Saturday, October 12, 2013


Dexter eased open the front door and stepped quietly into the darkened hall.

His mother appeared in the kitchen doorway, her face tired, hair tangled.

‘Where have you been?’

‘Out.’  He brushed past her and opened the fridge.

‘I’ve been worried sick.  It’s two fifteen in the morning.’

‘Is he still here?’

‘He’s in bed.’


‘Why what?’

‘Why’s he still here?  He’s a monster.’

‘He’s ... It’s ... Maybe when you’re my age you’ll understand.  Life’s all about compromises.’

‘Is that what I am?  A compromise?’  He headed empty handed to the stairs.  ‘Is that what your bruises are?’

A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words


Anonymous said...

Oh, Rob, that's fantastic. And sadly, all too true...

Ray Kolb said...

Really good drabble, Rob. Maybe your best. Love the very last line "Is that what your bruises are?"