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    Mike v2.0 (A Firesetter Prequel Short Story): Firesetter
    Mike v2.0 (A Firesetter Prequel Short Story): Firesetter
    Mike v2.0 (A Firesetter Prequel Short Story): Firesetter
    Ebook52 pages44 minutes

    Mike v2.0 (A Firesetter Prequel Short Story): Firesetter

    By J. Naomi Ay

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    About this ebook

    Let's face it, Mike is a loser. Despite being born with the proverbial silver spoon, he's a failure at just about everything. After being hit in the head with a baseball, Mike wakes up unable to see, prompting his grandfather, Steve to take him across the stars in search of cure. However, Mike and Steve end up finding something more than just Mike's lost sight, something that will turn Mike into a king.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAyzenberg, Inc.
    Release dateMay 7, 2016
    ISBN9781533715838
    Mike v2.0 (A Firesetter Prequel Short Story): Firesetter

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      Mike v2.0 (A Firesetter Prequel Short Story) - J. Naomi Ay

      Also by

      J. Naomi Ay

      Firesetter series

      A Thread of Time (Book 1)

      Amyr’s Command (Book 2)

      Three Kings (Book 3)

      Exceeding Expectations (Book 4)

      A Cosmic Dance (Book 5)

      Strange Things (Book 6)

      The Two Moons of Rehnor series

      The Boy who Lit up the Sky (Book 1)

      My Enemy's Son (Book 2)

      Of Blood and Angels (Book 3)

      Firestone Rings (Book 4)

      The Days of the Golden Moons (Book 5)

      Golden's Quest (Book 6)

      Metamorphosis (Book 7)

      The Choice (Book 8)

      Treasure Hunt (Book 9)

      Space Chase (Book 10)

      Imperial Masquerade (Book 11)

      Rivalry (Book 12)

      Thirteen (Book 13)

      Betrayal (Book 14)

      Fairy Tales (Book 15)

      Gone for a Spin (Book 16)

      Duck! someone yelled, and I did. 

      Unfortunately, I was a fraction of a second too late.  With a resounding thunk, the ball collided with my head, or perhaps, it was my head which collided with the ball. 

      I hate baseball, I muttered, right before the world went dark.  I will shoot myself before I ever play this game again.

      I heard someone scream.  I heard what was most likely a collective groan reverberate across the stands.  This was followed by the most severe pain I had ever experienced in my relatively short life.

      Before I passed out, I recall writhing upon the ground, clouds of dust and sand wafting around me and into my nose. 

      Not only do I hate baseball, I declared, probably only inside my brain.  I hate all of them.  Everyone.  Everywhere.  I hate my life.

      How ya doing there, Mike? I heard the coach's voice.  You didn't see that curve, now did ya, pal?

      No.  I hadn't, and I decided, I hated him most of all.  When I was King of the World, I would sentence him to the gallows.

      After that, my father must have arrived, although I have no memory beyond the horrific pain in my head.  My father, as he always did, had been sitting in the stands, cheering me on no matter how haplessly I played.  And, I did play haplessly, for I was easily the worst player on the team.  Despite my father's lectures, despite the private coaches and tutors that were hired to drill me and instill me with proper skills and sportsmanship, the ball connected far more often with my head than with bat or glove.

      Immediately, I was whisked into the car, whereupon I was flown to the nearest hospital, which happened to be in the oldest part of the city.  There, I lay immobile for days while the crack in my skull healed and my brain swelling abated, or so they thought. 

      Of course, I didn't know this until I awoke a few days later, confused, hungry, and very annoyed.

      What's the matter, dear? my mother asked, her hand clutching mine, the faint lavender scent of her perfume drifting across my nose.

      Everything! I wanted to vehemently proclaim as if it were all her fault.

      At eight years old, I still assumed my mother was in control of the universe, or at the very least, my universe.  If I had been hurt, surely, it had been at her behest. After all, I had never wanted to play baseball, not for a minute. 

      I had never wanted to leave my home.  I had been perfectly content in my life, despite my lack of friends or even acquaintances my age.  However, it was my mother who had insisted I venture out of my safe space and beyond our walls.  Probably, she had only intended for me to take leisurely walks, while my father was insistent that I needed a team and a sport.

      I’m totally blind, I declared in the politest tone I could muster considering the circumstances I

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