Henry shuffled to the front door and tried to remember the last time he’d had visitors. There’d been some do-gooders at Christmas whom he’d sent packing.
There was a girl under the porch, her right eye blackened.
‘Are you okay, lass?’
‘I need help.’
‘I haven’t a phone.’
‘He’s looking for me.’
‘Steph!’ A man’s voice from across the Oak Field.
‘Please. Just keep me hidden. I’ll leave once he’s gone.’
‘You need a doctor.’
‘I need a new life.’
Henry hesitated.
‘Please.’
He let her in, an unwilling do-gooder. No doubt the visitors for the year would soon double.
A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.
1 comment:
Oh, this one is a good 'un, Rob. I can see it as part of a larger story, too (e.g. what happened to the girl? Who's looking for her? Why hasn't Henry had visitors?). I can imagine what happened, but I can also see it going in a number of different directions.
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