"disappointment motorbike table" three word prompt
Inspiration hits with a flash, stories written on the go. A rumble of laughter and the tale is heard only in echoes. The wind blows me in a new direction. Whom shall I visit next?
I unlocked my deadbolt and pushed the oak door open. I walked through the kitchen, grabbing a soda, and moved beyond it, massaging my temple. Then I stood stock still. The motorbike was there, parked on my dining room table. That, of all the things that weird weekend, was the most unexpected.
I looked around, still shocked. No one was around. Cabinets undisturbed; candlesticks erect. It was quiet.
First the punch bowl's disappointment. Then a pack of squirrels following me. Even the enraged postman had confused me less than this.
It was a nice bike. I didn't know how to get it down safely any more than I could imagine how it had been placed there, the front wheel on the master placemat and the back wheel against the mashed potatoes au gratin.
Where were Father and Mum?
Worse: Where was I? Was this in fact my old home? Was I dreaming all of this?
I popped the soda open, took a swig. Then downed the rest in one long swallow.
I had to sit down. The front tire looked new; there was no grime.
No prequels yet. Why not write one?
No sequels yet. Why not write one?
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