The Right Pitch
A short story I sold to Riddlebird Literary Magazine.
She came wielding the plastic doll that smelled of off gasses.
“No,” Matt said to his daughter from the comfort of his couch. “Go to the table.”
“Want you see this,” she tried. She had tried before.
Matt said, “Okay, I’ll see. Go to the table.” He grabbed hold of the little plastic doll, its figure deformed by decades of institutional frat boy body-shaming. When his daughter turned, he hurled her doll like a tiny blond-haired throwing axe over his shoulder. Blindly.
