Johnny straddled the plate and bit his tongue.
“Swing!” Micah yelled.
The disembodied head flew across the makeshift field, bloody hair and skull fragments trailing in its wake. Streamers and confetti.
“It’s out of the park!” Micah collided with his brother. They tussled joyfully in dirt and blood and brains.
“That’s my boy.” Morris tossed a bald, lopsided head into the air.
Johnny brushed himself off, squaring his shoulders and beaming, a fleck of thigh caught in his shaggy mop.
“Now throw me a curve ball, Dad!”
Morris chuckled, planting his feet on the oblong mound.
“Sure thing, kid.”