{"id":573,"date":"2019-02-19T13:03:08","date_gmt":"2019-02-19T13:03:08","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/grahamwho.com\/grahamwrites\/?p=573"},"modified":"2024-10-17T17:04:26","modified_gmt":"2024-10-17T16:04:26","slug":"micro-fiction-familyiar","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/grahamwho.com\/grahamwrites\/2019\/02\/19\/micro-fiction-familyiar\/","title":{"rendered":"Familyiar"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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There was something about the walk. That determined yet effortless gait. The purposeful pace. The figure was still too far off to know for sure, and the tracksuit was something his dad would never normally wear, but Swan\u2019s heart bungee-jumped down into the pit of his stomach all the same. It stayed there dangling as he tried to bring the approaching face into focus. He hadn\u2019t seen or spoken to his dad in a long time. Years. Too many years. They hadn\u2019t fallen out, just lost touch, but he had no idea why or what to say \u2013 \u201coh hello\u201d didn\u2019t seem to cut it \u2013 if they were to bump into each other like this, by stupid happenstance, now. The man\u2019s fast advancing pace had brought him too close for Swan to turn around and go back the way he came. There were no doorways or gaps between the parked cars big enough to accommodate his escape. Swan swallowed, tested a smile, then thought better of it, wondered whether he should go for hands in or hands out of his pockets. He straightened his hair, shined his right shoe on the back of his left trouser leg and braced for impact. Fifteen feet. Ten. Five. The stranger glanced up from the imaginary line he was following on the sidewalk and looked into Swan\u2019s face, then sidestepped to the left and continued past. Swan\u2019s chest cavity slowly winched his heart back up into its rightful position and he took out his phone, scrolling through the contacts to D.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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There was something about the walk. That determined yet effortless gait. The purposeful pace. The figure was still too far off to know for sure, and the tracksuit was something his dad would never normally wear, but Swan\u2019s heart bungee-jumped down into the pit of his stomach all the same. It stayed there dangling as […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7,4],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-573","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-flash-fiction","category-short-stories"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/grahamwho.com\/grahamwrites\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/573","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/grahamwho.com\/grahamwrites\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/grahamwho.com\/grahamwrites\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/grahamwho.com\/grahamwrites\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/grahamwho.com\/grahamwrites\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=573"}],"version-history":[{"count":10,"href":"http:\/\/grahamwho.com\/grahamwrites\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/573\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1401,"href":"http:\/\/grahamwho.com\/grahamwrites\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/573\/revisions\/1401"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/grahamwho.com\/grahamwrites\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=573"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/grahamwho.com\/grahamwrites\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=573"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/grahamwho.com\/grahamwrites\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=573"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}