The Internet Thingy

We sat at Great Grandma’s feet as she told us again about when she was a little girl and all the houses had something called electricity. 

“It was wonderful,” she said, “At a flick of a switch we could light all our rooms and heat them. We’d watch TV and cook meals in our microwaves. Such happy times.”

I  tried not to yawn but I knew what was coming next, it was always the same. She’d go on for ages about strange machines called computers and some Internet thingy. 

I often wonder where Great Grandma gets these weird stories from.

A 100-word story for this week’s prompt at Friday Fictioneers.

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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Gave it all up when I was fourteen.

Nobody could understand why.

I simply reacted like any teenager. Scowled a lot. Said it was boring and I’d better things to do with my life.

I never mentioned Neil.

The ever-popular, charismatic Mr Neil Samuels. The charming ex-professional who used to keep me behind at the end of sessions for extra tuition. The same dependable man who made me promise not to tell anyone about our little secret.

They said I was good. Olympic standard at least.

Nowadays I can’t go near a swimming pool without being violently sick.

Mike Jackson

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

A 100-word story for the prompt at Friday Fictioneers.

It’s Not Your Time

IT’S NOT YOUR TIME

“Name and date of birth please, sir.”

“Michael Peter Jones, 21st March 1962”

“And when did you die Mr Jones?”

“Sometime this morning, I think. On the High Street by the synagogue. I got hit by a bus.”

“Oh dear, it appears there’s been a dreadful mistake. It should have been a Mr Peter Michael Jones who died this morning, not you. You’re not due here for a good few years yet. This is most unfortunate. If you’ll take a seat Mr Jones I’ll see about getting you back into your earthly body. Let’s just hope it’s not too late.”

Mike Jackson

The Sunlight Hurt My Eyes

THE SUNLIGHT HURT MY EYES

That’s where she kept me. The room with the blinds.

I remember once letting the blinds up, the light from the sun was amazing. She was so angry when she saw what I’d done.  I remember her hitting me with that belt of hers. God, I had some bruises that night.

I didn’t see the sunlight again for another ten years. Not until that policeman came in and took me away. 

I cried for a week. Kept asking to see her but they wouldn’t let me.

I know she ’s evil but you’ve got to remember, she’s still my mum.

Mike Jackson

A 100-word story for Friday Fictioneers.

She’d Found Another Man

He had just two loves in his life – his music and Jenny. He couldn’t imagine life without either of them.

Then one morning over breakfast Jenny finished her coffee, put the dishes away and calmly announced she was leaving. She’d found another man. By mid-morning her cases were packed and she was gone.

Now he just sits on the edge of his bed all day long quietly humming to himself. His instruments lay untouched, his music unwritten.

He’s afraid if he lets the songs and lyrics swimming around in his head out they’ll also leave him and never return.

Mike Jackson

A 100-word story for Friday Fictioneers.

Photo courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.