Jacob Flinch wished his picture graced that milk cartoon. Dog, as nicknamed called, stands pouring over his target. Jake collapses from whiplashing punches from the bully’s wingman. Lunch ladies, cooks in hairnets, attempt breaking-up cheering twelve-year-olds, “Fight! Kick his ass!” Running vice-principal’s whistle cuts through enough bustling undivided attention. Once again, unfair suspension provides Flinch’s escape.
_________________
Care to take a listen?
*55 Fiction (nanofiction)
Dustus Blog 