Only One Time

Through stewing August air of intermittent fireflies blinking, Mother hollers from the back porch.  We strain eyes tracking the baseball’s flight.

“Just a minute!” I shout.

“Dinner’s getting cold!  You can’t even see that damn ball.  You don’t need another shiner!” 

“That happened only one time!” I roar indignantly.  My “friend” laughs skipping hurriedly homeward. 

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 *Fiction in 55 words = #flash55