleased. Celebrate with me in the Fictioneers!)

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©J. Hardy Carroll

Only The Young

by Miles H. Rost

Bradley turned nine today.

The party was spectacular. His friends played in the yard, ate hot dogs and burgers, devoured cake like it was nothing.

After it was all done, he sat by my side, watching his favorite evening TV show, Tour of Duty. 

“Daddy, will I ever have to go to war?”

I looked down at him, my eyes remembering the days when I asked that question.

“Not unless you want to.”
“Are you sure?”
“They don’t force you to go anymore. Not like when I was 18.”

He curled up next to me, as we silently finished the show.

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!

Click here to enter

 

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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!)

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© 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 – Skating

(Author’s note: Doing something dangerous. Took off my splint and am writing this properly. Putting splint back on after it’s done, but so far…no problems. Anyhow, here’s today’s fictioneers…just for all y’all.)

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© The Court Jester of Friday Fictioneers, Russell Gayer

Skating

by Miles H. Rost

Running from the frozen lake, Brian Gerlach saw the open shed and the toilet.

“Brian, come on! We’ve only got another hour before our moms call us for dinner.”
“But I really gotta go!”
“Fine, but you’re on your own!”

He didn’t need their help. He’d use the toilet and get back to skating. It was winter after all.

He sat down on the snow-colored commode and did his business. He tried to stand up, but his behind wouldn’t budge.

Worse yet, the water around his skates had since frozen up.

He cried for help, worried that it wouldn’t come.

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Friday Fictioneers – Grazin’ In The Grass

(Author’s Notes: None. Write and go, as they say. Enjoy the fictioneers this week!)

 

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© Sarah Potter

Grazin’ In The Grass

by Miles H. Rost

Summer.

Hot and humid, but also quite a beautiful time for listening to music.

I’d spend many hours sitting in the breezeway of my house, listening to the radio and recording the disc jockeys doing their thing. It was something that really inspired me.

It went everywhere I would go, but it always returned to that breezeway, close to where Dad did his accounting work and where he’d grow hot peppers. The music of my youth, the soundtrack of my life.

Until I was sent outside to play by my mom. Then I had to take my music with me.

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Friday Fictioneers – Greased Lightning

(Author’s note: I remember this prompt! I did this a long time ago! But, the good thing is…we always can have something different! Here ya go!)

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© Al Forbes

Greased Lightning

by Miles H. Rost

Dave and Michelle walked out of the recent reshowing of Grease!, celebrating it’s 35th year.

“Seriously, Michelle, cars aren’t made like that anymore,” Dave said, putting on his jacket.
“Neither are the people.”
“Yeah, but what if we could have fun like that here in this modern world?”

Michelle brushed her frizzy black hair from her eyes.

“It would be…hissstorical…”

Dave shot her a look, and grinned.

“Undeniable…”
“Utterly illogical…”

They looked at each other.

“Why it could be our next PROM THEME!”

Dave put his arm around Michelle, walking back toward his 1970 Dodge Charger.

“Time to tell the prom committee…”

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Friday Fictioneers – Don’t Forget Me When I’m Gone

(Author’s Note: I keep giving excuses. There’s no real excuse for not having anything besides fictioneers this week. I just got lazy this week, and I needed it. Anyhow, here it is!)

© Kent Bonham

Don’t Forget Me When I’m Gone

by Miles H. Rost

“Cindy! Cindy, it’s time for dinner!”

Mom was calling again. I hated when that happened, because it means that fun was to end and my studies had to begin again.

I pulled my coloring book off the rock and put it under my arm. I couldn’t wait to get back to it tomorrow.

“Hey!”

I heard a noise coming from somewhere.

“HEY!”

I looked around. “Hello?

“In the book, you brat!” it said, quite muffled.

I opened up the book, and the stick man which Ihad half-colored was frowning at me.

“You nearly killed me, kid!”

It spoke. And it wasn’t going to shut up. Oh no, Mom’s not gonna be happy about this…