(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!)
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.
(Author’s note: Took last week off due to the fires in Oregon. Back today. Enjoy!”)
Dance Hall Days
by Miles H. Rost
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.
(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!)
(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: 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.)
(Author’s note: It’s been a busy week here at Music and Fiction. 3 different stories have been posted for your perusal, and I hope you can read them all. You can read the mini-fictions The Lament of the Scribe and 5 Steps, plus the longer fiction Walking On Ice (my current personal favorite of mine.) Make sure to comment on them, as a few of these were actually created as a result of class exercises for my university courses. Besides that, please enjoy today’s creation.)
We had just pulled up to the drive thru on Route 7. I was reaching for my wallet when Caroline shrieked.
“Honey! What’s wrong?”
“I can’t stand bugs! And there are two right under the drive-thru window!”
Being a valiant man, I reached over the seat to get them. In my haste to shoo the beasts away, I miscalculated my reach. I let out a “whoa!” just before my face landed in her lap. I heard a gasp, then a breath.
“My darling, if you wanted pie, you should have just said so…”
I looked up at her, and she cracked up. I can’t help but crack up now whenever she, my beautiful wife, asks if I want pie.