This Has Got to StopBrilliant Flash Fiction 2016
Manny’s right hand was out of control. It swung wildly, punching him in his left shoulder, forearm and then bloodying his nose with two more ferocious roundhouses. Meanwhile Manny’s left hand played with the change in his pocket.
Righty finally tired himself out, and Lefty, no longer tossing the loose change, was now playing pocket pool. Righty reached around to get the handkerchief and held it up to Manny’s nose to help stem the flow of blood.
Lefty, having just gotten off, took his hand out of his pocket and took charge of the handkerchief. He wiped his hand and Manny’s nose simultaneously while Righty shook, trying to get the soreness out.
Manny sat down on the curb trying to figure out what he’d done to Righty this time. Righty, for his part, hoped that Manny learned his lesson but just in case he hadn’t, Righty lifted Manny’s right leg and with his size twelve Doc Martins stomped on Lefty’s ankle, knocking Manny back screaming. He was lying on the sidewalk wailing like a baby when a cop car drove up and two gorilla-sized cops got out ran over and asked Manny what happened.
One helped lift Manny to a sitting position while the other called an ambulance. Putting away his cell phone he asked, “Who did this to you?” and Manny looked around and saw his wife’s brother pull into their driveway and pointed his sore right finger at him. Both cops took off after him, tackling him before he got to the front door and knocking his ultra-suede skullcap off.