Flash Fiction

I used to be a mechanic.  I was so good.  I could coax a car into repairing a seemingly undiagnosable problem simply by talking to it sympathetically.  I was sacked.  They said I couldn’t communicate with people.

I’m now a computer operator.  My computer is beautiful.  I take her, my computer is most definitely a she, home every night.  I live in the attic at my parents house.  My father converted it.  It has a separate entrance.  I think my parents are a little mad.  I would marry my computer but I think it might push them over the edge.