A Good Death

‘Mrs Bailey?’

‘What’s he done now?  Steal a car?  Mug a pensioner?’

‘Can I come in?  It’s probably best if I did.’

‘If you must, but I don’t care what he’s done,’ she said over her shoulder.  ‘Just that he goes away for a long time.’

‘I’m afraid he’ll be gone for a very long time,’ the policeman said, once she was seated.  ‘He died an hour ago.  Hit by a truck.  He ran out into the road to save a child.’

She stared silently into space.

‘He died a good death.’

‘He deserved a slow, painful one,’ she muttered.





A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.