He sat on the edge of the bed and stared down at his son. The boy’s breathing was shallow and a touch breezy. The father brushed back a lock of brown hair from over an eyebrow. Jack needed a trip to the barber, but it was too late for that now. It was too late for anything, except whiskey and tears. He placed a pillow over Jack’s face, gently pressing down. The boy woke with a start and struggled, his legs kicking, but he quickly lay still. The father kissed his forehead, rose unsteadily and went to fetch his gun.
A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.