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…

Friday Fictioneers – Sweet Caroline

(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.)

©Madison Woods

Sweet Caroline

by Miles H. Rost

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.

 

Don’t Box Me In

by Miles Rost

Rodolfo Dominguez flipped his welding helmet up and turned off the torch. He looked down at his work and smiled.

“I said that one day I’d show them just what I’m made of. It’s just about that time. Just one day more.”

For many years, Rodolfo was considered the odd man out. In high school, he was ridiculed for having a large brain and large girth to go with it. Even after becoming a member of the auto club, he was still made fun of. He took it in stride, making jokes about himself like Gabriel Iglesias did. But he felt that even though he could roll with the punches, he had to prove his mettle. He had to show them that he wasn’t just a fluffy guy. That he was also made of more than that.

He had spent most of the fall and the winter of his junior year of high school in his garage, working and tinkering on a project that he merely called “The Devon Project”. No one outside of his house knew what it was about. No one asked, but here he was, almost finished on the project and just about ready to demo it for the rest of the school. And it was going to be at the annual carnival and exhibition for his high school.

He went to sleep that night, and instead of dreaming triumphant dreams, he had terrible nightmares. Nightmares of failures, of becoming the butt of all jokes, and not surviving the rest of high school. He woke up feeling very nervous, in a pool of sweat and worry. After putting on his glasses and rolling out of bed, at 5AM, he went out to the garage and proceeded to spend his morning with car wax in his hands.

He went to school that morning, and had to deal with certain taunts about his weight and other things. He looked at them, smiled, and said, “Don’t worry about my feelings. Wait for this afternoon, and we’ll have a good laugh about it.” The other kids laughed, seemingly at him, but inside wondered what he would actually do.

At the proper time, the carnival and exhibition was open for business. School was out, with students, teachers, and parents milling around the sprawling high school campus. On one side of the massive high school lawn, were a bunch of cars. Members of the auto club and others brought out their vehicles to show off, and to win contests.

Rodolfo had gone home just before the carnival started, and as he opened the garage door, he pushed his surprise out of the small shed-like building. The sun glistened on the newly painted black exterior, glinting off the chrome and the steel. He turned the key, and the engine started and purred like a kitten who had too much love in it’s heart. The fluffy guy, the man everyone called “Round Rodolfo”, would be making splashes at the carnival this year.

He drove his vehicle to the high school, and pulled in through the parking lot and onto the lawn. People looked at his vehicle, a newly restored 1972 Oldsmobile 442, with a pitch black exterior, Shelby-Cobra emblems all over it, and a hearty engine that made others pale in comparison. He slow-rode his way past the other gawkers.

“Is that Round Rodolfo?” one person asked, in disbelief.

“Wow! How did he get a car like that?” another guy asked.

“Is he still single?” one young lady asked her friend, who looked at her with a look that read “Are you insane, girl?”

Rodolfo did a quick rev and jet, then pulled into the end spot. He got out of his vehicle, turned around, and looked at it. By now, a good crowd had gathered.

“Hey, Rodolfo. Is this yours?” one of the auto club members asked him.

“Yeah, paid for it with my own wages. This is my baby.”

“Looks cool, sir. You got style, man.”

Rodolfo got a compliment, for the first time in a good long time. And boy, it felt good. No longer was he boxed in. He was soon to be known as “Rockin’ Rodolfo”, and would be known for one of the prettiest vehicles in the whole school.