Jeb's Destruction

Jeb had had enough. He was sick and tired of his parents always wanting him to go to college and make something of himself. Jeb felt fine with the way he was. Sure, he might not end up like his billionaire dad, but he wasn't so caged up like his parents thought. He enjoyed living out on his own, and wished his parents would quit signing him up for all this ridiculous junk-mail.

         Jeb shook his head and looked at the next envelope. Louisiana State University: Early Bird Sign-Up! Jeb crumpled it up and tossed it into a huge bin. He pounded his fist on the table, and wished he could destroy all this silly junk-mail. Then he got an idea.

         He hefted the huge bin of junk mail out the back door, and then dumped it out into a messy pile. Next, he went to his shed and came out with a shiny, metal object. After placing it in the center of the pile, he pressed a button.

         The object began to talk. "60, 59, 58…"

         Jeb chuckled to himself as he returned back indoors.

         As he waited for the explosion, he continued sifting through some mail. There was some more junk mail, and then sure enough—a letter from his parents. Jeb rolled his eyes, and opened the envelope.

         Hello son, the letter began. I feel bad we haven't talked in a while, but your mother and I came to a decision. We have come to realize that you would rather not attend college, and we understand. I've decided to pass on $3 million to help you in whatever you may do. I'm sending the money in an unmarked "Louisiana State University: Early Bird Sign-Up!" envelope. Use it wisely.

         Jeb had no sooner finished the letter, when he heard a tremendous boom. Jeb fainted.


(300 words; An entry for the Daily Flash Fiction Contest; Ecclesiastes 7:9)