Pic by Ted Strutz
‘Dammit, Mark! Your grandfather is at it again,’ Lola screeched from the garden.
‘What is it now?’ Mark threw away his newspaper in disgust and trudged out.
‘Aha! Look at my masterpiece, Marcus. I call it Wheels,’ his grandfather, Derrick, declared.
‘Oh no! Not my limited-edition CDs. What have you done?’
‘Your CDs? Mark, the old man has effed up our bicycles.’
Derrick scrunched up his nose, ‘I need a flywheel, Marcus. To balance the rotational frequency.’
Mark sighed and gave up.
A million mile away in space, the alien warship experienced sudden resistance in its trajectory towards Earth.
Derrick smiled as he removed the wheel cover from Mark’s Honda.
Many Thanks to the lovely Rochelle Wisoff – Fields for hosting the weekly Friday Fictioneers. This week’s prompt was weird to say the least and I’ve tried to write something just as weird. 😉 As ever, to read other entries, click here.
The 11th edition of #MicroMondays is open. To join, click here.