Joey goes to war and comes back with nine children.
It sounds like a joke. Coos Frannie, large bracelets clanging on the diner table. She was prodding ice cream down into her glass with a straw, milling it before each sip.
My soda was cherry-sweet, fizzy. I tried to pay attention.
Twins, the ones he had in Korea, went missing. I nodded. They crossed the border to - well, as dumb as it sounds - play new arcade cabinets. I watched her long nails as she picked up a fry. That’s when I found you. I took another sip.
About the Creator
Lisa Herdman
I'm learning to be wildly inappropriate, ridiculous, needy - and alive.
Thank you so much for all the support!
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More stories from Lisa Herdman and writers in Fiction and other communities.
Across the Street
Just like so many other beginnings, this one started at a seemingly random place - across the street. Across the street from what? Across the street from a shoe store, facing an event venue. Not inside the venue, not at the colorful ticket stands with the pre-tattered shirts or the bar where the tender was tired but excited for the crowd. It didn’t even happen where the blue lights were shining on the building. It happened near the windows, littered with painted band names, smeared by a blonde college goer’s hands, and nearly trashed. The remnants of the too-late ticket buyers, at least the ones unwilling to leave even though they were not allowed in the venue, dancing and peeking and yelling songs at the top of their lungs.
By Lisa Herdmanabout a year ago in Fiction
Falling Tea
The teacup fell at an alarmingly laggardly rate, as if mocking the certainty of Earth’s nine-point-eight metres per second per second gravitational acceleration. And I don’t mean it took a long time to decide to fall, wobbling around like a bowling pin, teasing you as it arrives tantalisingly close to that twelve-point-five-degree angle where its downfall is definite. I mean that from where it had been sitting on the railing of my balcony, about three-point-five metres from the ground below, it took much longer to reach its final destination than the eighth of a second it should have taken.
By Dominic Casey-Lee3 days ago in Fiction
Comments (2)
Wow, the backstory that goes with this micro-fiction noir. Just sitting there with our cherry soda, trying to understand as her words whelm us with their casual nonchalance.
Dear Lisa ~ I've missed you. You and Anastasia make a lovely team: I mean who hasn't Subconsciously Poked at our Ice Cream Float! Jay Kantor, Chatsworth, California 'Senior' Vocal Author - Vocal "Family" Community -