I heard her screaming, and just pushed my headphones deeper into my ears.
Pretended I couldn’t hear her.
“JONATHAN! Get down here this instant, young man!”
She pushed her voice through the anti-spam filters on my iPod, imposing herself into my consciousness. I knew I shouldn’t have shown her how to do that.
“Coming Mum, jeez! How many times have I told you not to interrupt me when I’m working?”
I trundled down the stairs, teenaged indignation written bold across my face.
“Don’t ‘what’ me, young man, you get out here and explain yourself right now!”
I burst onto the patio, and stopped.
“What the hell is that thing?”
“Why don’t you tell me, Jonathan? What have you been doing up in your room?”
I do dabble in gene-modding, but this was beautiful work.
Definitely not mine.
Not that I’d ever admit that.
Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers.