by Dave Erlewine
74 words

Bleeding from his lip, his eye darkening, my son cowers in front of the door.

"Did you throw a hook, at least a jab?"

He whispers something I'd need to bend down to hear.

"The other kid, he explaining anything to his dad or high-fiving him?"

My son's eyes, especially the darkening one, look glazed.

"Get in," I say, moving my leg, not watching him pass, afraid a hug might turn into a strangle.

Dave Erlewine is a fiction editor at Dogzplot. His stories appear (or soon will) in Tuesday Shorts, The Pedestal Magazine, Word Riot, and a number of other literary journals. His sad little website is www.whizbyfiction.blogspot.com.

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