Saturday, May 12, 2012

The drink talking

‘You’re a dead man!  A dead man!  You fuckin’ hear me?’

‘Fuck off away with yourself.  You’re full of shite.’ 

The two bouncers kept their distance, not wanting to get involved.

‘I’m going to fuck you up big time, you lying, cheating, fucking gombeen fucker!’

‘Go home, Christy.  You’re not right in the head.’

‘I’ll give you right in the head!’  Christy pulled a knife from his jacket and lurched forward.

The older man dropped to the pavement, clutching his stomach.

Christy pointed the bloodied knife at the bouncers, then starting running, full of panic and regret, though not remorse.

A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Rob - Oh, you do a really effective job with the end of that story. I wonder how the bouncers felt, not having interfered sooner...