Time To Break Free?




As a fledgeling teenager, I dreamt of being a rebel. But between the rigid Presbyterian church we attended every Sunday and a father not afraid to wield his thick leather belt, I learned to conform.

Now, as a law-abiding, middle-aged man I pay my taxes. I don’t drink or smoke and have never taken drugs or cheated on my wife. Rules and regulations; bylaws and petty bureaucracy were made for people like me.

Hence my present dilemma. The arrow tells me to drive one way. So I do.

And I wonder if I will ever break free of this roundabout?


Mike Jackson

100-word story for Friday Fictioneers.

Picture courtesy of  C.E. Ayr

Only The Best



“Well, Jones, how is it going?”

“Everything is in place, Sir. The rings were dropped into the sky a week ago and don’t appear to have caused any concerns amongst the populace. As we expected, they have convinced themselves they are in some way connected to their strange celebration of Christmas.”

“Excellent. Are we ready for the next phase?”

“The rings are activated, Sir. Once you give the order we will begin beaming selected humans onboard.”

“Start the process, Jones. And remember, the Intergalactic Zoo are only interested in young, healthy specimens. Jettison any that don’t meet the necessary criteria.”

Mike Jackson


A 100-word story for Friday Fictioneers.

Photo courtesy of © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields


Mission Accomplished




The drone hovered silently above the deserted playground. Alert. Waiting. Watching.

Its handler, tucked deep inside a military bunker many miles away, panicked. Drone X3Z4S1 had gone rogue. Despite all the fail-safe procedures they had in place the thing was steadfastly refusing to respond. All they could do was monitor its progress on their screens and pray.

There was a movement from the far corner of the playground. Two young lovers, hand in hand, were strolling towards their favourite secluded park bench, unaware they were being watched.

The drone’s weapons system locked onto the target and then fired.

Mission accomplished.


Mike Jackson

A 100-word story for Friday Fictioneers.

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson


The New Boy



I sit in the room analysing these unknown surroundings. It is less than 24 hours since I entered this host body and I’m still assimilating his bizarre thoughts and even stranger behaviours.

Suddenly I’m aware that his name (my name now) is being called out by the human adult in front of me.

“Peter! Have you completed that homework yet?”

I found myself replying, “Sorry Miss, I’ve forgotten it.” A phrase my host had used many times.

“Oh Peter, you’d forget your head if it wasn’t screwed on!”

I look at her suspiciously. How did she know I could do that?

Mike Jackson

Jimmy’s Turn




“It’s all agreed then, Jimmy will go first.”

“Why me? Shouldn’t it be one of you bigger ones?”

“You’re the one with the bread Jimmy. You’ll be fine. We’ll be waiting here when you get back.”

Jimmy looked back at the gang as he edged his way down the dark alley. They stood there, urging him on. With the stick of bread held out in front of him, Jimmy disappeared into the darkness.

Minutes later a low growl was followed by sounds of munching, then a loud burp. The boys waited until it went dark but Jimmy never came back.

Mike Jackson

Open Heart Surgery



Is it dangerous Doc? It’s just he means so much to me I couldn’t bear it if I were to lose him.”
“He’s in the best place. He’s still young and in reasonably good condition, so I’m optimistic. You must remember though, nothing is guaranteed. There could be complications. We just have to hope we can find a match.”
I watched in dread as the doctor carefully opened up Tommy’s front and removed the defective battery. Then he searched through a large jar on the window looking for a replacement. I prayed to God he would find one that worked.

Mike Jackson

Hope We’re Not Too Late



In the last hour, this queue has ground to a halt.

Tried using my phone to find out what the delay is but the Internet is still unavailable. Not surprising really considering what’s at stake.

A whisper came down the line suggesting the gate may have closed. But if that was true I’m sure the soldiers would have dispersed us.

I’m still hopeful of a place in the government-approved bunker. But they will have to get a move on, this rain is turning more toxic by the minute.

Another hour and it will start burning our clothes and skin.

Mike Jackson

100-word story for Friday Fictioneers
PHOTO PROMPT © Na’ama Yehuda