Volare
(Entry #1 from the rejection pile)
Bobby’s heartbeat throbbed through his now-swelling lip.
“Why’d he punch you, Robert?”
Speeding away, Bobby wrapped his arm around Sherry and nodded to his father in the backseat, face-glued to his phone.
“Watch your show, Pop.”
Sherry took her last bite, “Bob, you’re bleeding.”
A thin red bead grinned back from between his front teeth. Sher chucked the core.
“HA! I know this guy.”
“Don’t do that, Sher.”
“It’s composting.”
“It’s Littering. Which guy, Pop?”
“The painter! He was in that Tom Waits movie.”
Bobby slowed to U-turn.
Sherry wriggled his arm out.
“Let’s go make this right, Pop.”
About the Creator
Frank D'Andrea
cryptocurrent
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Reaching Out
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munson6 days ago in Fiction
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