Published by Flash: The International Short-Short Magazine
Sarah had wanted to meet so she could apologize for using the sock puppet to break up with me. “I was sure that if it came from Lemonade,” she said, “you would hear it… better. Softer. Isn’t that right, Lemonade?”
He nodded, his terrycloth rabbit ears flopping pink against the white cotton sock.
I didn’t want to look at the tidy chocolate stitching of his eyes, get caught in the light reflected by the polished, black-button nose. So I focused on his bowtie, felted gray wool with fuchsia dots. Always turned just slightly to the left or right, his ties. Today, left.
Claire Guyton 