The children were fitted with Virtual Sight contacts at an early age. Everyone had perfect eye sight and everything in the world was in perfect high-definition. The Controllers questioned why anyone should view imperfection. So any flaws were quickly removed from view and everything looked perfect. Poverty,human suffering, or the elderly need not be seen. To prevent the population from tripping over unseen bodies in the street, the poor and sick were swept into hidden compounds. When people reached the age of 55 they simply disappeared. This arrangement was deemed sensible. No one should have to see the messy, imperfection of ageing. People sometimes felt uneasy though. A sensation of people walking beside or around, a whisper, a movement in the air, a shadow.

The disruption in the Virtual System occurred during a solar flare in the middle of the Summer Solstice celebration. People were disoriented as their brains fought to adjust to their natural vision. They froze in place as the creatures came into view. There were strange, imperfect beings standing among them. The older ones who had disappeared were still alive. They just had been unable to see them.

Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner is hosted by Roger Shipp. Click on link to learn more about this writing group.

I finished for the day and was taking a break in front of a cozy fire with a well-earned cup of coffee. My mother didn’t like earthen ware coffee mugs and all her cups were china. She had a particular affinity for English china cups. Definitely not my taste for a coffee cup but I did not have a choice in her house. It had been an exhausting day sorting through all of Mom’s possessions. My daughter had offered to help but she would not be arriving for another 2 days. My mother was nothing like a hoarder and had downsized once already when she moved into the cottage after Dad died. It was just that many of the things had memories attached to them. It is taking me a long time to go through them because a memory or feeling would be triggered and I’d get lost in a reverie. The photos were the worst. Like the one of me in Tuscany when I was away with a study abroad class. Mom said the photos were almost unreal, like a movie set. She did not know how real it was. This was where the love of my life died.

This post is for Flash Fiction For The Purposeful Practitioner Week # 2 hosted by Roger Shipp. You can learn more about the rules by clicking on the link.