Grand Theft Murder
The kid explained the controls to his old man – again! “Most important. Never press these two buttons together.”
Frain said, “These two?”
Suddenly, Frain was in Grand Theft Auto.
“I told you it was immersive,” his son said through his headset.
“Yeah, I just never imagined –” A Camaro ran Frain over. He was reborn in three seconds. Scraped the dirt off his arm. “Wow, video games. I can beat death here.”
“I respawned you. Otherwise, you’re dead. Let’s discuss allowance. I’d like to double it.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so.” A gunshot. Frain jumped the bullet. “You see that? I’m awesome in here.”
“Me again, Dad. Hit your ‘X’ button. Let’s talk frequency. Allowance twice a week.”
“Stop distracting me. I have to steal a Lamborghini.”
The son kept his old man alive to finalize details on allowance and create new terms for bedtime. But a new problem arose.
“Sorry about this, Dad.” He guided his old man to steal a jet ski and crash in the ocean. In seconds, a shark was circling. It poked Frain with an evil fin. Cackled. Then swallowed him whole.
“You always said you wanted to swim with a shark. And I couldn’t let you beat my record.”
I believe this is a dream-come-true for my oldest son. He’s going to want to create the movie version of this flash fiction story. Sorry, dude, not in the cars. (That was not a typo; it was a lame attempt at a Grand Theft Auto pun.)